Timelines

by Bob Blink

  Two days before after telling Karole my story we had started planning to come back here. She wanted me to take another couple of days to ensure I made a full recovery and all of my strength had returned. It was important that we ‘clean up’. My ill-fated expedition had left too many clues. Not only something that might alert our alien enemy, but physical items that were out of place in the timeline. Most would rot away before too long, but some items, or parts of them, might just survive. What impact might there be if one of the motorcycles was uncovered sometime far in the future? What questions or problems might it raise? And, of course, there was the issue of my friends. They would be lost to time, but it might still be possible to give them a proper burial. It had been a week. If only wild animals hadn’t found them, or. . . . .

  A short time before we had entered the time tunnel from Karole’s base far in the past. It was a short walk to the tunnel entrance from the back area where Karole had set up her base. A quick peek was made upstairs in the control room for any indication of an alien return, and then we headed back down and around the oval tunnel room to the point where she had found me. As we passed one of the two depressions along the wall representing closed tunnels, she paused for a moment to run her hand along the smooth surface of the complex. So this had been the way to her home. Still closed. I noticed the brief flicker of pain on her face before we moved on. Karole had been busy here as well while I recovered. I must have left a trail of blood all the way down the tunnel to this spot. But there was no sign now that it had ever happened. While I slept and mended, she had completely erased all sign that anything had happened. Even in the cave outside the complex, she had erased all sign up to the mouth of the cave. They cannot know we are here she warned.

  We had disagreed on whether to return directly here. I worried about the men that had attacked me and wondered if they might be around. They could have easily tracked the motorbike, and from where I dropped it, finding the cave entrance would not have been hard. Hell, I probably left a blood trail right to it. We could pop out of the tunnel, and find them right there. She felt it unlikely they would have hung around for an entire week. It sounded like a hunting party, and it was more likely they would have moved on. Also, arms were not readily available in her current time, and she didn’t know enough of other times to feel comfortable trying to acquire them there. I wanted to return home, to my time where I had a fair hunting collection. Guns both my father and I had been collecting for years. She wasn’t ready for that yet. We had cleanup to do there as well, and a single trip made more sense. Besides, we were armed she reminded me, and she had hoisted the small neural rifle. I still would have felt a lot better having something of my own. In the end, she had been right again, and we had entered the cave to find it totally empty; no sign they had been here at all.

  “This doesn’t look promising,” a disappointed Karole said as she walked back in my direction. I was standing just outside the rocky opening, looking down the long hill in the direction we would have to take. Unlike the bright sunny morning full of promise of a week earlier, the skies this day were ominous and dark. No light breeze today. The wind whipped through the trees, tugging at my clothes and throwing leaves and small twigs through the air. The wind was cool, almost cold, as it rushed down the side of the mountain to the desert plains below. Clouds moved rapidly through the darkened sky, no sign of the sun with the promise of rain in the air.

  “Summer storm,” I volunteered. “It is still early spring and it looks like mother nature is trying to get in one final shot before things turn dry for the summer. It will probably only last through the day, but it looks to be a fierce one. Is my bike still there?”

  She had wandered a bit ahead as I had taken a moment to look through the small pile of things that still remained on the floor from our hurried packing before setting out the previous week. While the bulk of my clothes should still be a couple of hours down the trail, I was able to find a clean and intact T-shirt, and one of Pat’s long sleeve shirts that would fit, if a bit loosely. With the breeze I decided I wanted a bit more clothing, although the heavy winter jackets that lay on the ground would be too warm. Karole, I noted, still wore only her simple clinging cloth, today in a light green. She seemed warm enough.

  “It’s lying on its side about fifty feet down the hill. From here it looks fine. No one has opened the carryall on the back, so I don’t think they followed you up here. With their losses, they probably lost interest in you when you had clearly gotten away.”

  I looked up at the sky and was rewarded with my first drop of rain. “We aren’t going to make the hike today, not unless we want to try and do this in a pouring rain. We might as well go back, and try in the morning. But we can at least get my bike out of there, one less chore for tomorrow. Maybe I can just ride it up here from there,” I suggested hopefully.

  “I don’t think so. It looks like something has leaked out of the vehicle. There is a large stain underneath it.”

  The gas had indeed leaked from the tank that had been on the downhill side. All the gas we had in this era was down at the campsite, assuming even that supply was still there. I walked down the slope, slipping a bit on the loose leaves and soft soil. I noted I was being pelted regularly with the heavy drops now. They were surprisingly cold. Straining, I managed to right the bike, harder than it seemed on the slope and with the bike’s awkward downhill orientation. Wrestling it level, I shook the frame. There was just a hint of gas remaining, not enough to get it started and run even the short distance up the hill.

  “The two of us can push it,” Karole surprised me from behind. As the rain began to fall heavily, we worked our way back up-slope and into the entrance of the cave. Fortunately it was a smaller trail bike, and not one of my heavy-duty trail machines. I was fairly well soaked by this time, but Karole’s clothes shed water as well as most dirt. At least her hair was plastered to her skull, so she had not escaped entirely.

  Inside the security of the cave we looked back outside. It was really coming down heavily now. No point in staying. I grabbed the bike, kicked the support and started pushing towards the complex entrance. Karole followed behind carrying most of the supplies my friends had left scattered around the floor in our hurry to get on the trail the previous week.

  -----------------------

  “This is better,” remarked Karole as we exited the cave the next day. We had taken the bike and supplies back downtime and stored them in the back cave with the other things she had stored there. We had spent the rest of the day talking and planning possible options. This morning we had decided to try again. Fortunately, both time eras were close to synch on time of day. It made things a bit easier.

  “You can still see where the ground is wet,” I replied. “It looks like it was quite a storm while it lasted.”

  But it was totally spent now. The skies were once again a clear blue, and the air was fresh and clear, washed clean of the dust and grime that the winds stirred up on the warm afternoons. The smell of wet pine and grass dominated our senses as we skirted around the large boulders at the cave entrance and started down the trail. We looked for sign of the wheel marks I had made with the bike on my escape from the campsite down below. Periodically, in areas that were sheltered by thick stands of trees, or conveniently placed boulders, some signs of the motorbikes tracks remained. The rain had all but wiped them out in many places, and in other areas the ground had been rocky enough that little sign could be found.

  It was slow going. We could have just headed directly toward the camp. I knew where it was. However, we had agreed it was important to follow my trail and see if we could find the revolver I had lost. While we found a couple of places I had dumped the bike, but the gun was nowhere to be seen. I had thought the rain might make finding it even easier, washing away any dirt and leaves leaving the bright metal exposed and shiny against the darker ground, but it didn’t work out that way.

  “Do you have any idea of when you last had it?” Karole asked, as we stopp
ed by a small trickle of water that cut across the trail we were following. It was cool and clear, and we rinsed the sweat from our face and arms as we talked.

  “I reloaded it down on the flat, near the base of that hill,” I said pointing down and to the left where the ravine cut between two hills about a half-mile ahead of us. “I came from the left side, and turned up this gully putting the hill between me and the attackers. After that it was all I could do to stay on the bike. I never had a need to use the gun again. When I got to the cave where I left the bike I realized the revolver was gone.”

  “Then we have probably passed it. Let’s keep looking until we get down there. I think we are going to have to come back up this same way and try again.”

  I nodded in agreement, but by now I had decided we weren’t going to find it. There were no ledges or sudden drops where I had been riding. We were in a “V” between two hills. If it had fallen from my holster as I rode, or when I dumped the bike, it couldn’t have gone far off the path. It should have been obvious. If we didn’t find it between here and the last place I had reloaded, then it was gone. Something had happened to it, and I wondered if it had been found by one of my attackers.

  The soil had turned sandy, and the warm sun was rapidly evaporating any moisture that had not already been absorbed into the soil. Still firm with captured moisture, the ground took our footprints as we walked. Now the grassy patches were further apart, and small rocks crunched under our shoes as we made our way down the ravine. Off to the side in the narrowest part of the “V” rushing water had cut a furrow in the ground as it made its way down the ravine during the previous day’s storm. There were still patches of water here and there in the low spots. The erosion was far enough off to the side of where I had driven the bike on my way up the mountain that it was virtually impossible I had lost the gun in a place where it could have been swept away or buried by the rushing water.

  A light breeze picked up as we continued down the path. It was an easy walk down the hill, but both of us concentrated on scanning our respective sides of the trail. As expected, no sign of the missing pistol materialized, and soon we had walked far enough I was sure we had passed the point where I had reloaded.

  “We’re wasting time now,” I said pointing to the meadow ahead of us. “I had it when I crossed this area, so it has to be back behind us, or someone found it already.”

  She stood with hands on her hips, looking ahead, and then turning to look back the way we had come. Frowning, she looked at me. “You’re sure?”

  “Positive. I remember coming across the meadow worrying there might by marshy spots where I could get bogged down. After clearing the far side, back there,” I said pointing the way we had come, “I started up the incline and decided it was far enough from my pursuers and firm enough I could pull up for a minute.”

  Disappointed, but accepting the reality, she turned and looked in the direction we had been heading. “And how far to where you had the camp from here?”

  I hadn’t made the trip under the best of conditions, and it was a different route than the way my friends and I had come into the valley. We had come down from the mountain a couple of ravines over. Still, it could only be two or three miles from where we stood, and I said so. It was mostly rolling hills from here on, but while the going was easy, the terrain served to hide the ground ahead. We could get very close before we saw the remains of the camp. The rolling ground might also hide an attack party, I reminded myself. I was still uncomfortable not being armed.

  Karole started off in the lead. I watched her go, thinking she was quite an incredible woman. Resourceful, intelligent, strong willed, and I admitted to myself, the fact that she was physically stunning didn’t hurt a bit. She was totally free from the odd coloring scheme that had surprised me when we first met. The result was a shapely, olive skinned, brown haired beauty, a few inches shorter than my six-foot frame. I found some almost forgotten stirrings coming to life, and realized I hadn’t been involved with anyone for a very long time. So far, at least, she hadn’t given any indication she might be attracted in return, although she was as open and friendly as anyone I had ever met.

  She stopped and looked back my way, sensing that I hadn’t started up behind her. “Problem?”

  “Ah er, no,” I stuttered, hurrying to catch up. I think I caught a fleeting grin as I approached, but she quickly turned and started walking again.

  With no need to concentrate on the search for the gun, we picked up the conversation from the previous evening. We still kept an open eye out for any sign of my attackers, but nothing materialized. I had told her of my frustration trying to crack the secrets of the time complex, and my reluctant decision to involve my government. She was immediately resistant, and in agreement with my earlier fears. She also was not comfortable with turning over the complex to the whims of unpredictable politicians.

  “We agree then,” she began, as we walked side by side, “No governments. There is no way for us to know how they would abuse the matrix if they can figure it out. This is something that would have been better to have never existed.”

  It was an attitude I had heard before. Some secrets should not be discovered. They should be hidden. I had always been uncomfortable with this philosophy. Normally I would have disagreed, pointing out the narrow-mindedness of such an outlook. Surprisingly, I found myself somewhat in agreement in this instance. Perhaps recent events had colored my thinking. “But, unfortunately, time travel is possible. Even if there are some restrictions and limitations we don’t understand, it exists. So it will be discovered, sometime. Then what?”

  “If that happens, we can only hope that mankind has matured enough to be responsible in its use. But it is not our current problem. What we have is something that has been dropped on us by others. We are not ready as a race. We don’t understand it. It would almost certainly be exploited for the good of whomever controlled it.”

  “Okay, okay,” I said, holding up my hands to ward off further argument. “You are preaching to the choir. I was never comfortable when I considered that course of action before, which was one reason why I brought my friends on the trip. I had hoped they would offer another solution. What about the idea they had about a group of professionals we gather together?”

  “But it would have to be secret. Somehow we would have to get people together who would be willing to dedicate themselves to this project, accept the risks. There will be risks, real ones, and the people we choose must not give in to sharing such a fabulous secret, with anyone!”

  “I can see a problem with the number of people involved. How do that many keep a secret?” And ‘when’ do we establish ourselves?” I asked. This was where we hadn’t come to agreement. We wanted to work together, but exactly how this all was to work remained to be hammered out. “I still think we should set up our primary activity out of my time.”

  “Why then? It is archaic and quaint. The technology is severely limited in the 21st century. Look how limited your medical technology is. Had you relied on the care available during your time, you would have died. I don’t think I could live in such a primitive era.”

  “If we could go to the time when you were born, I’d agree,” I offered. “But we cannot. You checked as we passed through the complex, didn’t you? Where you live now has advantages, but none of us are native to that era, and your existence there is fragile. It would be hard to set up and recruit additional people. You admit that even now you prefer to retain a very low profile. You cannot afford to have your identity looked at too closely.”

  “And why not my base, all the way down-time? It has room, we can make it habitable, setup all the equipment we need, and know that there will be no interference.”

  “We should maintain your base. I think that we need at least two locations. We need to keep the downtime base for all the reasons you originally planned it. We will even need to greatly expand it. But we also need to have a place to live and seek additional people. Besides, people want a home,
more than just a cave. They can work for months at the offsite, but they need to know they have a home waiting, and a place to go that is familiar and comfortable. Otherwise it won’t work.”

  She nodded her head in agreement. She had been alone and cut off herself, and knew the importance of home. She couldn’t argue the logic, but remained uncomfortable.

  “But it is so ancient and primitive,” she muttered.

  I would continue to work on her about setting up operations in my time. Maybe it was selfish, but it was the only timeline where we had a fully established identity and knew the ins and outs of the society. It didn’t cut us off from her maintaining her identity uptime, in fact that would be very important to retain access to advanced technology. We also had agreed that several full time establishments would be likely in other times as well, as we tried to understand what was significant about the handful of eras accessed by the time complex.

  Something popped into my mind. “Where, and I guess when do you think the time center is located?” I asked suddenly. “I mean, it’s always there, from whenever we return, always in synch, but without any temporal or physical references.”

  “I have wondered the same. Maybe it is in space, which would explain the strong ‘airlock’ we cannot open. But maybe that is just a very secure entrance. As to when, I have a theory that. . .”

  I interrupted, pointing as we crested the small hill we had been working our way over to see the remains of the campground about two hundred meters away. The river where Lisa and Pat had died was raging further on, swollen with water from the rains of the previous day. Discussion forgotten for the moment, we picked up our pace, eager to see what we would find.