The Time Change Trilogy-Complete Collection

by Alex Myers

  “Of course it was.”

  “Of course? Who are you and what do you know about my time travel?”

  “I am Brent Hopwood, and I really am a doctor, physics, just not a medical doctor.”

  “Why the hell did you bring me here?” Jack paced the deck.

  “Jack, you brought yourself here. The boat pulled up big as you please with all the lights blazing and docked itself. Our guards watched the whole thing. No one got off or on your boat.”

  “Our guards, what do you mean our guards, this is the SAC Factory—do you work here?”

  “It’s not the SAC plant anymore. It’s the World Headquarters of Sacco. And yes, I told you I work here.” He was almost serene.

  “Something seems wrong with the lighting here.”

  This…” Brent said, looking around at the sky, “is not dusk, it’s dawn.”

  “Is this the original factory?” Jack was pointing to the place that had been a nightmare to him only a few months ago in his timeline. It was there on the James River, and it felt like an ugly throwback compared to the modern buildings that surrounded it.

  “It’s more a historic link to the past versus a working facility. What you see here is just a facade, everything inside has been gutted and updated.” Next to the historic building was a forty story gleaming glass tower that held the Sacco Corporate offices. Up, back, and down the river it was solid factory.

  “What’s that?” Jack asked, pointing to billowing smokestacks on the other side of the James River.

  Brent followed Jack’s pointing. “That’s our nuclear power plant, the only one privately owned in the world, and the rest of that is our chemical plant.”

  “That’s Hog Island, a waterfowl refuge.”

  “Not in this timeline.” Brent said shaking his head. “Let’s talk about your father.”

  “What concern is that of mine? And what do you mean I’m the only one who can stop him? You never answered the question, what does it have to do with me?”

  “I think your father’s gone back to become president, either that or kill the president.”

  “Barrack Obama?” Jack asked.

  “There is no Barrack Obama. That’s from your other timeline. Have you not noticed there are almost no black people?”

  “Come on, be serious.” Jack rolled his eyes.

  Brent was not smiling. “How long have you been back? Three months? You mean to tell me you haven’t noticed?”

  “I haven’t watched TV. I’ve seen a couple of movies, but I haven’t gone anywhere in public. Man, give me a break, I haven’t noticed. So there’s no Beyoncé or Denzel Washington? No Oprah?”

  “Have you not watched any sports?”

  “Tennis, a little hockey.”

  “Well, of course you wouldn’t have noticed.” Brent gave a half smile.

  “What happened to everyone?”

  “First, around 1900 there was a devastating plague. It had about an 89 percent mortality rate. They called it the ‘Black Scourge’.”

  “Blacks only?” Jack asked.

  “They called it the ‘Black Scourge’, but it affected blacks and Asians. Many more Asians died than blacks, but their mortality rate wasn’t as high. It also affected the Native Americans who, along with the Asians, were just a side casualty of the pestilence. The races never recovered, their vitality was gone, they had lost their spirit, and then they were legislated into obscurity.” Brent walked to the ship’s rail and looked out into the black void of the river.

  “How could there be race specific disease?” Jack asked.

  “There have been cases where it’s happened before. There were white people who got sickle-cell anemia; it’s a one in a million mutation, but it was enough to bet on.”

  Jack walked up to the rail next to Brent. Looking away from the chemical plant, he saw the dark river stretch away into the lightening sky. “What do you mean ‘bet on’?”

  “The outbreak was not a naturally occurring event, it had help.”

  “Are you saying it was manmade? Who?”

  “It was several people, but the man who gave the direct order to let loose the plague was President Garrett Fairbanks.”

  “I’ve never heard of him,” Jack said.

  “He’s on Mount Rushmore right between Jefferson and Wilson. He was the two-term president right before Teddy Roosevelt.”

  Jack narrowed his eyes; he could feel the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. Bullies and bad guys, his heart always went out to the underdog and he always felt the need to right the wrong. “Why is he on Mount Rushmore?”

  “Because he came in right after the infection spread and nearly ran its course under the auspices of trying to help. He did the exact thing it took to make it worse. He rounded up all of the survivors and gathered them in what he called infection camps. Once they were gathered together, he re-dosed them all. He made a big public show of trying to help. He devoted a ton of government money and fed stories to the press, but in reality, he was signing their death warrants. Between the bad nutrition, the close proximity to people with the disease, and a constant reinfection of the virus, the mortality rate inside the camps was an incredible 98 percent. They were called ‘death camps’ but instead of Fairbanks being vilified, he was made into a hero.”

  “Does everyone know this happened?”

  “Of course not, even people on his own staff didn’t know. Here are the people we know for certain were aware of the contagion: of course, Fairbanks, Teddy Roosevelt, Woodrow Wilson, and your father.”

  “You mean my father’s already changed the course of history? How do you know that?” Jack asked.

  “We have a way of detecting any variations from the original timelines. Originally your great, great, grandfather William was there.”

  “All these different timelines are starting to hurt my head. I’m confused, the father from this timeline?”

  “Yes, he went back about two months ago.”

  “Right after I got back?”

  “Yes, we have records that have him showing up as early as 1877. He is clearly seen in the crowd at the Baltimore and Potomac Railroad Station in 1881—the date James Garfield was shot and killed.”

  “That’s not the way I remember it at all. I remember Garfield didn’t die right away, he died months later after much suffering. As much the fault of bad doctoring as him being chock-full of infection. Wait a minute though; those two things should’ve changed after I went back in time. We had already synthesized antibiotics. And certainly the research we had done was conclusive on the use of antiseptic surgery practices.”

  “It never got that far. In this timeline, James Garfield was killed instantly, but the man named Charles Guteau did not kill him. He was killed by a Native American named Billy Blackfeather.”

  CHAPTER 9

  They walked through thick steel doors; Jack could see the rubber gaskets that were used to seal the room. The room was as wide as a gymnasium and seemed to be infinitely long. “What floor are we on?”

  “We are approximately one hundred fifty feet below the surface.”

  “How can you do that, the James River, the water table?”

  “We are below the James River. This extends all the way to the power plant under the river.”

  “That’s about two miles?”

  “One point seven.” They entered mid-point in the fifty-foot high room. The giant room was incredibly well lit and filled with pipes, tanks, and valves. In the distance, at least a half a mile away, twenty vats the size of swimming pools were filled with red glowing liquid. The air had a desert-like aridness to it, with the sweet smell of piñon wood and sulfur. Brent noticed Jack sniffing the air. “That’s the chemicals we use to manipulate the lava.”

  There were dozens of white-lab-coated workers wearing hard hats, carrying clipboards, and checking countless displays and readouts. The hum coming from the room was a white noise that filled his ears and made Jack pinch his nose and blow.

  “You’r
e feeling the positive pressure in this room, just one of the ways we prevent leaks. Your ears will adjust in a little while. Follow me.”

  Jack followed Brent down the scaffolding stairs until they reached the room’s floor. Jack was surprised to find that it felt like rubber, like a sport-court and not cement.

  “It’s perfectly sealed—the floor,” Brent said pointing. “It’s just yet another way we keep it dry in here. It also cuts down on the noise.”

  “What is all this?” Jack asked.

  “This is where we generate the power to time travel.”

  “Do all these people know?”

  “Know about time travel? Of course not. The real heart of the operation is a level below this. Most of the time, the power we generate here is used to supply the grid to half the Eastern Seaboard. Everyone just thinks we have the most efficient nuclear power plant in the world. There are less than ten people who really know what’s going on here.” Brent led the way.

  “Another level below? Are you all down here to safeguard against a nuclear attack?”

  “No, for one thing, there is a caldera down here and we are down this far to tap into it, but it’s asteroids, one in particular that’s coming quickly. That’s the biggest part of why we’re sending you back.” Brent was holding another large, secured steel door that branched off to the side of the room.

  “Before I go any further, I want your promise that you didn’t do anything to my sister.” Jack said.

  “I promise. Hold on.” Brent murmured into his sleeve. He listened in a nearly invisible earpiece. “Your sister is back online. What’s that?” he spoke into his sleeve, “Ok, thanks.” He turned back to Jack. “She’s somewhere in or near Norfolk. She’s making an all-out attack on our servers. She was trying to access our security cameras. Sounds to me like she’s trying to find you.”

  “And you know all this how?”

  “Because I have the best computer guy in the world working for me.”

  “Steve ‘The Spirit’?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes. He’s fifteen years old and lives with his grandmother in Mumbai, India.”

  “That’s who you were just talking to on your sleeve?” Jack asked.

  “Yes, but it wasn’t my sleeve, it was this.” he pulled up his sleeve and showed Jack what looked like a computer chip on his wrist. “I’m connected to everything with this and I have a cochlea implant. Please believe me about your sister, I’m on your side, I always have been.”

  “It’s just that you work for my father and he’s kind of an a-hole.”

  Brent laughed a big toothy grin. “That he is. I want to remind you that like I said, I don’t work for your father. As a matter of fact, I was put in my position by your wife, Miss. Frances. After your great, great grandfather William’s involvement with Woodrow Wilson, Frances appointed my dad to the company and gave us the purse strings.”

  The airtight steel door opened into an elevator shaft. Brent stepped up to a retinal scanner, was scanned, and the doors opened with the sound of a watertight seal opening.

  “So your father hates me as much as he hates you. I know I’m the token Negro here but that’s okay, because I’m the token Negro wherever I go. I was installed here to make sure this company was never a part of discrimination again.”

  “Negro, it sounds strange to hear you say that.”

  “There never was the black power movement or anything like that and there are only about twenty thousand or so of us around. We’ve been doing our best not to get killed, much less come up with a politically correct name for ourselves.” The elevator doors closed and Brent pressed the only button, making the elevator start its descent. “Maybe the third time will be the charm for us.”

  “Third time what?”

  “Time traveling. I know you don’t remember and that’s the biggest problem. The first time through you didn’t do so well. You tried to change things politically and you messed things up far worse than last time.”

  “I went back before last time?”

  “You went back to 1854 and were there until 1855. You were killed fighting with John Brown, the abolitionist. The Civil War came sooner, the fighting was bloodier, and there was no Lincoln to help bring the country together. We went through the fighting with Franklin Pierce and Stephen Douglas.”

  “I thought Stephen Douglas was a civil rights hero?”

  “That was this last time, the time before that he was proslavery. He was a political kite, blowing freely in the public-opinion breeze. I think he always had darkness in his heart and it pushed his iniquitous morality in the wrong direction.”

  “Well, that timeline must’ve been a debacle if the last time through I kill nearly every black and Asian person in the world and the first time was worse. That’s some pretty heavy guilt to drop on me, by the way. I’m the one who killed the Cosby kids.”

  “Do you not have any black friends?” The elevator came to a stop and once again, the doors popped a seal when they opened.

  Brent stepped through the opening and Jack followed. “Sure, I do. Why do you ask?”

  “It’s just because when you give examples of a blackless world, all you come up with are entertainment figures.”

  “Don’t take me down that road, there’s too much else to talk about, like I’ve time traveled twice?”

  “Every act we do in our lives every single day has so many ramifications for the future. Can you even begin to fathom what kind of changes were brought forth last time? Nearly three quarters of a million people who died in the Civil War didn’t die this time around. And that number did include many blacks and a great number of American Indians who did die the first time—not your first time, the original timeline.”

  “Why didn’t you prepare me to go back?”

  “I did, you had everything you needed to get the job done. I even allowed you to take your phone through—that saved your bacon, I’m sure you realize.”

  “I don’t remember any of it.”

  “Maybe it was the car accident. I’m not sure you were supposed to be with me the whole day, but you insisted on going to work at your school one last day. I certainly didn’t count on you getting arrested and nearly dying in that storm.”

  “I knew it was you there that day.”

  “Of course, I tried to save you, but I ended up being the one who almost killed you.”

  “What timeline is it that I remember? Where there was a Civil War and Lincoln was president?”

  “You know the original timeline—it’s the one you grew up with, the one you are ingrained with—Lincoln, the Civil War, the Gettysburg Address. First time around you tried to change things by appealing to public sentiment, the last time you tried to change things economically with your inventions. The last trip was the only one where my grandfather Hercules reconciled with my grandmother.”

  “I told you I thought you were Hercules,” Jack said.

  “No, but even I recognize the similarities. The fruit really doesn’t fall far from the tree. Remember that in dealing with your dad. I can remember my daddy talking with my grandparents about getting back together on the day of your wedding.”

  “I’m happy things worked out.”

  “Things seemed to be on the right track, folks were quite happy until people starting dying. You accomplished the objective you volunteered for, you got my family together, and you even triumphed in another—helping your father gain complete control of this company.” Brent’s face looked disappointed.

  “I volunteered?”

  “That’s complicated.” Brent looked away.

  “Complicated? It’s either a yes or no answer.”

  “It’s yes and no. You volunteered but under false pretenses. You went back to save millions of lives, but your father wanted you to go back to gain control of the Sacco Corporation and make it more powerful.”

  “But my father was dead.”

  “That was in the last timeline not the first, not the original timeline. He was very m
uch alive. Your mother wasn’t, and I’m not sure how much that drove you back.”

  Jack’s stomach was in a knot, none of this was making sense and none of it felt good. “I’m not understanding how this works.”

  “It doesn’t make complete sense to me either. I have associates who facilitate the time travel, and they don’t completely understand the process.” Brent shrugged.

  “So they control the time travel but they don’t understand it?”

  “Do you have to understand the inner workings of an automobile in order to drive it? Assemble a telephone in order to use it?”

  “Well, yes I would,” Jack said.

  “That’s you Jack, most people aren’t like that. There have been attempts to reverse engineer this technology and it is beyond us.”

  “Who are these people?”

  “What do you want me to say? They are Atlantans?” Brent asked.

  “No, not necessarily, just tell me the truth.”

  “No, they are Atlantans. They crafted their own doom; they not only sunk their world but sealed their own fate.”

  “What do they do with this time travel ability?” Jack asked.

  “When you go back to make these time changes you create different timelines or rifts. My associates are able to access these different timelines. See the changes.”

  “They can they create something they don’t understand?” Jack asked.

  “They didn’t invent it. They’re not inventors, they’re more like librarians. On second thought, maybe they are more like guardians, guardians of knowledge. I say guardians because they certainly don’t share their information.”

  “When you said timelines, are you talking about parallel universes?”

  “Yes and no again. Yes, they are, but we don’t have access to them. All we can do is observe them. We cannot communicate. We cannot interact. That’s how we know when there has been a change in the timestream—like your dad.”

  “So why did you allow my father to go back?” Jack asked.

  “We didn’t, or I didn’t.” Brent said calmly. “He did this on his own.”