The Amulet (The Time Chronicles Book 1)
Page 6
CHAPTER FIVE
2067
President Wooten had just awakened after a welldeserved night’s sleep. His wife, Helen, had been up for hours. In their forty-plus years of marriage, John Wooten could not remember a morning in which he arose before his wife. If she’d have wished, she could easily have gotten the early bird, long before it got the worm. Luckily for the birds and unfortunately for the worms, she was a vegetarian.
“Good morning, sunshine,” Helen said, causing the President to open his eyes more fully. “Barney told me I could let you sleep in a little longer today. He said that President Reyes (the Canadian President) and Prime Minister Eagleton (of the New United Kingdom) wished to meet with you for lunch. Until that time,” she smiled, “you’re all mine.”
John rolled over in bed and smiled at his wife as she combed her hair. “What do you plan to do with me?” he asked, playfully.
“I haven’t decided yet;” she said, “but, it may involve some calisthenics. I’ve told the Secret Service to leave us alone for two hours and I’ve got a midget warming up in the closet. Are you up for it?”
John loved his wife very much. He particularly loved her wit. You could never tell what was going to come out of her mouth at any given moment. “Did you ever renew my Viagra prescription?” he asked.
Helen turned toward the bed and giggled. “I bought a whole case of it,” she said, “The midget’s none-too-happy about it either, I can tell you that.”
“Well,” the President said, “then stop brushing your hair and let’s light this candle!”
Helen giggled again, put down her brush and sauntered over to the bed. “I’ll get the midget,” she said.
“Leave him in the closet,” John replied, “I want you all to myself.”
Helen lay down on the bed beside her husband and smiled. She knew there would be no sexual relations because her husband was only 1 month post-operative after a four-way bypass. He was not to do anything strenuous. Nevertheless, the two loved to joke about it and hold onto each other in bed as much as possible. Their relationship was unshakably close.
After a few minutes of mutual joy, the phone rang. Helen rolled her eyes and rolled off the bed. John reached over and picked up the phone. “Barney, if this isn’t important, I’m going to have you cleaning the toilets at the White House when we get home.”
The President could hear his Chief of Staff laughing on the other end. “I’m sorry, sir,” he said, “but your…friend, is calling for you again.”
President Wooten understood instantly. He rolled over and swung his legs off the bed, coming to a seated position on the edge. “Oh,” he said, “Very well, Barney. Put him through.”
The President’s “friend” was a man still unknown to him; at least, in the sense that he’d never met him personally. It was all a bit cloak and dagger, but this man, and the information he provided, had come in very handy over the past couple of years. Truth be told, he still had no idea who the man actually was. The Secret Service had been unable to identify him and the CIA had been unable to trace his phone.
It all started in August of 2065, some two years prior, when he received a rather interesting, but odd phone call. It was just before his historic trip to Camp David to meet with the Chinese leader, Xu Ling and the Pakistani leader, Akram Sharif. World tensions were at a fever pitch and both leaders were threatening nuclear confrontation.
The CIA, the Secret Service and the NSA are still in the dark as to how the call got throughunscreened, and they’ve never been able to trace its source; yet, the mystery man not only got through, he spoke with the President for over an hour.
“Good morning, Mr. President,” the caller began, “I realize this is a little unusual, taking a call that has not been screened; but I hope to make it worth your while.”
“Who is this?” the President asked, not particularly startled by the call.
“I have no desire to conceal my ide ntity, Mr. President; but, I would very much appreciate you listening to me for a moment before I do so.”
John Wooten was not a china doll. He’d been through hell in his life. He had no problem risking a moment of inconvenience. “Very well,” he answered, “Go ahead.” The President sat down at his desk and leaned back, sure this call would lead to nothing.
“Thank you for your patience, Mr. President,” the caller began, “I have information that I believe could be very helpful to you in dealing with the Chinese and Pakistani leaders at Camp David. My information comes from a source that would surprise you a great deal.”
“What source is that?” John Wooten asked.
“Mr. President, I will tell you who I am, as well as the source of my information; but first, I need to prove my credibility to you.”
ThePresident interrupted. “Whoever you are, I’d just appreciate you getting to the point.”
“Mr. President, please forgive me for being so blunt, but it is the only way you will believe me,” he said, “I know that when you were nine years old, you stole your older brother’s coin collection, worth $300, and used it to buy an ice cream cone. When you were in college, you had a onenight stand with one of your future wife’s sorority sisters the day after she accepted your proposal.”
The President’s eyes widened. He hadn’t told any of these things to anyone, not even his wife of 43 years.
The caller continued. “I am also aware of the words you spoke to your wife, Helen, as soon as you knew you had won the Presidency in 2060. You said, ‘Now, maybe we can get somebody to fix the damned toilet!’
“I can also tell you what you whispered to God, moments before they anesthetized you before your fourway bypass last month. You did not speak aloud. You simply prayed in silence and said, ‘Dear Lord, if you decide to take me today, I ask only that you take care of my treasure.’ By that, you meant, your wife, Helen.”
Now, the President was become alarmed. At first, he assumed this person was running some kind of
sophisticated surveillance, but this information could not have come from any source but a mind reader, and the President didn’t believe in mind readers. “Okay,” he said, “You’ve got my attention. Who is this, and what do you want?”
“Mr. President, what I’m about to tell you will sound unbelievable. When I first heard it, I didn’t believe it either.
“Mr. President, my n ame is Xylon. I am 25 years old and I was born in the year 2100, 35 years from now. I have come back from the year 2125 in order to stop the start of World War III, which, if things are allowed to continue unaltered, will begin on the morning of August 12, 2070.”
Obviously, the President considered that he was speaking to a lunatic; but, before he could reply, Xylon added, “Mr. President, I promise, what I’m telling you is true. I’m sure the Secret Service has been doing everything in their power to locate the source of this call. They will be unsuccessful, because the device I’m using to communicate with you, called a Compact, or Comp, in my time, is a technology unknown to them. I would be more than happy to show you my technology personally, sir.”
The President did not believe this man was from the future; however, he did know things that no one on this earth could possibly have known. He wanted a few questions answered before he would even consider this man’s statements. “You told me you’d tell me your source, Xylon. What is it?”
“It is you, Mr. President,” Xylon replied, “As I said, I’m from your future. I read your autobiography. You wrote it in 2069, one year after leaving the Presidency. You entitled it, ‘Merely a Man!’ You said you decided on the title after you got out of the shower and took a good look in the mirror at the man they called, ‘the Great Conciliator’. You said it humbled you and reminded you that you were not special, just occupying a special job in a special nation.”
Wow! This is too much to take in. How could this man know all these things? It’s utterly impossible! “Xylon,” he finally said, “I’m willing to listen to anything you have to say and any advice you’re wil
ling to give me. If you’ll call again at 8pm tonight, I can give you a couple hours of my time.”
“That will be more than enough, I should think, Mr. President. Oh, and sir,” Xylon added with exuberance, “I want you to know that this is the greatest honor of my life. You are truly one of the great men in history and I’m humbled by the opportunity to help you stop this coming catastrophe.”
John Wooten couldn’t explain his own feelings: not even to himself. What this man was saying was hogwash, of course; yet, something about the tone of his voice and the manner in which he spoke left room in his mind for the possibility that the man may be telling the truth. There was no harm in listening to him. “Very well, Xylon,” he said, “I’ll speak with you tonight at eight. Goodbye.”
“Goodbye, Mr. President.”
Later that night, Xylon informed the President of everything he could find concerning the coming world war and all the historical considerations involved in its creation. While his Comp had plenty of information, Xylon did not consider most of it to be trustworthy. For the most part, he used the knowledge he’d gained from Mick Jagger.
The President used the information to broker peace between China and Pakistan, adding a few more building blocks to his already profound international stature. Since that time, Xylon and the President had spoken frequently on the phone, though they had not yet met personally.
“Xylon,” President Wooten said with a broad smile, “How are you, my friend? May I assume you’re calling to impart some timely wisdom before my talks with Canada and the New United Kingdom?”
“Mr. President,” Xylon said with urgency, “I must see you at once! I have information you need to be made aware of and I think it’s important to speak with you in person.”
The President was mildly surprised. “Very well,” he said, “I suppose it’s about time we met anyway. Where are you?”
“I’m on a park bench on the mall,” Xylon replied, “Where would you like me to go?”
“What are you wearing?” the President asked.
“Blue jeans and a light-blue sports shirt,” he answered, not quite understanding the purpose of the question.
“Stay right where you are,” the President said, “I’ll send the Secret Service to pick you up. When they ask you your name, just say, ‘Xylon’.”
“Yes, sir,” he replied.
30 minutes later, Xylon found himself seated on a couch in the Oval Office, waiting for the President to arrive. As he looked around the storied symbol of American democracy, he was struck by its unpretentiousness and humble accoutrements.
On a small table behind the President’s desk were a number of photographs of what Xylon assumed were family. There were portraits and busts of many of his successors, including Lincoln, Kennedy, Reagan and Irvington, but nothing that would draw attention to any of his extraordinary accomplishments. It simply looked like the working office of a very busy and important man.
When the door opened, Xylon was slightly startled, having been lost in thought. He quickly stood and faced the incoming President, almost comically standing at attention, as if he was a first-year cadet at West Point—not that he was aware of such a place.
President Wooten entered the room alone and in a quite relaxed manner, closing the door behind him as he entered. “Do I have the pleasure of addressing the mysterious Mr. Xylon?” he said, extending his hand in welcome.
Xylon quickly realized how inappropriate his posture had become and relaxed a bit, reaching out with a smile and shaking the President’s hand. “Mr. President,” he responded, “I’ve told you, it’s just…Xylon. In my time, no one is called mister.”
“Oh, that’s right,” the President said, “I keep forgetting.” Then, gesturing to one of the plush leather couches resting upon a large, round carpet of the Great Seal of the United States, he added, “Please, Xylon, have a seat. Can I get you something to drink?”
The two men seated themselves almost simultaneously beside one another as Xylon replied, “No, thank you, Mr. President. I’m fine.”
“Well,” the President said, “It’s good to finally meet you. I must say, even though you told me you were only 25 years old, I always pictured you as more…middle-aged, I suppose.”
“Thank you, Mr. President,” Xylon replied with a slig ht blush, “This is a great honor for me. Even in my time, you are considered a great man.”
The President chuckled a bit and replied, “I wish the people of my time felt the same way.” (The President, while never truly believing Xylon came from the future, extending him the respect of not acknowledging it.)
“Mr. President,” Xylon said with some urgency, “I’ll come right to the point. The geopolitical movements that are now taking place are the skeletal backbone of the events that will lead to a nuclear holocaust in the year 2070. If something is not done to ease the coming tensions, and soon, I’m afraid there will be no stopping it.”
“You have been very helpful in the past, Xylon;” the President responded, a much more somber expression than before, “but, I can’t base my decisions on information I receive from a man who claims to be a time traveler. From my perspective, time travel is the stuff of science fiction.”
Xylon reached to his right and grabbed his small, canvas bag, resting it on his lap. He reached inside and pulled out his Comp, holding it up for the President to see. “This, Mr. President, is what we call, a Comp. It is technology that will not be invented for another fifty years.”
The President ogled the item with furrowed brow.
Xylon lifted the Comp to eye-level and pushed a button. At once, a three-dimensional screen projected into the air in front of him. It was about 12 by 12 inches in size, light-blue and displayed some sort of icon in the middle. More to the point…it looked solid. It didn’t look like a hologram that you could see through.
Xylon sat the Comp down and looked over to the President who was sitting with his mouth agape. “Wow!” was all John Wooten said, “How can it hold the image in midair?”
“I have no idea,” Xylon said, “Here, look.” He then reached up with his hand and extended the image on all sides with a simple flick of a finger. He then tapped the area of the icon and a plethora of smaller icons appeared.
“I’m sure you recognize the general design as that of the desktop icons you have onyour own computers,” Xylon said, “This is just a more sophisticated piece of technology. If I was in my time, I could do virtually anything with this. With current satellite and transformer technology, however, I can only access a limited amount of data.”
“What can you do with it?” the President asked.
At once, Xylon picked up his Comp and looked around the immediate area. In front of him was a coffee table adorned with a bowl of candy, a flower arraignment and a small statue of an American eagle.
He pointed the Comp at the statue and a beam of light spread out, surrounding the statue for a moment. Then, with a flourish, rapidly drew his finger over the still hovering screen of icons, punching one, sliding the other. After a final poke at the floating technology, he held the Comp out in front of him and waited.
The President had no idea what Xylon was doing, but waited patiently for what he began to assume would knock his socks off. Moments later, he was proven correct.
Now, another beam projected from Xylon’s Comp, only this one didn’t look like light; it looked more patent and full. As they both looked on: the President with wondering eyes and Xylon with a smile of assuredness, the statue of the eagle began to form on the floor out of thin air. The whole thing took about 2 minutes.
When Xylon was sure the replication was complete, he turned off his Comp, reached down and picked up the newly-created statue and handed it to the President.
President Wooten took the statue and held it out for inspection, alternately glancing from it to the original that still rested on the table. “It’s identical in every way! It’s even made out of marble! I’ve seen 3-D scanners; but, nothing that holds a cand
le to this!”
Xylon reached up and began sliding his finger over more icons. Suddenly, the screen was filled with images of the President standing on the White House lawn. He was standing in front of a podium, flank on either side by President Reyes of Canada and Prime Minister Eagleton of the New United Kingdom. “This, Mr. President, is footage that will not be taken until tomorrow morning when you announce that Canada will unite with the United States and form 5 new states. It is a seminal moment in American history.”
Now, John Wooten was truly aghast. This could not be possible. The images he was now watching would not take place until the next morning. It was already planned, right down to which side either head-of-state would take at his flank. The President even recognized the blue, pinstriped suit Helen had already laid out for him to wear.
The President got up and approached the still airborne screen. He reached up to touch it and was surprised to find that it was, indeed, solid. “How does it float in the air?” he asked, mouth opened with wonder.
“It is able to float because it doesn’t actually exist, at least, not in the way you think,” Xylon said in explanation, getting a real charge out of astounding the President, “It has no mass. The tactile feel you sense is a warping of the air around it. The computer rearranges the molecular structure of the surrounding oxygen, hydrogen and nitrogen particles and temporarily forms a structure that can be manipulated by touch.” He smiled and added, “Actually, I can do the same thing by voice command; I just thought you might find that a little…over the top, as it were.”
The President reseated himself and gave a slight snicker to his own thoughts. “Well,” he said, “I’m sold. I don’t know how you managed to travel through time; but, it’s clear to me that you have: either that or I’ve completely lost all sense of reality; and if that’s the case, I’m sure the men in white coats will be here to take me to the booby-hatch soon enough.” He turned to Xylon and urged him to continue. “What did you need to talk to me about?”