Valentines Day
Page 1
Table of Contents
Valentines Day
Dedication
The Time Patrol
Where The Time Patrol Ended Up This Particular Day: 14 February
But Before Valentines Day, and After They Came Back From Nine Eleven
The Mission Briefing
The Missions Phase I
The Possibility Palace
The Missions Phase II
The Possibility Palace
The Missions Phase III
The Space Between
The Mission Phase IV
The Space Between
The Mission Phase V
The Return
The Possibility Palace
Our History Afterward
About the Author
ALL SERIES IN READING ORDER
Hallows Eve
Where The Time Patrol Ended Up This Particular Day: 31 October
Valentines Day
TIME PATROL
BOB MAYER
Dedication
To The Dreamers Of The Night
Who Make Them A Reality In The Day
“The point in history at which we stand is full of promise and danger. The world will either move forward toward unity and widely shared prosperity—or it will move apart.”
President Franklin D. Roosevelt.
The Time Patrol
There once was a place called Atlantis. Ten thousand years ago it was attacked by a force known only as the Shadow, on the same date, over the course of six years. The seventh attack led to Atlantis being obliterated to the point where it is just a legend, but our ancestors managed to survive.
There are many Earth timelines. The Shadow comes from one of those alternate timelines (or perhaps more than one). It is attacking our timeline by punching bubbles into our past that last no more than twenty-four hours. In each bubble, the Shadow is trying to change our history and cause a time ripple.
By itself, a single time ripple can be dealt with, corrected, and absorbed. But a significant time ripple that is unchecked can become a Cascade. That changes things, but the timeline still survives.
Six Cascades can combine to become a seventh event: a Time Tsunami.
That would be the end of our timeline and our existence.
To achieve its goal, the Shadow attacks six points in time simultaneously, the same date in different years.
The Time Patrol’s job is to keep our timeline intact.
The Time Patrol sends an agent back to each of those bubbles in those six years to keep history the same.
This is one of those dates: 14 February.
Popularly known as Valentines Day
Where The Time Patrol Ended Up This Particular Day: 14 February
“You can accomplish more with a smile, a handshake, and a gun than you do with just a smile and handshake.” Al Capone
Chicago, 14 February 1929 A.D.
It was not the best of times; the Time Patrol didn’t go to those.
As usual, it was one of the worst of times to travel back to: grey weather, snowing outside, and Ivar was sitting at a table in a diner across from a psychopathic killer. Add to that the likelihood of seven deaths occurring later this morning if history played out as it should. And that was the reason Ivar was here; and now.
Ivar had never had a ‘best of time’ in his time traveling experiences when one adds up his trips, which include being fitted for cement shoes by Meyer Lansky in 1929 and getting caught in the Presidential Palace in the midst of the coup in 1973 Chile.
The psycho across the table spoke. “They call me Strings.”
Ivar checked the implanted download but there was no mention of a Strings or an aka ‘Strings’ amongst either Al Capone’s or Bugs Moran’s crews in 1929. Not even a hint.
The man who called himself Strings reached into a pocket and pulled out a garrote consisting of a two foot long length of piano wire with a piece of wood on each end. “One of my strings,” he explained. “I’m up to eighteen now. So that’s the, what you call it, plurals, of string. Strings. I like doing my work close and personal like.”
“Okay,” Ivar said, following his personal rule of never disagree with a man who just claimed to have murdered 18 people. By hand. With a garrote. “If Capone is out of town, why did I need the note?”
“I needed it,” Strings said. “To make sure you is who you say you is.”
It is 1929 A.D. The world’s population is 2,070,000,000, ie 2 billion, seventy million; Mussolini signs the Lateran Treaty making Vatican City a sovereign state and then uses the positive press to adopt a more aggressive foreign policy of trying to rebuild the Roman Empire (it doesn’t turn out well); the 1st Academy Awards are given out and Wings wins Best Picture in an Oscar ceremony that lasts a total of 15 minutes, speeches and all; the French begin work building a Big Wall to stop the Germans, called the Maginot Line—it didn’t work as the Germans would simply go around it via the Low Countries (details are important); the Graf Zeppelin flies around the world in 21 days; A Farewell to Arms is published; Stalin sends Trotsky into exile and consolidates his power—it’s estimated that eventually his regime kills 50 million (non-wartime death) Russians; the Dow Jones peaks at 381.17 before crashing on Black Tuesday (a date Ivar had visited on a previous mission), which it will not reach again until 1954, as 1929 turns out to be one of the worst years in recorded history; aka the worst of times.
“You good with that piece you’re packing?” Strings indicated the .45 semi-automatic in Ivar’s shoulder holster.
“I can shoot,” Ivar hedged.
“How about a Chicago typewriter?”
“A what?” But the download was faster. “A Thompson submachine gun?”
“Yeah. A tommy-gun.” To make sure Ivar understood, Strings mimicked firing one. “Rat-a-tat-tat-tat.”
“I’ve fired one,” Ivar said, “but I’m not proficient.”
Some things change; some don’t.
“Okay, fair enough,” Strings said. “Not like Tony or Sam is gonna give up their blaster anyways.”
That clicked in the history of what was going to happen shortly. Two shooters with Thompson submachine guns would perpetrate the massacre. There was also supposed to be two gangsters dressed as cops to provide cover and deceive the victims into thinking it was just the usual shakedown. Four killers. Seven victims. Did that mean he and Strings were going to dress as cops?
“Where are the others?” Ivar asked.
“Around.” Strings nodded toward a phone hanging on the wall. “We’ll call them when the time is right.” He indicated the building across the street and to the right: SMC Cartage.
Ivar slumped back in the booth, relieved he wasn’t on the receiving end of the massacre that would shortly occur in that garage. “Can I get breakfast first?”
“Sure. Then we deliver a bloody Valentine.”
“The only thing we have to fear is fear itself.” Franklin Roosevelt
The Great Bitter Lake, 14 February 1945 A.D.
Eagle felt a trickle of sweat meander down his back. It was hot in the passageway on board the battle cruiser USS Quincy. But it was more than just the heat.
General Watson, President Franklin D. Roosevelt’s Chief of Staff, spoke in a low, tired voice. “I imagine things are different where you’re from. I guess I should say when you’re from. Still, even now, Negroes are serving with distinction on all fronts. It is to be expected that will continue and expand. I don’t suppose you want to tell me when you are from?”
It is 1945 A.D.. Adolf Hitler takes up residence in the Fuhererbunker in Berlin on the 16th of January and will remain there until his death; Charles DeGaulle becomes President of France; Russians liberate the Lodz Ghetto—only 877 of the original 164,000 Jews who lived there are
still alive; the world’s first general purpose electronic computer, the ENIAC, is completed; Franklin D. Roosevelt is sworn in for a fourth term as President. And dies later that year.
“I can’t,” Eagle replied.
Some things change; some don’t.
“Yes,” Watson said. “The rules. Always rules. But rules are important. You know Franklin has a rule. He can’t be photographed in the chair. So I have to help him up. Either me or his son, but James is in the Marines now.” Once more his gaze grew vacant. “The President bears such a heavy burden. I wonder who will help him if I can’t.”
“Why do you say that?” Eagle asked, even though he knew the answer.
“I’m ill, son. You can see that. So is Franklin. I don’t think either of us has much longer. I just hope I can last long enough to keep the President standing when he needs to. Because the country is going to need him to stand. Especially once he uses that A-bomb if those fellows in Los Alamos ever get the damn thing working. Oppenheimer says there will be nothing left of Berlin but ash. But I suppose you know the answer to how that turns out.”
“Do just once what others say you can’t do, and you will never pay attention to their limitations again.” Captain James Cook
Hawaii, 14 February 1779 A.D.
A noise to one side along the beach alerted Roland. He turned, raising his weapons. A beautiful woman was walking toward him in the moonlight. She wore only a grass skirt, her perfect breasts aimed directly at Roland.
The Time Patrol’s toughest soldier took a step back and looked from side to side, searching for an escape. He was on a rocky beach, waves crashing in on the right. Jungle to the left, ascending to a ridge. Danger to the front.
The woman was smiling. She stopped, gesturing with a hand for him to come to her.
Roland closed his eyes. “Neeley,” he whispered, trying to get oriented.
It is 1779 A.D. The world’s population is approaching 1 billion, but isn’t quite there yet; the War of Bavarian Succession ends; Spain declares war on Britain in support of the American Revolution; Fort Nashborough, later to be known as Nashville, is founded on Christmas day; the British capture Savannah; John Paul Jones says he has not yet begun to fight, then fights harder and captures the HMS Serapis while his own ship, the Bonhomme Richard, sinks. The American Revolution is in its fourth year and still has another four to go.
When Roland opened his eyes, the half-naked woman was still there.
Some things change; some don’t.
Roland shook his head. “No, thanks.”
But he had a moment of doubt, not lust. Was this woman the mission? He wasn’t renowned on the team for having much imagination, but he could hear Neeley’s opinion on that as if she were standing next to him: you wish. She’d say it with humor, but Neeley’s humor had to be taken seriously.
He spun about as he heard voices behind him, but it was just another sailor, dashing after a native girl who was laughing. They ran past without acknowledging Roland and disappeared into the darkness down the beach.
The woman gestured again and said something in a language Roland didn’t understand and Edith hadn’t bothered to download into his brain for the mission. But even Roland understood the implicit invitation in the tone and the way she stood.
He shook his head once more. “I’ve got a woman.” He blushed, although it passed unseen. Calling Neeley his woman wasn’t quite right.
The situation was exacerbated when a second, similarly undressed, woman came out of the jungle and joined the first. They both gestured for him to go with them into the jungle.
“Who are you?” Roland demanded.
The women looked at each other, then approached.
Roland took a step back. “Uh-uh.”
He was still trying to figure out a way to escape this female ambush, when one of the women spoke in perfect English: “You are an odd man, Roland.”
“The Dresden atrocity, tremendously expensive and meticulously planned, was so meaningless, finally, that only one person on the entire planet got any benefit from it. I am that person. I wrote this book, which earned a lot of money for me and made my reputation, such as it is. One way or another, I got two or three dollars for every person killed. Some business I'm in.” Kurt Vonnegut reference the Dresden bombing and his book Slaughterhouse Five
Dresden, Germany, 14 February 1945 A.D.
It was fortunate for Doc that Kurt Vonnegut had been a prisoner since the Battle of the Bulge the previous December, because the future author was weak from his meager POW diet. Thus even Doc, not exactly the most imposing physical specimen, was able to control Vonnegut, pinning him to the floor of the slaughterhouse.
Nearby, someone was yelling in German.
Doc looked up. One of the guards was pointing his rifle at the two of them, gesturing for them to move toward a stairway that went to the lower levels. The flickering light from the target indicator flares in the night sky outside was a motivator to do as the guard was ordering.
“We have to get underground,” Doc yelled at Vonnegut, letting go of him and struggling to his feet. “This whole city is going to be an inferno!”
It is 1945 A.D.. The world’s population is roughly 2,300,000,000 ie 2 billion, 300 million, although World War II is tinkering with that number; not in a good way. Over 60 million people are estimated to die in this war, roughly three percent of the entire human species, although some estimates bump that number to 80 million when including famine and war-related diseases. The Soviet Union suffers the most, with 13.7% of its population dying. Interestingly, Greece is next with somewhere between 7 to 11 percent of its population among the dead, while Nazi Germany suffers 8.26 to 8.86% loss. The United States suffers 407,300 combat deaths, equating to .32% of its population with only six people killed in an attack on American soil when a woman and five children stumble across a Japanese balloon bomb in Oregon.
A four thousand pound blockbuster bomb thundered nearby and the building shook.
Some things change; some don’t.
A guard was behind Vonnegut, unseen by the perhaps-future author. The guard raised his rifle in a way Doc had seen during training—to smash the butt of it into the back of Vonnegut’s skull stopping any book from ever being written.
Doc rushed forward, shoving Vonnegut aside.
The last thing he saw was the butt of the rifle coming for his own head.
And then darkness fell.
‘Wanted: Women With Degrees in Mathematics . . . Women are being offered scientific and engineering jobs where formerly men were preferred. Now is the time to consider your job in science and engineering… You will find that the slogan there as elsewhere is ‘WOMEN WANTED!’ Recruitment ad for ENIAC, 1945.
Philadelphia PA, 14 February 1946
Moms leaned forward and listened to the women. One of them threw a Ping-Pong ball across the room containing the ENIAC computer. “If this is all he thinks we’re good for, I say we quit.” The ball bounced against one of the computer consoles.
“I agree,” one of the others said. “We keep talking and talking, but we have to make a stand.”
The other four women had big knives and were slicing Ping-Pong balls, painted either red or green, in half.
“You can keep yapping or you can help,” one of the slicers said. “Sooner we get this done, the sooner we get out of here. We have to be back early in the morning to get ready for the press. I’d like to get some shut-eye.”
“It is what it is,” another slicer said. “Nothing’s changed and nothing is going to change.”
Was this just about stopping the women from quitting? Moms wondered. The prototype ENIAC computer was going to be publicly displayed tomorrow for the first time, so they’d already done the important work. The download informed her that these women, the ENIAC Six, were still needed after that. They were the only ones who could program it and, as importantly, find and quickly repair one of the tens of thousands of vacuum tubes, which burnt out on a regular basis.
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br /> It is 1946. Women vote for the first time in Italy as it turns from a monarchy into a Republic; the Philippines become independent after western control for 380 years; the bikini is first modeled on a runway in Paris; with no direct connection, Bikini Atoll is blasted by a series of nuclear tests; Project Diana bounces radio waves off the moon, accurately measuring the distance and also proving that communication is possible in outer space; Trygve Lie of Norway becomes the first United Nations Secretary-General; an explosion kills 400 coal miners in West Germany; Ho Chi Minh becomes President of North Vietnam; Juan Peron becomes President of Argentina; an earthquake in Alaska initiates a tsunami which eventually hits Hawaii, killing roughly 170; It’s A Wonderful Life premieres.
The mystery of the sliced Ping-Pong balls was solved when one of the women took several halves to a machine and glued a piece over one of the lights, changing it from a simple indicator to something that appeared more, well, technical?
Some things change; some don’t.
“Just like those blinking lights in those terrible science fiction movies,” the woman said, holding the piece in place, letting the glue dry. “Which of those brainiacs thought of this?”
“Someone in public affairs,” another said. “Dog and pony show.”
“Which are we?” another asked.
Moms wondered: Why was she here? Now?
Scout had run a mission in 1969 involving the development of computing—the day the first Internet message had been sent on Black Tuesday. The Shadow had tried to stop that with a bomb. Moms checked the download, going over the schematic of the building. She grimaced as she remembered all the explosives classes Mac had taught the team at the Ranch outside Area 51. He’d explained how to emplace them in order to do the most damage. Mac was gone now, disappeared on the D-Day, 1944 mission. A troubled man, she hoped he had found some peace before his end, whatever that had been in the echoing vastness of the past.