Last night I did something that I swore I’d never do: I picked up a hitchhiker on my way home from work. And, right off, I knew that I had made a mistake.

I think it was the way that he climbed into my car out of the hot, foggy night that gave me the feeling that he was going to be hard to get rid of. I mean he moved as if he were getting into his own car that I just happened to be driving.

I’d been working nights as a park ranger down in Bucks County, about an hour’s drive south of where I live. Because Pennsylvania’s park rangers are law enforcement officers, I was sent to the police academy and, upon graduation, issued a badge and a gun and began patrolling the park in a cruiser.

I know some people would consider getting that kind of job close to winning the lottery. But I didn’t like the long drive down there each day, and the eight-hour shifts in the hot car were even less enjoyable. Just driving around in circles for eight hours can be bad enough, but yesterday had been especially bad.

My neighbor’s wife, Priscilla, had just suffered a miscarriage, and the details I’d heard were horrible. Miscarriage was the word used, but that didn’t really describe it.

Apparently, what had been delivered bore little, if any, resemblance to a baby. It was, as best as I could tell from the second-hand accounts, little more than some hair, teeth, and a few other human-like artifacts randomly scattered throughout a jellylike mass.

Coincidentally, I had heard of a similar occurrence a few weeks ago. In that case the blame had been placed on some toxic pollutant from the chemical plant just across the river.

After eight hours of terrible thoughts like that running through my head, I was sure glad when midnight finally arrived and my shift ended.
I was really tired and looking forward to getting home. The night air was calm, and the darkness always gave the desolate road home a mysterious air as it followed the Delaware River north. That was one drive that I always looked forward to.

There’s a traffic light just outside the park that I have to go through to get on the river road, and it’s always red. That’s because it’s one of those that won’t turn green until a car stops on a pressure plate embedded in the asphalt.

Last night a man was standing there in the fog, silhouetted by the stoplight’s red glow. He was right where I had to stop, so I couldn’t just drive past him or pretend not to see him. And when I did stop for the light, he was staring straight in the passenger window at me. What choice did I have?

“Need a lift?” I asked reluctantly.

He didn’t answer; he just got in.

He was a tall, slim man in his sixties, but he managed to slip effortlessly into my Volkswagen Beetle. Immediately the car was filled with a pungent odor.

Oh, no! I thought.

While trying not to seem too inquisitive, I took note of his close-cropped hair, wire framed “granny” glasses, and skin that seemed a bit too pale and sweaty. I also noticed an Egyptian ankh hanging from a gold chain around his neck.

“Where ya headed?” I asked.

“Lehigh University in Bethlehem,” he mumbled.

I told him that I’d take him as far as the bus station in Easton and turned north onto Route 611. There’s never much traffic that time of night, but almost immediately a car approached from ahead.

Click…click…as I flicked the high beams off and then back on. Those clicks were usually the only distraction I had on my drive home.

My passenger didn’t seem interested in any conversation, so the first few minutes of the trip were a bit awkward. Finally, I decided to break the ice.

“Taking a course at Lehigh?”

“No.”

“Teach there?”

“No.”

“Have a friend up there?”

“No.”

Click…click…. I was glad for the distraction.

The fog was lifting, revealing the trees that lined both sides of the road with their branches stretching overhead. My headlights penetrated the darkness and brilliantly illuminated the yellow strip ahead of me. The effect was hypnotic. I reminded myself to pay more attention to my driving, or we’d end up in the river.

Another few minutes passed without a word being spoken, so I tried again to get some small talk going by casually letting a few thoughts slip out: “I’ve been up to Lehigh a few times. It’s a nice school, though not in the best section of town, and it’s kinda hard to get a parking spot close by. Somethin’ special goin’ on up there?”

“I’m going up there to see a professor for some help with a problem I have,” he said matter-of-factly.

“What kinda problem?”

He hesitated for a minute and then asked, “Do you know anything about the genetic code?”

“Well, it’s like instructions for living things, right?”

“And more, but that’s pretty good,” he said.

He said it in a way as if he had given me a small pat on the back. I realized then that I had better be careful what I said or I’d end up sounding stupid. Just the same, his talking helped make the drive more pleasant, so I kept the conversation going.

“What kinda problem?” I asked again.

“Have you ever heard of Intelligent Design?”

“Yea, I read somethin’ ‘bout that a while back,” I replied cautiously.

“Well, Intelligent Design is a theory that says life didn’t evolve in some primeval ocean. It says that the very complexity of life dictates that it must be the result of something more than chance.”

Click…click….

“Okay.”

He went on, “Darwin was no fool, and evolution was certainly a plausible theory for his time. But he couldn’t have seen the vast complexity of the living cell with the optical microscopes of his day. Today, with more powerful techniques, we know that any cell is thousands of times more complex than he ever imagined — too complex to have come together by chance.”

Click…click….

“Go on.”

He was just beginning to warm up: “Did you ever stop to think about how marvelous the living cell is? The cell guides itself, refuels itself, repairs itself, and then, when it gets old, it splits in half and creates two new cells.”

He took a breath, and I used the pause to interject, “I hope this isn’t going turn into a lecture.”

He ignored me, “Think about this, where did the first cell come from? It couldn’t have evolved from a simpler life form because there is no life form simpler than a cell.”

“Maybe the first cell evolved from a virus; isn’t a virus simpler than a cell?” I asked.

“A virus is a parasite that depends on a living cell to reproduce, so the cell had to come first,” he replied impatiently.

“Okay.”

“Now try to imagine the likelihood of a cell coming together by accident. Think of it like this: What is the chance of a tornado sweeping through a junkyard and throwing together, by chance, a fully functioning 747 jetliner? A jetliner that fuels itself, flies itself, repairs itself, and reproduces itself?”

“Well, I’ve heard that one about the 747 before,” I said. “But the fossil record, spotty as it is, definitely shows a progression from the one-cell microbes billions of years ago to the complex life forms of today — and that’s evolution! Besides, given enough time, like billions of years, almost anything can happen. Right?”

He glanced at me, but I didn’t belabor the point. Besides, I could see that he enjoyed explaining his theory, and I, to be honest, enjoyed listening. He was livelier than the radio, so why discourage him? There was no harm in that, was there? And while the issue wasn’t as simple as he made out, I’ve always felt that a lot of issues never get settled because people don’t listen to each other.

So I asked him, “How do you settle a dispute where the two sides ignore each other?”

“I’ve got to keep trying because the world has to listen to me. It has to! Intelligent Design is science, while evolution is just mental inertia. But my colleagues wouldn’t listen, they just ridiculed me.”

“What do you expect? People don’t admit that they’re wrong the first time one guy says so,” I explained.

He glanced in my direction, but I could see that he wasn’t really listening.

I went on, “I’m sure you’re right that some people get stubborn and refuse to listen. But doesn’t everybody act like that sometimes?”
He didn’t answer me, and I noticed that he was now covered with sweat and that the odor was growing stronger.

“Boy, it’s getting hot in here,” he said, while fingering the ankh.

“Yea, it’s a hot night. I’ll roll my window down,” I said, more concerned with the smell than the heat.

Looking through the passenger side window, I could see the moon over the river and my mind started to wander. The sight of the full moon always strikes me as beautiful — beautiful in some mysterious way that I can never quite put my finger on.

Click…click….

I suddenly remembered my passenger, “You have to find a way to prove your theory.”

“I already have!”

“Just how did you do that?” I said, hoping my skepticism wouldn’t annoy him.

He calmly explained his discovery: “I’d been working in a lab down in Maryland, and I’ve stumbled onto something very interesting about the human genome.” He paused as if to draw me in.

“I’m listening.”

“I’ve found a hidden code within the human genome, and this hidden code is without any doubt artificial and intelligently designed. I know this because, among other things, a marker or kind of signature accompanies it. The human race is somebody’s creation — somebody’s experiment — and this somebody signed his work. What do you think of that?” he said in one long breath.

“I have to think.”

“Don’t think, just answer me!”

“Hey, I’m not a politician, I can’t answer without thinking.
My skeptical attitude was annoying him.

“You’re about to announce this discovery to the world?”

“Yes.”

“How do you think the scientific world will take it?” I asked. “Do you expect UPS to drop off a Nobel Prize at your door the day after you announce that you found some kind of genetic Bible code?”

“Why not?”

“You’re saying that human life is the result of some alien grad-student’s lab project, so maybe it would be wise to temper your expectations.” Then, in order to seem more sympathetic, I added, “Scientists are pretty set in their ways, so they aren’t about to accept overnight a theory that attacks everything that they’ve spent their careers working on, are they?”

“Once I show the world, they’ll have to accept it.”

I didn’t want to waste time arguing the merits of his theory, so I tried another tack.

“People have a way of ignoring ideas that they don’t like. Remember a few years back, that Intelligent Design court case in Harrisburg? The lawyers got any mention of I.D. thrown out of the public schools because of the First Amendment’s establishment clause. They used the courts to stifle an opposing theory, now that’s playing hardball!”

Click…click….

“That raises an interesting point,” he said. “Can the courts maintain a ban on teaching Intelligent Design in public schools when it becomes established fact?”

He was sweating heavily now.

I answered, “The court ruled that Intelligent Design was literally politically incorrect under the First Amendment. Whether it was factual or not wasn’t the issue.”

“You’re right. Sometimes I feel like we’re entering a new dark age.”

“Actually, we never left the old one,” I said. “People are no more tolerant, open-minded, or rational today than they were thousands of years ago. People are, and always will be, the same.”

He didn’t say anything, but I’m sure he agreed. After all, everybody thinks that it’s the other guy that’s ignorant and intolerant.

Then I asked him, “What does this genetic code have to say other than a signature?”

He turned his head my way, and I saw his eyes behind those granny glasses fix on me. Then he took out a handkerchief, wiped the sweat off his forehead, and leaned back in his seat.

Click…click….

“Are you ready?”

“Go ahead.”

He continued in a self-assured voice that conveyed his confidence, “Completely deciphering the code without some kind of Rosetta stone is like a blind man teaching himself to use brail, but I have established that its general purpose is to act as a kind of safeguard or fail-safe mechanism.”

“Safeguard against what?” I asked.

“Safeguard for whom? That would be the better question. The mechanism is designed to keep us, the human race, from getting out of control. Within a certain period of time, the whole of humanity is programmed to shut down. Humanity is a strictly limited experiment.”

“Bullshit,” I said.

He sensed my skepticism, “Well, it’s an established fact that there are no transitional forms in the fossil record that link us to our so-called ancestors.”

“That’s an established fact?”

He went on as if I weren’t there.

“Paleontologists try to explain the gaps in evolution with pseudo-science like punctuated equilibria and stasis. In fact, the fossil record shows gaps separating us from all extinct primates precisely because there is no connection. Of course we have similarities with extinct creatures, but that’s due to modern humans being the latest version of an earlier design — not evolutionary linkage.”

Click…Click….

“Are you going to test me on this?” I asked.

“Those early hominid species that preceded us are gone. They’re gone, I now know, not because they were unfit for survival, or because they evolved into us, but because each one was an experiment that ran for its allotted time and then terminated.

“My research indicates that the human race is about out of its allotted time, and now I have to convince others of this fact in order to get the help I need to keep us from joining the dinosaurs!”

I noticed that his voice was now a bit slurred and that he began to stutter as his arguments became more fanciful, but I wouldn’t just sit back and let him think that I believed all this.

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll add this to my list of doomsday scenarios. Let’s see, there’s the threat of an asteroid colliding with the earth, super germs, global warming, a new ice age, giant tsunamis, massive earthquakes, H1N1 flu, nuclear terrorism, and the Mayan calendar ending in 2012.”

He looked my way without saying a word.

Up ahead I saw the red glow that marked the halfway point of my drive home. It reminded me that I hadn’t eaten all day. I suggested to my passenger that we stop and get a bite to eat.

“I’m not hungry,” he said.

“I’m buying.”

“Okay.”

The aluminum, meatloaf-shaped restaurant standing alongside the Delaware River is a monument to classic 1950’s American-eatery-style architecture. And the large “Riverside Diner” neon sign on the roof throws a red glow into the sky that’s visible for miles.

We pulled into the deserted parking lot and then straight into a space by the entrance — there’s never any trouble finding a parking spot this late. In fact, I’ve no idea why they even bother keeping the place open past midnight — mental inertia, I guess.

We got out of the car and went over to the entrance, pushed through the revolving doors, and caught the first smell of their hamburgers. I was sure hungry.

After driving up the dark river road, the bright fluorescent lights inside the place took a while getting used to. I looked around and noticed that the booths looking out onto the highway were already closed, and the few tables on the floor already had chairs stacked on them. We went up to the counter and sat down on the swivel stools.

I looked down to the far end of the counter and saw Elaine, the waitress, stacking some dishes. She finally noticed us and moved slowly in our direction.

When she finally got over to us, she took out her little pad, pulled the pencil from her hair, and took our order.

“What’ll it be?” she asked me.

“The usual, honey, one of your grease-burgers, some fries, and a Coke.”

My passenger studied the menu and finally said he’d have the same. While he was talking, I looked through the kitchen door and saw the cook bent over his stove. I hadn’t been in the place for a week or more, but he still hadn’t changed his dirty T-shirt or even bothered to pull it down over his hairy belly.

“I’ll have your order in a few minutes,” she said as she finished scratching on her pad. Then she went and joined the cook in the kitchen.

“You think I’m crazy, don’t you?” he asked.

“What?”

“You think I’m crazy because of what I’ve been telling you, don’t you? You think the whole idea of us being created by some extraterrestrial intelligence is just plain crazy, don’t you?”
“Yes.”

“Well, I’m not as crazy as you think.”

“I think you are.”

There was only an awkward silence as Elaine brought out our burgers and fries. I poured a large puddle of ketchup on top of mine and took a good bite. He did the same with his.

We ignored each other while eating, but I could tell that he was upset and found myself hoping that he wasn’t some kind of nut that’d blow up on me.

It had occurred to me that I could go to the bathroom and then sneak out the back way. I looked around and saw my car outside the door and wished that I were in it driving away…alone.

With each passing minute I was feeling more and more uncomfortable, but I couldn’t just leave him stranded here in the middle of the night, could I? Anyway, the clock said 12:30 and soon I’d be home. But I did promise myself that I would never pick up another hitchhiker.

We were just finishing our quiet meal when Elaine returned with the check and said to me, “I overheard what you guys were talking about, and I think he’s right.”

“You do? And what makes you think so?”

“My uncle,” she said.

“And what does your uncle know about the origins of life on earth,” I asked, annoyed that she took his side.

“You know, he met some of them once,” she said.

“No, I don’t know. And just who was it that he met?”

“Aliens,” she said. “He met some aliens, real aliens I mean, not Mexicans.”

“And just where did he meet these aliens?”

“He was abducted by a UFO about ten years ago. They explained it all while they were examining him — it’s true.”

“Explained all what,” I asked.

“They told him about how people were put here on earth by them, and how they come back, every hundred years or so, to check up on us.”

“Oh, is that right?” I asked her, while thinking what a twit she was.

“Yep, that’s right.”

“By the way, what did you say your name was?” I asked my sulking passenger.

“Gary,” he said, while looking away from Elaine, undoubtedly embarrassed by her support.

“Well, there you go Gary, Elaine’s uncle confirms your theory. Her uncle got the facts first-hand from some aliens on a UFO. I can’t argue with that, case closed.”

“Where’s our check?”

I was in a hurry to get home. She did a little math on her pad and handed the slip to me. I placed a few bills on the counter and said to Gary that it was time for us to be getting on. I left another buck as a tip and said goodnight to the cook.

As we were walking out to the car, I noticed that Gary was getting agitated again.

“You don’t look too happy for someone who just had his pet theory confirmed,” I said.

“Shut up!”

“What are you so upset about?”

“You know damn well what I’m upset about. I need to warn the world about a real danger, and you turned this discussion into a damn joke with your sophomoric sarcasm.”

“My sophomoric sarcasm?”

“Yes, you fool!”

I tried to settle him down. “Okay, calm down, I can see that you take this thing real serious, and maybe I was a little sarcastic. Now, let me tell you something that occurred to me in there that might interest you.”

“What’s that?”

“A couple of years ago I read a book by the British astronomer Sir Fred Hoyle.”

“Yes, I heard of him, a kind of British Carl Sagan, he writes science fact and fiction.”

“Well, his theory was that life didn’t originate here on earth. He thought that it had somehow begun way out in space and was carried to earth on meteorites. He even had a photograph in his book, published in the early eighties by the way, that showed tiny fossils in a meteorite. Now, he didn’t go so far as to say that we’re somebody’s lab rats, but it was a step in that direction.”

“That’s interesting, what was the name of that book?”

I told him that it was called The Intelligent Universe. I heard him mumble that title to himself while fingering his ankh.

He seemed placated.

We got back into the car and continued on the road north.

Click…click….

“Okay, let’s say we didn’t evolve,” I said. “Then who is this designer, and where do we find him?”

“I don’t know who he, or it, is, but I’m sure that he’s not from this world.”

“That does leave a few gaps in your theory,” I pointed out.

“I don’t claim to have all the answers, but my discovery is a major step towards solving mankind’s greatest mystery — the mystery of where we came from.

“I’ve always felt that to assume that life originated here on earth was the greatest conceit of humanity. Of all the worlds in the universe, why should this be the one where it all started? We’re like a tribe of primitive people living on an isolated island in a vast ocean that believes, assumes, that all people originated on their little rock.

His voice was beginning to break up like a weak radio station in the night. I’m sure that he was aware of it, so I didn’t say anything, but something was wrong.

“Once this uhh…earth-centric prejudice is dis-dis-carded, a whole new uhh…universe, literally, is opened up in the search for our origins. Unfortunately, what we find may not be to our liking.”

“You’re pontificating,” I said. “But okay, I understand what you’re saying, but I have to ask, how much time do you think we have before this safeguard mechanism activates?”

“Very little time, in fact, I think it’s already started.”

To our right, the moon was getting higher over the river. But the rest of the sky was jet-black except for a group of bright stars directly above the road ahead, and my car seemed to be headed directly for them. Beautiful I thought, and I couldn’t help but think that whoever designed the night sky got it just right.

Click…click…. I was back in the car again.

“Uhh…what makes you think it may be about to start?” I asked.

He explained, “Most great discoveries are made by accident, and this one was no different. I triggered the effect by accident in…a…a…test…subject…. Then one thing led to another, and I soon recognized that I had only acc-accelerated a process that was already occurring.”

“Will this process affect all life?”

“Humans for sure,” he said. But then added, “I’m not so sure about everything else, but humans for sure.”

“What happens.”

“The flesh is reduced to a kind of Jell-O.”

“What flavor?”

He ignored me. Then an image of Priscilla’s miscarriage flashed through my mind.

“I feel sick,” he suddenly said.

I did too. But I only said, “There’s a rest area ahead. I’ll stop there, and then we can both stretch our legs.”

It was only a minute until we were pulling onto the rest area’s gravel parking lot. We both got out and leaned on the side of the car. I looked over at Gary; his shirt was drenched in sweat.

“You don’t believe any of this, do you?” he asked.

I wanted to seem fair, so maybe I over-explained: “Look, I read a book on the Kennedy assassination a few years ago, and its theory was that the Mafia killed him. The author made a strong case by connecting all the dots, and I was almost convinced that it was true. Then I read another book that said Castro killed him; all the dots were connected, and I was almost convinced of that.

“There are other versions that have convinced thousands of people that the CIA, the FBI, the military, Johnson, or whoever, was the villain. They can’t all be right, so some are just plain wrong. I think that sometimes dots get connected that shouldn’t be connected. In fact, sometimes, some of the dots are only imaginary. See what I mean?”

“Mmmm…that’s a pretty good point,” he said good-naturedly. “You’re saying that I may have connected too many dots — that’d be hard to disprove.

“But I feel strange, not well at all; I’m going over there to use the men’s room.”

He walked the twenty or so feet to the small building bathed in my headlights. I leaned back against the car and waited for him to return. I felt tired and sweaty.

The full moon was overhead and throwing its light on some passing clouds. I was thinking that when I got home, I could relax on my balcony with a cigarette and a drink and just watch the night sky.

What’s keeping that guy? I wondered as I started walking towards the men’s room. The headlights threw my shadow on the building’s wall as I approached the entrance.

I felt the door scrape the cement floor as I pulled it open and walked in. The interior lights didn’t work, but the high beams cast more than enough glow through the open door for me to see.
The place was empty and there was no other exit. I wondered how I could have missed him leaving in the bright headlights. While checking the windows, I slipped on a drain-cover in the floor that was coated with some kind of slime.

He was gone. There was nothing in there but a pile of old clothes and some trash probably left by some homeless guy.

That’s gratitude for you, not even a good-bye!
I figured that if he wanted to walk the last couple of miles, that’s his affair.

I was just leaving when a glint of light from the floor caught my attention; something shiny was in the drain. I bent down and pulled Gary’s ankh from beneath the grille.

For some reason, the sight of the ankh frightened me and I got a strong urge to get out of there. I rubbed the shiny medallion on my pants a few times and dropped it into my pocket.

I finally arrived at my place feeling hot, sweaty and with a dull flu-like ache in my muscles. But there’s nothing unusual in that, is there?

Tonight is another hot, muggy evening, and I’m sitting outside looking at the starry sky as my mind starts to wander back to last night. I take Gary’s ankh from my pocket and rub it between my fingers.

Is it possible that he was right…? Well, if I were a foolish man, I might have been taken in by his story; however, I am not a foolish man.

“It always begins with the cold. That terrible cold, it’s like I’ve been transported to Antarctica. When I feel that, I know it’s going to happen again. I know I’m awake, but I can’t move, and it’s so dark that I can’t see anything except tiny flashes of light.

“Then I sense a presence. I know it’s there, but it’s almost as if something keeps my mind from seeing it. I visualize it as a shadow, a pulsating shadow.

“‘Tell us where it is,’ I keep hearing in my head. Somewhere, in the back of my mind, I know what they want. But I feel like I’m drugged, and I can’t think. I’d tell them if I could.”

#

It was only October, but the trees were already beginning to lose their red and yellow leaves to the autumn winds, and overhead a crescent moon stood out in the twilight.

Moving north on PA 191, the bright red jeep flicked on its headlights and turned left onto a narrow, gravel road that led deep into the forested hills of northeast Pennsylvania’s Pocono Mountains.

Behind the wheel was Susannah Douglas; they called her Sunny, and that described her personality perfectly. Sunny was in her early thirties, tall, blonde, and always dressed like a lumberjack, but the masculine clothes only accentuated her cat-like grace.

At places, the winding road became so narrow that patches of dried leaves brushed against the windshield. But finally, after twenty minutes of spinning tires and strained axles, she pulled into a small clearing at the end of the road.

In the center of that clearing was a small A-frame cabin with a brightly lit picture window. And through it, as she got out of the jeep, Sunny could see her friends, Gretchen “Gerty” York and Tina Christian, playing cards at the kitchen table.

They had somehow missed her pulling up; unnoticed, she watched them for a minute.

Tina, so small, timid, and still in her teens, had beautiful black hair that came down over her shoulders. She’d lived in the cabin with Gerty for over a year now, and no two people could have been more different.

Gerty, already forty-something, was not only a large woman, but had a personality and voice to match. Actually, the differences between the two bound them closer together.

Sunny went up and knocked on the door.

“Sounds like your weekend guest has arrived,” said Gerty. “Come on in, it’s not locked,” she shouted at the door.

Sunny walked in the front door, threw her coat on the couch, and asked, “Whatcha got to drink?”

“Check the fridge,” said Gerty.

Sunny took a beer out of the refrigerator, popped it open, and pulled a stool over to the table.

“Five card stud, right? Deal me in,” she said.

#

It was well past midnight, the game was still going strong, and Sunny was beginning to wonder why nobody had said anything about getting some sleep. Tina was beginning to nod off and Gerty could barely keep her eyes open. She was getting tired herself, but she didn’t want to be first to call it a night.

“Gimme three cards,” she said. “Say, are we gonna make this an all-nighter?”

“No,” said Gerty defensively.

“Not at all,” Tina added a little too quickly.

“Whatcha got?” Sunny asked.

“Pair a fours,” said Gerty.

“Jack high,” said Tina. “And you?”

“Aces and eights–dead man’s hand,” said Sunny.

“Why did you call it that?” asked Tina as she threw her hand in.

“Aces and eights–dead man’s hand. That’s the hand Wild Bill Hickok was holding when he got himself shot in the back,” she explained.

“So, what’s up? You’re both about to drop over. Y’all ain’t a-scared of going to sleep with all the big b’ars around here are ya?” she asked in her best backwoods drawl.

Gerty was belligerent in her response: “No Sunny, we ain’t a-scared of no fuckin’ bears. But would you like to hear something that is scary?”

“Sure, go right ahead, but first, ante-up and deal. What better place to hear a scary story than out here in the middle of nowhere?”

Gerty dealt the cards as Tina told her story: “I’m in bed, I can’t move, and these voices keep asking me, ‘Where is it?’”

#

Sunny listened to the story without interrupting and then said, “Gimme two cards.”

“What about my story?” asked Tina. “It’s the gods’ honest truth, I swear.”

“Oh, that’s not so scary. In fact, that’s happened to me a couple a times. It’s only natural. See, when you’re sleepin’ your muscles get turned off so you don’t roll out of bed or poke yourself in the eye. An’ sometimes it takes a while for that to wear off. That’s all, nothin’ to worry about.

“Call–three jacks,” she added.

“Take it,” said Gerty. “But whataya think about all that ‘Where is it?’ stuff?”

Sunny explained that with slightly less confidence: “That’s natural too. Bein’ half-awake and half-asleep brings on hallucinations.”

“Sounds pretty weak,” said Gerty.

“Ok, So I’m no Freud.”

“That’s for sure. Now listen to this, and this does scare me. Remember how Tina said it was so cold during ‘er dream?”

“Yes.”

“Well, when I got up this morning the glass of water on my dresser was frozen solid. And the temperature never dropped nowhere near freezin’ last night. Howdaya explain that?”

“That is strange. Say, mind my takin’ a look ‘round your place?”

“Go right ahead.”

“Deal me out.”

Sunny said she’d begin by looking outside and, without another word, walked out the door. A few minutes later she was back inside and wandered into the bedroom.

After a few minutes, Gerty wondered what was keeping her, “Hey Sunny, what’s keepin’ ya in there, them bears got ya?”

“I’m comin’,” she called back. “An’ put those cards away; yuz-two are about to fall over; it’s time we all hit the sack.

“I guess I’m stuck with the couch,” said Sunny. “Just remember that I’m a light sleeper and try to keep it down in there tonight, OK?

“An’ don’t worry, I checked your room out real good, and it’s safe–ain’t no bears or bogeymen hiding under the bed.”

#

The next morning Sunny woke up completely refreshed. In fact, she hadn’t slept so well in years. She glanced at her watch and was surprised to see that it was almost noon.

She quickly dressed and made her way to the kitchen to get some coffee. Apparently, Gerty and Tina hadn’t gotten up either, so she put on some coffee, bacon, and eggs.

Just as the bacon and eggs were done, Gerty and Tina came out of the bedroom. As they were sitting down, Tina said, “Boy, I hope that tastes as good as it smells.”

“It will,” said Gerty as she grabbed the frying pan from Sunny and dumped a pile of bacon and eggs onto each of their plates.

“Tell me, you both sleep good last night?” asked Sunny.

“I slept like a fuckin’ log,” said Gerty.

“Me too,” said Sunny.

“I didn’t,” said Tina.

“More night visitors?”

“Yea.”

“Oh no, not again,” said Gerty. She leaned over to Tina, put her hand on her shoulder, and said, “Tell us what happened.”

“It was the same as always, it got cold, I woke up in the bedroom, and they wanted to know where ‘it’ is. I couldn’t answer them because I couldn’t think. It’s so frustrating; it’s driving me crazy. This is the forth or fifth night in a row. Maybe I’m going nuts; maybe I need a psychiatrist.”

Sunny looked at Gerty who was almost in tears.

“Gerty, what gets you so upset over this?”

“It’s because I feel so helpless. I wanna be able to protect Tina, but I can’t. I keep a .357 magnum under my pillow, but I always sleep through whatever happens, always.”

“Gerty, you know how I hate that gun,” said Tina. She then turned to Sunny and said, “I want to know what you think.”

Sunny looked directly at Tina and told a story of her own: “Back when I was a kid, I saw this old movie on TV. It was about some teenagers who saw a giant spider in the woods. So they went an’ told the sheriff who, of course, didn’t believe a word they said. At least he didn’t ‘til a bunch of the locals got themselves eaten up by it. I’ve always thought how stupid it was of that sheriff not to have gone out for a look.”

“So, you believe me?”

“I didn’t say that, but I’m not like that sheriff–I did take a look.”

She got up and motioned them to follow her into the bedroom. Inside, she walked over to the bookshelf and removed the small video camera that she had placed amongst the books the night before.

“This should tell us whether ya had visitors last night or jus’ need to be locked up in a rubber room.”

“You mean you taped the bedroom last night, the whole night?” asked Tina.

“That’s right, the whole night, or most of it anyway. I hope nothin’ went on in there that I shouldn’t-a seen, but I couldn’t tell ya what I was going to do–that woulda ruined the test. I jus’ wanna be sure that yuz ain’t pullin’ some kinda stupid joke on me.”

“Well, this ain’t no joke, and ain’t nothin’ on that tape that would surprise ya, but it sure was a shitty thing to do,” said Gerty. “But I’m sure you didn’t mean to piss me off, right?”

“Let’s just look at the tape,” said Sunny, ignoring Gerty’s attitude. “I’ll plug it into the TV.”

Sunny hooked it up to the television and began the playback. The bedroom was dark, but there was just enough light to make out the shape of the bed.

After twenty minutes of dark screen, their attention began to drift. Meanwhile, Gerty had gotten out the cards and started dealing.

“I’ll take one card,” said Tina as she glanced up at the television.

Two hours passed before something on the screen caught Sunny’s attention.

“Say Gerty, did ya leave that window open in there last night?”

“Course not, we never sleep with it open–there really are bears around here.”

“Well, if I’m not mistaken, it’s open now. Take a look up there in the corner.”

“You’re right, it’s open,” said Gerty. “Stop the tape!”

Sunny fumbled with the controls, got it to stop, and then backed it up. As the scene reversed, there was an occasional flicker of light on the screen.

“What’s zat?” asked Gerty

“Don’t know.”

After a little playing with the controls, Sunny got the scene to freeze on one of the frames with a burst of light. The flash lit up the bedroom enough to pick out more details: Tina was sitting up, the window was open, and the light was coming from a small object on the bed.

“That’s it,” Tina shouted. “I see that light on my bed whenever it happens.”

But there was something else in the bedroom. Something that appeared only as an ill-defined silhouette off by the wall, but part of it extended to the light on the bed.

Sunny fast-forwarded the recording a few minutes and found the window closed again. She then backed it up until she was on the frame that captured the most detail.

“I see a dark form in the room, a light on the bed, an open window, and Tina sitting upright. Somethin’ did happen in there las’ night,” she said.

“You’re scaring Tina,” said Gerty. “Turn it off–NOW!”

The screen went blank.

#

“What’ll we do now?” asked a shaken Tina.

“We report it,” said Gerty.

“Right, I can jus’ see us doin’ that,” said Sunny. “We call the Pennsylvania State Police an’ tell ‘em we had a monster in the bedroom last night. How’s zat gonna sound? And look, even the best frame doesn’t really show anything. Who’d believe us? Sound familiar?”

“It does,” said Tina.

“Oh, you saw that spider movie too?”

“No, but it does sounds like something that actually happened to me–years ago.”

“What happened?”

“I was about five years old and playing down by the quarry when I saw something crash into the water. So I ran home and told Mom and Dad, and they called 911. When we got back down there, the cops, the fire department, and the whole town were already searching the area.

“When they asked me to describe what I had seen, I told them that I had seen a metal ball as big as a house fall into the water.

“Well, after I said that, they all thought I had made the whole thing up. And when we got home, Dad gave me a whipping. He’d never done that before, and I was so upset that I never said anything about what I had seen again–until now.”

“You saw a UFO crash?”

“I guess you could call it that.”

“And now you’re being visited by space-monsters?”

“I never said that!” insisted a wide-eyed Tina.

“She’s just trying to scare ya,” said Gerty. Whataya gettin’ at?”

“The connection’s obvious,” said Sunny. “Your space-monsters, I mean evening guests, are looking for that metal ball that crashed all them years ago, and they know that Tina saw where it went down.”

“That makes sense,” said Gerty.

“I knew they didn’t mean any harm!” said Tina.

Everybody felt a sense of relief, and, for just a minute, the cabin was filled with excited laughter.

“Tina, how can we explain to ‘em where their lost friends are?” asked Sunny.

“I never actually talk to them, but they seem to know what I’m thinking.”

“Like they’re reading your mind?”

“That’s the way it feels.”

“Well, if they know what you’re thinking right now, they might already be on their way to rescue their friends,” said Sunny. “And it’ll be dark soon, so why don’t we head down to the quarry ourselves? We just might see somethin’ interestin’. How ‘bout it?”

“It’s a million to one shot, but I could use a walk,” said Gerty. “Tina, it’s chilly out, so wear a sweater. Sunny, bring your camera along–if something happens down there, we want it on film.”

“Do ya think they’d mind us filming ‘em?”

“No, I don’t think they’ll mind,” said Tina. “They don’t mean us any harm.”

“Mind? Who gives a fuck what they mind?” said Gerty. “After all the shit they put us through, we’ll take some fuckin’ pictures whether they mind or not.”

#

The three women walked down the gravel road until they came to the faint trail that led to the quarry. After twenty minutes of pushing their way through stiff branches and underbrush, the woods thinned out and they found themselves atop a cliff overlooking a huge excavation filled with cold, dark water.

To kill time, they began tossing pebbles into the water and watching them sink out of sight. The water was not only crystal-clear but also seemingly bottomless. Only its great depth made it seem so dark.

“What now?” asked Gerty.

“Something’s going to happen, I can feel it,” said Tina.

#

The light was beginning to fade, but some clouds drifting on the wind caught a pink glow from the sun resting on the horizon.

Then something caught their attention: A huge thundercloud was drifting their way–against the wind. It moved in their direction until it was directly over the quarry and then stopped.

Their attention was so fixed on the stationary cloud that for several minutes nobody noticed what was happening below. That is, until Sunny glanced down at the water and saw bubbles rising to the surface, and below the bubbles she saw the huge silvery shape moving upwards.

“Look down there,” she shouted, as the gigantic metal ball broke through the surface.

“That’s what I saw fall into the water when I was a kid,” Tina shouted. “That’s what nobody would believe. Can you get it on video, Sunny?”

“They’ll believe ya this time–I’m gettin’ it all.”

The sphere rose from the water’s surface and drifted silently upwards towards the storm cloud. It was almost a hundred feet in diameter and so polished that they could clearly see themselves reflected on its surface.

“Jesus H. Christ–we did it–we’re heroes,” said Gerty. “We’ll write a book and become famous. We’ll be on Larry King. Are you sure you’re getting this on film, Sunny?”

“I’m gettin’ everything,” she calmly replied.

The ball continued to rise towards the cloud until it reached a height of about a thousand feet and then stopped. It hung there for a few seconds and then exploded with a barely audible POP!

What had been the sphere disappeared in an instant, and all that remained was a small black cloud.

“What happened, it’s gone, w-where’d it go?” cried Tina.

The silver sphere was gone, but the black cloud not only remained but also began to expand rapidly in all directions. And the more the cloud expanded, the darker the sky got, and within minutes, the black cloud had extended to the horizon and blotted out the setting sun.

Tina began to cry. “I’m scared,” she said.

“I don’t like the look of this either,” said Sunny. “Maybe we shouldn’t-a messed with this.”

“This was all one, big, fuckin’ mistake–let’s get the hell out of here while we can,” shouted Gerty, as she grabbed Tina’s arm and began dragging her back up the trail.

“Back to the cabin–fast,” said Sunny. It’ll be totally dark soon, and we don’t even ‘ave a flashlight.”

They ran along the narrow trail, pushing away the dried branches that tore at their clothes. By the time they reached the road, the sky was black, and only the road’s distinct gravelly surface allowed them to feel their way home.

There was no longer a setting sun, or a crescent moon, or a single star visible in the black sky. And when the three women finally reached the cabin it was so completely hidden in the dark that they had to feel their way up the steps and through the front door.

Inside, they turned on the lights and waited for a morning that never came.

#

On what would have been the next night, it began to snow, and in a few days ten-foot drifts surrounded the cabin. But there were no more days, just one continuous night.

Inside the cabin, the power had gone out, and the three demoralized survivors were huddled around the kitchen table. In the center was a kerosene lantern that gave off a soft, golden glow and a little heat.

Everyone was wearing several layers of clothing and a heavy sweater. It was Sunny’s deal, and she was struggling to shuffle the deck while wearing mittens.

“How many cards, Tina?”

“Three.”

“Gerty?”

“Three.”

“I’ll take one. What’s on the radio, Tina?”

“The batteries are dead. But the last newscast was the same as yesterday’s: The whole world is frozen in, just like us.”

“WHEN’S THIS ALL GOIN’ TO FUCKIN’ END, AND WHEN’S THE SUN COMIN’ BACK UP? AND WHOSE BRIGHT, BULLSHIT IDEA WAS IT TO HELP ‘EM FIND THEIR ‘FRIENDS’ ANYWAY?” demanded Gerty as she stared across the table at Sunny.

“JUST SHUT YOUR MOUTH AND FORGET IT,” said Sunny.
“THERE’S NO SENSE IN POINTIN’ FINGERS NOW. IT’S TOO LATE, IT’S DONE, UNDERSTAND? THE WHOLE WORLD’S IN THE SAME FIX AS US, AND THERE’S NOTHIN’ WE CAN DO ABOUT IT.”

Tina started to cry, and through her tears she asked, “Why did they do this to us? We only tried to help them. Didn’t they understand that?”

“I don’t think they had any more concern for us than we do for bugs when we work in the garden,” said Sunny.

“No,” Tina sobbed. “When they realize what they’ve done, they’ll come back and fix everything–I’m sure of that.”

“Wrong! They knew exactly what they were doing. They wanted this to happen,” said Sunny.

“That’s stupid!” said Gerty. “What kinda asshole would want this?”

“Their kind,” said Sunny. “Remember when you found that ice in your glass after their visit? They need the cold. And they always came at night–‘cause they like the dark.”

Tina took out her hankie, wiped her runny nose, and said, “I don’t understand why they would come here if it’s too warm for them.”

“Terra forming,” said Sunny.

“Terra-what?” asked Gerty.

“Terra forming. I read about it in Popular Science. The article said that scientists have considered ways of changin’ the climate of Mars to somethin’ that we’d find more to our likin’.

“The idea’d be to sprinkle black dust on the Martian polar caps to absorb sunlight. Then the frozen carbon dioxide that makes up those caps would thaw into its gaseous form giving Mars an atmosphere. That atmosphere would then capture and hold in even more heat. Follow me?”

“No, I don’t,” said Gerty.

“Well listen then. With warmth an’ atmospheric pressure, water ice on the surface would melt an’ form rivers and lakes.

“Get it? Mars would become warm with an atmosphere an’ flowin’ water. Next, they’d drop some seeds and soon there’d be plants givin’ off oxygen. In time, we humans could feel quite at home on Mars.”

“What the hell’s that got to do with us?” asked Gerty.

“Don’t ya see?” asked Sunny. “They got that terra formin’ idea up there too–but they used it on us first. That sphere contained somethin’ that enveloped the earth in a worldwide cloud to do just what it did–create this Martian night to make the Earth into somethin’ more to their likin’.

“THOSE FUCKIN’ BASTARDS,” said Gerty.

“Are you sure they’re from Mars?” asked Tina while blowing her nose.

“That’s my guess. It’s certainly cold up there. And it’s dark too, not like they show it in the movies. Mars is so far from the sun that, even at mid-day, it never gets brighter than our twilight. But wherever they’re from, sometime soon there’ll be back to stay, but only when it’s cold ‘n dark enough for ‘em to feel real comfy.”

“Please don’t say that Sunny, that’s so horrible,” said Tina through more tears. “What are we going to do?”

“Stop cryin’ and deal, gimme three cards.”

“Whataya got?”

“Pair a sixes,” said Gerty.

“Queen high,” croaked Tina. “And what have you got Sunny?”
Sunny held her cards up to the lantern for them to see, “Aces and eights–dead man’s hand.”

Dallas, Texas; November 22, 1963:

A feeling of excitement fills the air at the Texas Schoolbook Depository this cool Friday morning; President John F. Kennedy’s motorcade is scheduled to pass directly in front of the depository in less than an hour. As if on cue, the sun has just broken through some dark clouds that had threatened rain, and it seems that a beautiful day lay ahead.

It is exactly 11:45 A.M., and a tall, slim man with graying hair and wearing a bright red jacket walks through the main entrance to the depository. He walks over to a group of book-handlers discussing the President’s visit and calmly asks where he can find Mr. Lee Harvey Oswald. One of the men, Buell Frazier, who had given Oswald a ride to work this morning, points over to the lunch room where Lee can be seen dropping a coin in the Dr. Pepper machine.

The stranger turns and walks into the lunchroom and approaches Oswald. Oswald, always one to keep to himself, turns from the stranger and starts to leave the room.

Without a word, or a moment’s hesitation, the stranger pulls a small crowbar from his belt and brings it down on Oswald’s head with a loud smack. Oswald drops to the floor like a rag doll, a pool of blood forming around his head. Then, as if to be sure of what he has done, the assailant smashes the heavy metal bar down onto Oswald’s shattered skull a second and third time.

From the time the stranger entered the building to the thump of Oswald’s body hitting the floor, not sixty seconds had passed. But the execution, and that’s what it was, was witnessed by at least six employees. But each of these men is too stunned by the horrific sight to even think of moving to help the victim –- that is until a woman’s scream filled the building. Then, their trance-like state shattered, the men rush to the entrance of the lunchroom to prevent the killer from escaping.

There is another scream, then shouting. “Call the cops.”

“Grab that nut.” “Get an ambulance.” But no one in the group in front of the lunchroom is anxious to take on a homicidal maniac with a steel bar. The man in the red jacket seems strangely tranquil.

He slowly bends down, wipes the blood off the crowbar with Oswald’s own shirt, and then gently sets the murder weapon on the lunch table. He walks to a corner of the room and stands there, almost as if waiting for a slightly overdue bus.

Within minutes a police car shows up, followed seconds later by an ambulance. Dallas Police Officer J.D. Tippit takes the killer into custody without a struggle.

Oswald’s lifeless body is rushed to Parkland Hospital where he is declared dead on arrival.

The President’s motorcade passes through Dealy Plaza without incident.

Dallas Police Headquarters, 12:30 P.M.:

Detectives Elmer Boyd and Richard Simms, Homicide/Robbery, are standing outside the small interrogation room on the third floor. Inside the room, the suspect from the Schoolbook Depository is securely handcuffed and shackled to a chair. Captain John Fritz, the Homicide Chief, is explaining the case to them.

“Here’s what we’ve got from Officer Tippit’s initial report, mainly from the victim’s co-workers. This psycho walked into the schoolbook warehouse over on Dealy Plaza just before noon, took a crowbar and buried it in the skull of this guy named, uh…let me see, Oswald, Lee Oswald.

“No question that we’ve got the right man; a half-dozen witnesses saw the whole thing. This guy did it and then just waited around to be picked up — like he hadn’t a care in the world.

“The victim was an ex marine married to a woman living over in Irving with a friend. Apparently he and the wife didn’t get on that well; he was living in a room on Beckly Street, although he did visit her on weekends. Also, they had two small girls, what a shame.

“He kept pretty much to himself and didn’t seem to have any friends — or enemies for that matter. Nobody at the depository recalls seeing the killer before or can connect him with the victim, but then Oswald had only worked there a few weeks.

“We got what we need for a conviction: witnesses and the murder weapon. But a motive and a confession would be nice. Try to find a connection between these two men — there’s got to be some connection.”

The Interrogation:

In accordance with departmental policy, the suspect is informed that he has the right to have an attorney present during questioning. The suspect waives this right.

It’s agreed that Simms would play the “good cop,” and Boyd the “bad cop.”

The suspect had no identification in his possession when taken into custody, so the first item on the agenda is to establish who he is.

“What’s your name?” Simms asks in as friendly a manner as he can muster.

“Winston Smith,” he answers.

“Your address?”

“None.”

“Social Security Number?”

“I don’t have one.”

“Got a library card or any kind of identification?”

“No.”

“Well, where are you staying?”

“Nowhere, I just arrived in town.”

“From where?”

No answer.

Boyd, “the bad cop,” cuts in. “Listen, you son of a bitch, you just smashed in the skull of some poor guy who never did you, or anybody else, any harm in his whole life. And you left a widow and two small girls without a father. Now go on being a smart-ass with us, and you just might find yourself falling down those backstairs; it happens every once in a while around here, no matter how careful we try to be!

“And just keep in mind that we got a shitload of witnesses that saw you smash that guy’s head in, and we got your bloody fingerprints on the crowbar, and you have his blood on your goddamn shirt. The way I see it, the noose is already around your fuckin’ neck, so do yourself a favor and don’t piss me off.”

“Easy Elmer, this guy has been through a lot, and I’m sure he’s really upset and probably not thinking too clearly, so give him a chance to get himself together, OK?

“But what my partner says is true. You’re in pretty hot water, so why don’t you do yourself a favor by telling us exactly what got you into this situation? You seem like an intelligent man; you must have had a reason for what you did.”

“I don’t think there’s much point in saying anything; you wouldn’t believe my story anyway,” the suspect says.

“Try us, we just want you to help us get this thing settled; I’m sure you had a reason for what you did, right? Had you met the victim before this morning?”

No answer.

“Look, we’re going to find all this out sooner or later, so just save us all a lot of trouble and tell us exactly what led up to this. How ‘bout a cup of coffee?”

“Coffee? Real Coffee?”

“Well, Boyd made it, so it’s almost real.”

“Yes, I would like some coffee, thank you.”

“Cream or sugar?”

“Yes, cream and sugar. I haven’t had real coffee in years.”

“OK, go on, you were going to tell us why you killed Oswald.”

“What?”

“Why kill Oswald?” Simms asks.

The suspect takes a swallow of his coffee and seems totally relaxed and reconciled to the situation.

“Oswald was going to kill your President.”

“What?”

“Oswald was going to kill President Kennedy as he passed through Dealy Plaza.”

“And how did you come to know this?”

“I just knew.”

“How did you know?”

“I’m a historian,” he says matter-of-factly.

“What’s that got to do with it?”

“I know from my study of history all the details of the assassination of President Kennedy and its effects on the course of world events.”

“Oh, I get it,” Boyd says. “You’re claiming to be from the fuck’n future, and you think that this story will get you off with some kind of bullshit-insanity defense.”

“The first part of what you said is true, and I guess it doesn’t matter what I say or do now. So, do you want to hear my story or not?”

“Yeah, keep talking, we’re listening.”

“I had to. I had to kill Oswald, and here’s why: After the murder of your President Kennedy, America underwent a shift in its attitude. It wasn’t something anybody could quite put their finger on at the time, but the effects were significant, if subtle, over the years ahead.

“It took time, but slowly that sense of trust, fair play, and optimism that had distinguished Americans trickled away to be replaced by greed, suspicion, and fear. As you would put it, everything went downhill, and it all began with that assassination.

“And the more America lost faith in itself, the more it sought to reform the world. And the more it sought to shape the world around it, the more enemies it made abroad — while the decline at home accelerated.”

“OK, this story is getting good, but how does it end?”

“It ends with a catastrophic American military defeat in East Asia, the collapse of the greatest economy in the world, and the fragmentation of a once great nation into hundreds of feuding political, racial, religious, national, and economic factions. It ends with the death of what was once called the `American Dream.’”

“I bet that made the rest of the world happy,” Boyd says.

“Yes, for a while it did, until the rest of the world realized how interdependent the globe had become. The catastrophe that destroyed your society created a worldwide ripple effect that, in a few frantic months, drew the rest of the world down into that same chaos.

“When I left, what you call the future, there were just a few isolated pockets of high civilization left in the world. I, and a few others, decided that something had to be done. We gathered the few remaining scientists and technicians into a team that built the transporter that would enable someone to travel backwards in time and change the course of history.”

“And that someone was you? You were the one chosen to save the world, right?” Boyd asks.

“Of course,” Smith replies. “Who else? I was the one that isolated the fulcrum of history; the one point in the past that if changed would create a `butterfly effect’ that would replace the crippled world of the future with something better.”

“So, you think you succeeded?” Boyd asks.

“Yes,” Smith replies

“How do you know?”

“Because I’m still here, obvious isn’t it?”

“No, it’s not obvious.”

“Do you know why I didn’t try to escape after the killing? Because after I completed the mission, I was to be instantly drawn back to 2078 A.D., and when I wasn’t I knew that the team and the transporter no longer existed. They no longer existed because their future had been replaced by a new world. They sacrificed their very existence for that brave new world. The mission was a success.”

Then Simms asks an obvious question, “Well, if your future doesn’t exist, how come you’re still here, shouldn’t you have never existed –- just like your friends in the future?”

“No,” Smith replies. “I was out of the temporal loop when the changes occurred and therefore unaffected. Obvious, isn’t it?”

At that moment, a light crackle of electricity fills the interrogation room, and the suspect, Winston Smith, is drawn into the future.

Reykjavik, Department of Iceland; 2099 A.D.

“Well, what do we have here?”

“Winston Smith, time-hacker, pulled him back from 136 years ago.”

“Anything else?”

“Yeah, he caused the death a man named Lee Harvey Oswald in a city called Dallas.

“Lets get started.”

“How do you do Mr. Smith? I’m Dr. Brian Williams, and this is my associate Dr. Sarah Goodwill.”

“You’re doctors?”

“Of course, you’ve just been pulled through 136 years in less than a second, you’re lucky to be alive.”

“Thanks, I think.”

“No need for thanks, its part of our job to examine those in need of assistance. How did you manage to slip that far back into the past? Don’t you know that it’s very dangerous traveling in time? Another few minutes and a temporal vortex would have crushed you.”

“What’s the year?”

“2099, of course.”

“I’m not about to be punished for violating any laws or regulations, or whim of some local authority, am I?”

“No, Mr. Smith, the global authorities don’t `punish’ anyone, just tell us what happened, so we can better judge what help you may need.”

“OK, here’s the whole story….”

The Diagnosis

“What do you think Sarah?”

“I believe him.”

“Me too,” says Dr. Williams. “After all, our scan did indicate that he was definitely from this era.”

“But, Dr. Williams, I do find it somewhat far-fetched that one man could cause the drastic changes in the time-flow that he claims; it goes against all the best scientific predictions our scientists have made.”

“True, but the fact that he even desires change makes him dangerous. Tell him that you’re escorting him to his new living quarters, and then guide him into a disposal unit and see that his body is totally reduced to ash.”

“Of course, but what if what he said is true, what if we actually are a product of his tampering with the time-flow?”

“All the more reason to get rid of him. Would you like to give him a chance to change things again? To change everything into a world where you and I do not even exist?”

“I see your point, Dr. Williams.”

“Besides, nothing ever happens up here, and this case could be the big break that puts a gold star on my sleeve — and a transfer off this iceberg to the Capitol! Also, keep in mind, that when I do end up in the Capitol, I will need a loyal assistant to watch my back, and that’s you.”

“Thank you, sir!”