The Last Generation
Guy Singer
Published by Guy Singer at Smashwords
Copyright 2012 Guy Singer
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental. Where locations are stated, this work does not infer any connection between the inhabitants of that location, past or present and the events mentioned in this book.
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THE LAST GENERATION
Chapter 13 - A Commercial Break
Chapter 15 - Deaths in the family
Chapter 16 - The Isle of Ponza
Chapter 21 - The Last Generation
PART 1 - TOM
Chapter 1 - Seattle
The phone rang insistently; this was the fifth time in ten minutes. Professor Tom Jackson stroked his luxuriant, grey beard and decided he could no longer ignore it. He picked up the handset, ready to put it straight down again if it was the expected wrong number or double glazing salesman. He hated calls disturbing his Sunday evening.
"Hello, is that Professor Jackson?"
Tom was in his mid 70s and guarded his privacy jealously. No one should have his home number.
"Where did you find my number from and why are you calling me now?"
"I have a proposal for you. You are the world's foremost expert on biblical Western Aramaic?" That was a statement as much as a question.
Tom waited. The caller hadn't answered his own question. Now Tom wanted to see where this call headed. The reference, to biblical Aramaic, tweaked his interest. Scholarly circles cited him frequently as an expert biblical researcher, and along with Western Aramaic, he also spoke ancient Hebrew, koine Greek and Latin. His grasp of ancient languages was the best.
After a long pause he replied, "Carry on"
"Can we meet somewhere?"
Tom considered that question. "Maybe" came the reply after a few seconds. "But before I agree, tell me why you want to meet? What's the purpose?"
The caller replied, "I want to rescue Jesus."
Tom slammed the phone down, 'another crank,' he thought. He took the handset off its rest and settled down for the evening.
The following morning, Tom woke slowly. As he grew older, he found it harder to get up and today he lacked any motivation to open his eyes. Eventually he got out of bed and shivered. He didn't believe in using his old central heating and reluctantly admitted he found it hard to afford. He looked out of the window of his old house in the suburb of Kirkland, Seattle and sniffed when he saw the frost on the ground. It was unseasonably cold. He guessed instead of the expected 50 degrees for an early March morning, it was probably only a little above freezing.
'Another example of climate change,' thought Tom. 'I wouldn't be surprised if Lake Washington freezes next winter.'
His morning preparations were meticulous. He followed the usual bathroom activities with some quiet time for meditation. He didn't pray, as he was not a follower now of any specific religion, but he did like to spend 15 minutes in quiet thought. He sat down in the battered old armchair in his bedroom and closed his eyes. He put his chin on the end of his fingers and let his mind go. Today his thoughts kept wandering, irrationally as his meditational skills were strong. The memory of the phone call went through his mind. How did the crank find his number? He couldn't persuade his reflections to settle, so after a few minutes he just gave up.
He dressed slowly. He always wore the same clothes, a dark grey suit, immaculately tailored, and a clean, freshly ironed, white shirt. He never wore a tie. His Jewish roots were still strong, more than 60 years since he last attended the synagogue. However, if the outwards signs pointed towards Israel, inwardly he had a very open mind. As the years had passed, he wore more and more of the trappings of his past religion, but in his head he became more and more open to other views. He finished his dressing and walked into the kitchen. His parents built the old house in the early 1950s. It was at this point they stopped, as a family, attending the synagogue. His father tried to convert the family away from Judaism while his mother's faith remained strong. This conflict appeared, to him, to be the source of the frequent arguments between his parents. His father told him the neighbors weren't too happy about having a family of Jews in the area, and he hid his roots from his new friends at junior high. His name was Judas Tomas before the move. His father had his name changed to a simple Tom. Slowly though, he became unpopular and none of his peers would go into their house. He lost emotional contact with his brothers. Before the move to Seattle Mikael who was 7 years younger than Tom and Joel who was 8 years younger, both shared a room with him. The three of them played together all the time in their old home despite the difference in age. After the move, their new names were Mike and Joe. He didn't see them in the daytime as they went to a different grade school and they had their own room in the house. He was jealous with the ease they made their own friends.
Thus, he began his solitary life. He started to adopt some of the outward signs of his old faith, and wear their trappings because it reminded him of when he had grown up in the blossoming state of Israel. He never understood why they had left and moved to Washington. His father died when Tom was 24, and by that time, Tom was virtually isolated from the rest of the family. He didn't even go to his father's funeral. Within two years of this, both his brothers left home and he remained to care for his mother. A deep family secret existed that kept his heart empty. He looked after his mother, until she died peacefully in her sleep 15 years ago. They didn't talk about their past. It was too painful. Now he still lived in the same 3-bedroom house, even though it was far too big for him, and was over 60 years old now. It was a reminder of the past he could never forget. He converted his brothers' bedroom into an office. He kept his mother's room for guests (who never came) and he still slept in the same single bed in the same room he occupied as a child.
His breakfast was meager. He was not a wealthy man, and partly because of this, partly out of habit, he ate frugally. His normal first meal was a single bagel and coffee, and today he kept the custom. He washed the dishes and set them to dry. As he prepared to leave the house, he performed his usual pocket check. He touched his glasses, keys, wallet, but he felt something was missing - his crucifix - a small wooden cross that lived in his pocket more as a good luck charm rather than a religious talisman. He reached into the drawer of the table beside the front door and pulled it out. His father gave it to him when they first came to Seattle, and he carried it ever since. This was his last reminder of his father. Finally, he donned the dark grey overcoat and fedora from the peg in the hall, closed and double locked the front door behind him.
His mind started to wander. He was prone to have occasional daydreams and blackouts. These grew more frequent as he aged and during them, he would often see glimpses of a possible future. In a sudden flash, he saw the house empty and decaying. The front lawn was overgrown and the garden in disarray. A shudder ran through his body as he felt he would not come back. 'I wonder where that idea came from,' he thought.
Sitting on the front doorstep of the house was a small package.
"That's odd," he said to himself. "It's far too early for the mail carrier."
He picked it up cautiously. It was about 12 inches on each side and was very light. He scooped it up and put it onto the passenger seat of his car. He was now ashamed of his red 2003 Chevy Corvette. When he bought it, it was one of his few 'luxuries'. He used his entire 'golden handshake' to make the purchase. Now he regretted the waste of money. He had little enough to live on. At the time, he lacked very little. Now he was frequently cold at home. He bought the sports car, which he knew, for a man of 65, was extravagant. He'd never owned a car like this before. He thought that by buying it, his life would change. He wanted a new start on his 65th birthday. He wanted to break out from the mould of Professor, of reluctant Jew, and of lonely old man. However, after a very short time, he realized nothing changed, and all he owned was a bright red reminder that he was alone. He still occasionally drew looks from the young girls in their own convertibles at the traffic lights, but as soon as they saw him driving, they looked away. He turned the key to start the car and it spluttered in the cold. He wondered if the battery could run down while the car sat unused over the weekend. Finally, he coaxed it into life and he set off down the suburban road to the University of Washington.
His mind wandered again. He was sitting inside a rock house. He felt comfortable, warm and happy. Outside the rock, he could see grass peppered with spring flowers. Friends sat around him. They all smiled at him and asked him questions. Two little girls danced on the grass outside. He saw a man in the distance. He was coming over to him. He couldn't help looking at his bright blue eyes -
There was a loud blast from a car horn.
"Curses," mumbled Tom, as he looked up at the red light and saw it was green. "They always interrupt the daydream at the good part. At least I stopped at the green light and didn't just drive through a red."
He waved out the car window in a friendly way at the man behind him. The man merely blasted his horn again.
The College of Arts and Sciences at the University was set out in its own huge campus. The Near Eastern Languages and Civilization Department was in Denny Hall, a four-storey building with gothic touches. It shared this home with the department of Anthropology. Professor Jackson used to be head of the Department. After his retirement, he became a Professor Emeritus. The car park lay almost half a mile from the department and Tom's office was at the back of the building on the fourth floor. As he locked the car, he remembered the man at the red light. He dreaded the day when someone would tell him not to bother coming in any more. His Corvette would stay parked in its garage. He shuffled dejectedly along the pathways and through the corridors and arrived at his office. He unlocked the door, and went in.
Although now retired, he enjoyed the company of students. They made him feel young, and occasionally one would ask him to translate a biblical text. He was still useful and that gave him purpose. It was a small point but it showed him he was not alone. He held his insecurities at bay. However, the times students consulted him were becoming fewer and his zest for life was fading with it.
He looked round the small, cramped space and glanced at the bookshelves along the back wall. He knew their contents by heart and could reach immediately for any when he needed it. His eyes wandered over the Torah, the Bible and the Koran, and he scanned the tracts and discussion books on each of them. Today he barely glanced at the books on the modern conspiracy theories. He noticed one of the Dan Brown books in the wrong place. He moved it where it should be, next to the book on the Priory of Zion. He wondered if anyone else could find anything in the unsorted and un-catalogued mess, but then he knew no one else would ever bother to look through the shelves at all. His eyes flicked over the books on the Dead Sea Scrolls and stopped at one of his fourteen copies of books written about the Gospel according to Thomas. He pulled this off the shelf and put it on his desk to read. He liked the writings of this man. Maybe because this man had been his namesake he admired him. Maybe because he recognized a kindred spirit he read his gospel repeatedly. Maybe because this particular Gospel didn't refer to the life of Jesus, just his parables and sayings, he related to it. He knew the style of writing as if he penned the words himself. He studied this man and read everything that ancient authors wrote about him. He read the 114 sayings of Jesus it contained in the text dozens of times. He thought it was one of the oldest of the documents reputedly quoting Jesus, and that was another reason why it always attracted special attention from him.
As Tom sat down at his desk and picked up the book, he banged his chair against the bookshelves behind him. He couldn't avoid that and he cursed the small space allocated to him for an office since he retired. At least he did have a permanent office. Professor Hugh Jones, who retired about the same time as him, heard from the new Head of Department that his services were redundant. Tom was grateful he still had a place to go, a place to feel wanted. He read the introduction to the Gospel, which he knew by heart.
"These are the hidden words which Jesus the Living spoke, and which Didymus Judas Thomas wrote down, and he said this: Whoever discovers the meaning of these words will not taste death!"
He liked the name. He always smiled when he thought of the redundancy as both Didymus in Greek and Thomas in Aramaic both meant twin. He loved the coincidence that his own former name was Judas, so he started to use it as a middle name. The nameplate on his desk read "Thomas Judas Jackson." He didn't have a twin though. His two brothers were much younger than he was. He tried in vain to think how old they would be now, but it was over 40 years since he contacted either of them. He slumped down in his chair and wondered what the day might bring.
He was unsure how long he could continue to drive with these blanks in his memory coming more and more frequently. He started daydreaming and in his mind, he saw the car parked up. He knew it was permanent, but it was not in its garage, it was in the university parking lot. In the daydream, there was a package on the back seat of the car. He picked up the box and looked inside it; he saw an envelope; saw a phone number; and saw himself in a hot and dusty town. The town had many people and many twisting winding alleys. There was a hill -
His head nodded forward as he started to fall asleep and he jerked it back with a shudder. His attention focused back to the package on his desk, not in the car. He saw it was obviously hand delivered, as there were no UPS marks or other shipping stamps on the outside. It was about a foot cubed and covered in brown paper. He lifted it up and noted it was very light, suggesting to him that there wasn't much inside it. He looked at the sisal string around it; at the ends was a wax seal. The picture on the seal attracted his attention, and he studied it for a long time. It was very simple, consisting merely of two intersecting arcs. Together they formed a stylized fish.
'Ikhthus' thought the Professor, the sign of the fish. Well they certainly know how to draw my attention.
He said to himself the words that made up the acronym for 'Ikhthus' - "Iesous Christos, Theou Yios, Soter" - Jesus Christ, God's Son, Savior. He knew it was the sign that marked the meeting places for early, persecuted Christians. He wondered what might be inside. His mind went off on another stream of tangents and dreams, and he again saw himself in the hot and dusty town. There were people everywhere and it was busy. He was in a market and he saw a crowd around him. They were calling him 'Master' and 'Lord'. He saw the hill in the background again. On the top was a cross - no there were three crosses. His daydream took him to the right hand cross. He recognized the man nailed to it. Himself. He came to with a jump, and shook off this last shocking memory.
He cut the string and left the seal intact. He opened the brown paper carefully and then the top of the box, which was not taped shut. The box contained an envelope, just as he imagined. It was cream in color, and fastened loosely to the bottom of the box. Tom took it out and opened it. Inside was one sheet of notepaper and he read the typewritten words: 'Are you curious now?' and a phone number.
He recognized it immediately as the one on his caller ID from last night. The last three digits were 888. He thought again, this is the number of Christ. One of his books told the reason but he couldn't remember which book or why. He paid little attention to these sorts of theories and the fact the caller used this number trivialized the potential new relationship. He smiled at the steps these people took to secure his attention. Yet, he wanted to know more. His mind wandered over to books covering the subject of Jesus' bloodline, conspiracy theories, Papal sects - he knew this would merely be another one. Nevertheless, as the letter implied, it aroused his curiosity.
He picked up the ancient telephone on his desk and dialed the number.
The voice at the other end of the phone merely said, "I knew you'd call."
Tom remained silent.
"Would you like to meet me? It would be easier to explain everything face to face."
"OK," said Tom, "where and when?"
With that, there was a brief knock on the door and it opened to reveal a beaming man.
"Hi, I'm Phil" he said. "And you can put the phone down now."
Phil Baxendale was a slim man who just turned 45. He was dressed casually, in a check shirt and designer jeans. He was well groomed, clean-shaven and wore small metal-rimmed glasses, which gave him an air of distinction. He was a man with an enthralling past. He came from Boston, and was the only child of an extremely wealthy industrialist. As a child, he traveled the world. At first, he journeyed with his parents, but from the age of 16, he enjoyed touring alone. His love of travel fuelled a fascination with foreign languages. He had a keen mind and a flare for learning. He went to Harvard and studied at their Faculty of Arts and Science in the language lab. His father made a fortune by building up a steel company. When both his parents died suddenly, just after his 21st birthday, he inherited their entire wealth estimated at the time at nine billion dollars. He continued his study after the tragic loss. He acquired a working knowledge of more than a dozen languages and was fluent in about half of them. He was not an overtly flamboyant man. He did have his luxuries, which he loved, but he preferred generally to keep his wealth discrete. He had enough money to live an extremely comfortable life and would never need to work. Yet he was not a lazy man, and devoted himself to interesting projects. For most of his twenties, he toured foreign countries. He spent an entire year in Israel and committed much of his time there to studying the records of the city. The Temple of Solomon fascinated him. He published several papers on its history and investigated its mysteries. He never married nor took a partner, as he preferred to spend all his time travelling and working. He was a dedicated man and when he decided to take on a project, he put 110% of his energy into it. His current mission concerned Jesus. He was gifted, lead a fast and furious lifestyle, and now he was standing in front of Tom. The contrast between the two men could not have been more extreme. The only common facet of their character was they both led solitary lives. Phil reveled in living alone. It gave him the freedom to do what he wanted. Tom hated his lonesome existence. It created the bars that held him in his self-imposed prison.
Tom looked at the man and instantly felt jealous. He noticed the way other people dressed and envied people who showed good style and fashion sense. He lacked these social skills along with many others. He didn't expect the meeting would last long.
"You're a very hard man to talk to, please forgive my intrigue" started Phil.
Tom took his normal pensive attitude and said nothing. One hand slipped towards the security button on the back of his desk. After a recent spate of violence in Universities, the Dean insisted on fitting these. Despite decrying the idea at the time, Tom was glad of the option of using it today.
"Will you at least give me five minutes before you call security?"
Observant, reflected the older man. He remained silent and removed his hand from behind the desk, pressing his hands together and resting his chin on his outstretched fingers.
"I told you on the phone I wanted to rescue Jesus. I expect you thought I was talking about the bloodline, or thaw him from an ice block, or that I found his tomb or something like that. No actually, my plan is far more unlikely and that's why you have to promise to give me 5 minutes before you throw me out. If I haven't convinced you by then, I'll leave and not contact you again."
Given the assurance that the man would leave of his own free will, and thinking that he just, by the slimmest chance, might have an idea worth listening to, Tom nodded his consent. He still hadn't said a word though.
By the end of five minutes, Tom understood exactly why Phil set up this charade. He started to understand the character of the man and warmed to him a little emotionally. To Tom, Phil now appeared honest, forthright and intensely passionate about his project. Either Phil was the most insightful man on Earth, or he was completely insane. Tom initially put the odds about 99 to 1 in favor of insanity. After 5 minutes, these odds changed to 70/30 in favor of insight.
Phil spoke at length. With earnestness and a sense of urgency that gripped Tom, he spoke of his family wealth, his privileged upbringing and his luck at college. He told Tom about his training in languages, his friendship with some of the best scientists and the flash of inspiration of a brilliant friend that enabled the building of the machine. He spoke of the founding of the top-secret private research institute outside Portland. He went on to describe how William brought him on board to fund the venture. He described in detail the project they completed in the newly built Smith Baxendale Institute. He mentioned time travel. He told Tom about his plan to go back and persuade Jesus to leave Galilee before the crucifixion. He seemed convinced of his facts. He said the machine they built could only go back a fixed number of days. It was around 2,000 years, but it was a fixed period and this configuration of machine could not change that. Then he said he had already been back once and it was then Phil realized he had a problem. Time travel was the thing that made Tom wince. Phil produced a document from his briefcase, made from parchment with many wax seals hanging from it. He told Tom he would explain how he obtained it later, but he assured him it was genuine.
Tom read the words, which were in ancient Latin. He could not believe what he saw. It was a warrant for the execution of a man. He read the name on it, IESUS, and the single word next to it, MESSIAS. He looked at the name written at the end of it. PONTIUS PILATUS PRAEFECTUS PROVINCIAE JUDAEAE. Tom knew him as Pontius Pilate, Prefect, Governor of the Province of Judea. Tom easily understood the ancient Latin writings, but when he looked at the parchment itself, it appeared new. Tom had seen forged documents in the past, but oddly, these were brass. He knew intuitively that he was holding in his hands the actual death warrant of Jesus. Phil said he went back the 2,000 years two days previously and he returned with this document. Now Phil was telling him he wanted to go back again and return with Jesus. Phil carried on talking, but Tom was barely listening. His mind was already back in the past, searching for answers.
Phil's story captured Tom's imagination from that moment on. He could think of many ways of creating just such a document, and this one looked new. From his studies over the decades, Tom knew Jesus actually lived, and he knew Jesus was the Messiah in the eyes of many people. He now thought that it was possible, just barely, this would be his chance to meet the man himself.
He nodded acknowledgement all the time Phil had been speaking, but barely said a word since he came in. Finally, he broke his silence.
"Why tell all this to me?" he asked.
"I wondered when you'd ask me that," replied Phil excitedly. "I told you I've been back already and it dawned on me only then, that I could not speak Western Aramaic. I'm proficient in ancient Greek and speak Hebrew, but not a word of Aramaic. We knew I would be going back to Jerusalem and roughly somewhere in the first century. I did not know the exact time I'd arrive. Imagine my shock when I landed on the day Jesus cleared the moneychangers from the temple. Then I did something wrong, terribly wrong. I need to go back and put it right." He paused and blushed. Tom sensed this was not easy for him.
"Consider the most blindingly obvious fact," he continued. "If you Google 'What language did Jesus speak' and you ignore the cranks who say 'Klingon' and the others who say 'nothing as Jesus didn't exist', the answer is Judean or Western Aramaic. I can't communicate with the man. When I return to the past, I'll meet Jesus and, I need to talk to him in Aramaic to convince him to come with me. I can't take a chance he will speak anything else, and I only have one shot at meeting him. Although I'm very good at languages, I can't learn it in one day. I have been told that you speak it fluently and so -" he paused to clear his throat "I'd like to invite you to come back in time with me and meet the Messiah himself."
Tom didn't say a word for what seemed many minutes. A million thoughts whizzed through his mind. He knew it would be his chance to meet the son of God. He could actually talk to the man who became the central pillar of a religion. He knew this was what his years of study had really been for after all. His life did have a purpose.
Making one of the quickest decisions of his life he replied, "OK, when do we go?"
"Because the machine can only go back a fixed number of days, it has to be this afternoon. They will have the Last Supper later today and the Crucifixion will be tomorrow."
With that, the two men walked out the Campus together.
Chapter 2 - Portland
In contrast to Tom's Corvette, Phil's Dodge Viper was new. It was also very, very expensive and very, very fast. It was one of Phil's few overtly ostentatious possessions. Tom rarely broke the speed limit in his car. Phil didn't simply break it either; he destroyed it. They drove the 180 miles at breakneck speed, clearing the distance in 90 minutes. Phil talked almost constantly through the journey. For once in his restrained life, Tom was feeling excited. The more Phil talked the more Tom believed what he was saying was possible.
Tom's initial jealousy towards Phil waned. He started to admire him. It was obvious Phil was extremely rich. Tom didn't know, but the Dodge Viper was the extremely rare Viper SRT10 "Final Edition" model with only 50 made. It was graphite grey in color with a black center stripe traced in red. It boasted a staggeringly large 8-liter engine and a top speed of 202 miles per hour.
Phil broke 180 M.P.H. once on the journey from Seattle to Portland. He drove hard and fast and knew how to handle the car. At just over $100,000, it was hardly a toy. Outwardly, that was a rare extravagance. He preferred to live a comfortable life, and put the rest of his fortune towards the time travel research. This was his current project and he put all his energy and considerable resources into it. He was single-minded when he had a project and the possibilities of time travel now formed his all-embracing passion. He wasn't married and had no siblings. If anything happened to him, his entire fortune, currently valued at seven billion dollars would go to his work colleagues in equal shares. They didn't know this of course. He wanted it to be a surprise. All he told them was that in the event of his death the Institute would still receive funds from his Trust. As things currently stood, each of the three remaining partners would inherit just over two billion dollars.
There was plenty of time for Phil to talk to Tom on the journey.
"The theory came to a colleague of mine, William Smith, one night in a blinding flash," he said. "He thought if he blended the constant universal flux with transient time strings, he could in effect bend time. He said an object in the flux beam would travel down a transient time string and end up in the past."
Tom stopped him. "I'm sorry but you're losing me. Don't feel you have to treat me as a first-grade student. I'll just accept the technical bits."
Phil smiled and continued with his tale. "With the help of scientists around him and a lot of my money, William founded the Institute four years ago. He called it the Smith Baxendale Institute after our two surnames. He made sure it wasn't listed anywhere and our drive for research in secret started. We employed a resource manager to arrange delivery of anything we needed at a secluded drop-off point. Our own transport collected it from there. She turned out to be brilliant and frequently had the part already in stock before we requisitioned it. We had an amazing young technician from England, who could manufacture any part, mechanical or electronic that Melissa could not buy. We also hired an assistant computer programmer to work with William, and it turned out to be fortunate we did. The Institute houses the transport room, several reception rooms, some basic living quarters and a fully equipped medical center. William had some health complications and needed to have treatment facilities available. His own doctor was ready on standby just in case William needed him. It has all the resources we need stored in the building and a generator that could power a small city. Here we built the time machines, a tiny one to start with. I was not a silent partner. I was involved at every stage. So much so that when the first machine exploded and killed my colleague and co-founder, I was able to take over the lead research. Fortunately, we kept a backup of the computer program outside the lab and this saved the project.
"There were some terrible mishaps in the beginning. I've already mentioned that the first machine disintegrated in a ball of fire that killed William Smith. It also wrecked our transport room. We asked ourselves why. It turned out there was a simple answer. We tried to move a Hot Wheels toy car back in time. By checking William's theories, we saw the flaw in our plan. We couldn't move metal. I was devastated and wanted to give up. However, the dream William started, had to be fulfilled. It took us three months to recover, get over our loss, and rebuild the lab. When we restored everything, we tried to move a stone pebble. It vanished and it immediately became apparent that we could move non-metallic items. We wondered if it would come back and where it went. The pebble did reappear a few moments later. We didn't know if it went back in time. We cleared a huge area, watched, and waited. Cameras recorded the space. Almost immediately, a pebble appeared - a different one - in the middle of the space - it just phased in from nowhere. Then a few moments later, it disappeared. We looked at the photos of the stone and started hunting for the rock we saw. The next day, we found the identical pebble on the ground outside the building. We brought it in and dutifully sent it back in time to complete the cycle. We moved larger and larger rocks. When we tried to send anything metal, the machine blew up. However, by now we placed the machine in a separate enclosure shielded with heavily reinforced concrete. The control room is outside. We are not going to lose another member of the team. Our test table was frequently visited by pebbles from a time in the future. We diligently recorded each one and when we found the identical rock outside we sent it back. We soon realized that the larger the object, the further back in time it went and the longer it stayed. A brick would stay away for 3 minutes - a small boulder, the size of a football, almost 5 minutes. It appeared to be a sort of slingshot effect through time. It was as if the pebble was on an elastic time cord. All we had to do was send it. The return was automatic."
Phil became excited when he told Tom about the next phase of the plan. "We reached the stage of sending hollow rocks. They had to be completely non-metallic or the rock blew up. We tried a paperclip inside a small hollowed out rock and it vaporized. Then came the moment we all thought impossible. We drilled out the inside of a rock just over one meter in diameter. We put the lab's pet cat into it and placed a flat stone on the top to seal it. An hour later, it came back with the cat alive. I decided to take my life in my hands. I crawled inside the rock myself. After a moment, man had his first experience of time travel. I pushed off the top stone and found myself in the middle of a forest. The cat was away about an hour, so I knew I had the same time. I used about five minutes to collect a few souvenirs. They were mainly organic things, since I knew the rock transport would explode if I brought back anything else. After about 5 minutes, I became scared and waited inside the rock for the next 55 minutes to return. I was dreading something going wrong and being stranded in the past. Sure enough, the slingshot effect of their time travel returned me to the present day. Carbon dating the things I brought back was pointless. We all knew it would show they were new. We sent them to a botanist and she went wild with excitement. She told us they were specimens of extinct plant that people assumed disappeared 300 years ago. She wanted to know where we found them, as it appeared a treasure trove of forgotten material.
"The larger the rock, the further back in time we could go. However, the calculations were impossibly complicated. To try to add the fluctuations in the flux blender we were using was beyond the most powerful computer and programs we could engineer and we didn't have William to guide us anymore. It was a function of the external size and shape and the integration of the flux."
Tom tutted at this point. He was getting lost again.
Phil continued. "Weight affected the time away, and by weighing the rocks, we could work out how long they would be gone. However to tie the transport down to a date of landing was beyond even our most sophisticated calculations. It was just potluck. All our experiments showed that once we chose a rock, it would always go back the same amount of time, no matter how many times you sent it. This was as long, of course, that you didn't chip any bits off the outside of it. Then Gary, our new computer expert, worked out how to change the landing coordinates of the boulders. We had to blend the flux in with a gravitational mindan shift and the stones would arrive in different places. We practiced calibrating the mindan -"
An "hmmm" from Tom brought Phil back on track.
Phil ignored it and went on. "After a while," he told Tom, "we could transport the rocks so they landed exactly where we wanted. We had fun sending small rocks to the local soccer stadium. Then we sent a rock painted to look like a football. By searching newspaper archive records, we found the result of this particular transport. It appeared a placekicker kicked a football that was like a rock. No one knew how it got there. The newspaper went on to say the player broke his foot and the ensuing fuss centered on the fact the man said the 'rock' he kicked came from nowhere. The field staff went to pick it up as evidence, but it disappeared. The newspaper went on to describe the whole incident as a bad taste joke that had backfired on the perpetrator."
His tale continued. "Finally, we decided to try an enormous rock. It is over 12 feet in diameter, and we built a new lab and transport mechanism around it. Lawrence, our engineer, carved it out to provide two seats inside. The door is a massive slab. It swings quite easily bearing in mind its weight. We programmed the arrival coordinates for Jerusalem. None of us relished going back to the first century in the USA. When I was younger, I carried out extensive research on the Temple of Solomon, and this facet of history intrigues me. I wrote a thesis on it while I was at Harvard. I wanted to go back and see it in real life. I also, conveniently, speak ancient Greek, Latin and Hebrew, so whenever it landed I would be able to communicate with someone. We made a good guess at the landing time and narrowed it down to somewhere in the first century. Secretly I hoped I would land around the time of the siege of Jerusalem and be able to witness the destruction of the Temple in 70AD. After that we intended to build an even larger transport and go back to see the first temple, 1,000 years earlier still. Remember we still could not be precise about the landing date. Imagine my surprise when I took the transport and emerged from the rock. I talked to a few people and found I landed just outside Jerusalem, near the Garden of Gethsemane. The year was 33 AD - the people I spoke to said it was the 7th year of the Prefecture of Pontius Pilate. I went to the temple and managed to ascertain that Jesus, just that same day, cleared out the moneychangers. I landed in what some people would say was the most important week in the history of man - the Passover week and the Passion of Christ. I read the bible as a child. I knew I had landed on Monday. The crucifixion was, according to tradition, on Friday - 4 days later. I hatched an insane plan without thinking of the possible consequences. I went to visit Pilate to talk to him about Jesus. We calculated I had around 24 hours at the location, before the rock would return. I did indeed have that interview with Pilate, but I made a fatal mistake. I inferred to Pilate that Jesus was a very important man and it would be better if he didn't punish the man for what he did in the temple."
Tom found this part of the story interesting and listened hard. It must have showed.
"I know this relates to your own studies," Phil said to Tom, "so I'll give you the full story here. Pilate flew into a rage. He screamed that he had enough of so-called Messiahs and he would see an end to Jesus and all his kind. I watched him prepare three copies of a warrant for Jesus' death and ordered his scribe to write it out on parchment. He sealed them with wax seals. He gave me one copy, he sent one to Rome and he gave the final one to the guards. I can't help worry that I have sentenced Jesus to death and created one of the central stories of the bible. Maybe if I had not been and seen Pilate the crucifixion would not have happened. Is this the sort of thing that science fiction talks about? Have I changed the present by changing the past? Then I hatched another plan. It will probably turn out to be as insane as the last one. I want to go back and snatch Jesus from the jaws of death. Maybe I can make history back to whatever it was before I changed it and made the stories that would become the Bible. The implications are huge. Without my interference might there be no Church, no Holy Wars, millions of lives spared? I can't live with myself knowing what I've done. I have to go back and try to talk Jesus out of allowing Pilate to crucify him. Otherwise I shall always feel I have the deaths of millions of people on my hands."
"Just imagine the world today without a Pope," Tom exclaimed.
"All too soon, my time back in the first century ended and I returned to the present. I brought the parchment and the memories. I know what I have to do. However, in order to communicate with Jesus I need to be a fluent Aramaic speaker. Or else I need a trusted translator with me. I found a few people there spoke a type of Greek, but most were speaking Aramaic. Melissa made a rapid investigation and she told me that you, Tom, were the man. You are possibly the only fluent speaker of ancient Judean Aramaic in the world. However, Melissa told me that you were a cautious and private man and the only way to persuade you to come on board was to hook your interest. Melissa said that a direct approach would never work. I didn't have any time to spare, but I knew I had to be patient. Lawrence made the wax seal and Melissa obtained the telephone with the number 888, and I set off for Seattle. As I drove up, I called you from the car. You suddenly answered and we had our first conversation. I arrived an hour or so later and left the package on your doorstep. Then I slept the night in the car, and you know the rest."
Tom listened to the story with growing curiosity. He could sense this man was actually involved in history and possibly caused the crucifixion of Jesus. Without his interference, who knew what might have been. He considered that the majority of the books on his shelves were there because of the actions in 2012 of one man. He wondered if Pilate wouldn't have sent Jesus to his death. Maybe - who knew! Excitedly he considered they were going to change history again. They were going to remove the central character from a religion that lasted almost 2,000 years. This was truly the stuff of science fiction. He wondered if all the bibles would disappear. Would the churches just vanish? What would happen to the Pope and the Vatican? Without their Messiah dying and being resurrected, who knew? The consequences were unimaginable. Nevertheless, he had to go through with it. His innate curiosity had him firmly in its grip and he was about to become a time traveler.
A little after noon they screeched to a halt at the 'lab' in Portland. Tom realized it wasn't quite how he imagined it. When Phil had used the word, Institute, he pictured a large, white, modern building, perhaps on an Industrial Estate, surrounded by lush green lawns and trees. In his mind, he saw a white sign, welcoming visitors. The Smith Baxendale Institute that Phil now took him to appeared to be anything but this. He wasn't concerned when they drove off the main road after they left Hillsboro. For the last few miles, they drove through an unkempt and untended wooded area, set in some low hills. Tom saw a collection of buildings perhaps aggregating to the size of a large, old farm complex. It appeared to have a low, single storey front, and Tom saw a larger, two or three storey box-like structure behind. He saw some dilapidated outbuildings next to it, precariously leaning on it. He watched as Phil pressed a button in his car and the garage-style door on one of these outbuildings opened. After Phil parked his car inside, Tom noted the 'garage' appeared a lot more substantial inside than outside. Phil's car appeared safe in its reinforced home when the door shut. He wondered how many other vehicles the Institute garaged in similar seemingly dilapidated outbuildings. He followed Phil out of the garage.
Tom watched, as the door closed and the garage became an ordinary shack again. He noted most of the buildings were clad in aging wood, but had sections of bare, flaking concrete, which someone painted many years ago, in a dull beige color. From appearances, the complex looked to be about 50 years old and virtually derelict. He thought one major storm and the whole lot would collapse. There were no other buildings in sight, and the road it was on was a forest track going nowhere. Phil told Tom there were a few cabins down the track, but they weren't used much. He couldn't see a nameplate on the building, and at a casual look, he would have mistaken it for a derelict farm. Tom's immediate reaction was he made a dreadful mistake. Phil led Tom inside. They went in through a room that gave the impression of a rotting farm store. He saw the door hanging loose on one hinge. The bare shelves appeared long empty and neglected. A heavy coating of dust lay everywhere. They went through a back door, heavily secured and Tom saw the real Institute behind. He was immediately impressed.
Phil took him through the immaculately painted white reception area, to a very pleasant waiting room. He at last understood the rotting farm shop was a front for a new, impressive and very secret operation.
Phil asked him, "Does the place surprise you?"
Tom nodded feebly. He hadn't imagined this in his wildest dreams, and he hadn't seen any visions of it either.
Phil continued, "It took us a year to build it and another 6 months to camouflage it. The builders thought we were mad, but we handpicked them from a trusted team we flew in from out-of-state. There was plenty of local gossip, but a good few beers bought in the local bar in Dilley put most people on our side. Locally the folk refer to us as 'those queer folks in the woods'. We don't have any trouble from them and most have forgotten we're here."
Phil quickly introduced Tom to the rest of the staff.
Tom initially had in his mind a research team of dozens. He was actually surprised to find they numbered only four. Apart from Phil, there was Gary Stewart. He was the lead scientist now. Prematurely grey haired and balding, Tom guessed he was only in his 30s. His thick glasses and the white coat, gave away little else. He said very little, but when he did, it was with a pronounced stammer.
Melissa Tondust was older - mid 40s. She was the procurement manager. She too wore a white coat, and her hair was jet black and piled up on her head. There was a row of pens in her pocket and she never seemed to put down the clipboard in her hand.
Phil said "If you need anything ask Melissa and it will be here. She prides herself on frequently buying things BEFORE anyone asks for them."
Melissa smiled.
Then Phil introduced Tom to their engineer. His name was Lawrence Burstall. His specialty was making things, and he could turn his hand to the manufacture of anything. If they needed a complex circuit board or a turned part from a lathe or a new electronic part to increase the power of Phil's Viper, all they did was ask Lawrence and it was there.
The final member of the team had been William Smith. He was a brilliant theoretical physicist and a computer engineer. He wrote the program to make time travel a reality, before the first experiment tragically killed him. No one since him could adapt the program. They seriously doubted any scientist could understand his computer code. Nevertheless, they kept the computer and they kept the program going as they transported larger and larger rocks. Each time it performed its function perfectly.
Phil asked Lawrence to prepare Tom for time travel. They walked into a small room, silver in color, mainly clad in brushed stainless steel. It appeared like a lab in an alien spaceship. In it were a number of machines. Tom never saw their like before. In the middle of the room was a medical bench. Above it was a bright operating theatre-style light. Phil warned him there would have to be a medical, but it shook Tom to see the other-worldliness of the area. Time was of the essence here and everyone knew it. Lawrence asked him to strip naked, and put away all his clothing. Apart from being incongruous if he arrived in Jerusalem in his suit, it wouldn't be possible. A single metal pin, let alone a zipper would detonate the time travel capsule.
The first thing that Tom underwent was a full scan from a very sensitive metal detector. He lay on the bench and endured a full body magnetic scan.
While he was lying there, his mind wandered with his first premonition since meeting Phil. He was in the hot and dusty town again. Then once more, he saw the crosses. He could clearly see the face of the man on the center one this time. It was striking because of the eyes. They looked right into his soul, and they were blue, intense blue. He felt them drill into him. As if, his own vision was examining him. In his mind, he looked around. There was the cross on either side. The man on the right was Tom, himself. He was ready for that revelation this time. What shocked him to the core was the face of the man on the left. It was his new colleague - Phil. He could see both victims were dressed in simple white robes.
He shook his head, causing consternation in Lawrence who was just about to check that part of his body.
"Please keep still. I know this is uncomfortable but it's very necessary." The rebuke was pointed and vehement.
"I'm sorry. A bad daydream. I had to shake myself awake. I'll not move again." He didn't and the scan was soon completed.
Tom was fortunate that he lost his teeth long ago; he removed his dentures and left them behind. Any metal fillings would have been fatal. He knew he had no pins in his bones, his hips had held out and the joints were original. Finally, Lawrence checked his heart. They couldn't imagine a pacemaker exploding! He completed the health questionnaire in a few minutes. He looked at the small print, which was many pages long, but Tom decided he didn't want to read it. Despite Lawrence's protests, he just scrawled his name at the bottom of the last page. Lawrence provided him with a simple linen robe, bleached white with a rope belt to tie it at the waist. This scared Tom a little who still had the vision fresh in his mind. Lawrence then replaced his black leather shoes with leather sandals, sewn with cotton thread. Tom asked one boon. He wanted to take his crucifix. He carried this small wooden object with him for years. He argued that as it was wooden, it could not be a problem. Lawrence X-rayed it, checked it for metal under the most sensitive of the detectors and finally pronounced it OK. Thirty minutes later, poked, prodded, re-dressed, and with the crucifix in a small cloth bag hanging from his neck, he met up with Phil again. His good mood dispersed. He didn't like the poking into his person and he desperately regretted the period while Lawrence examined him naked. The memory of the vision he had still shook him.
"An old man of 74 shouldn't be treated like this," he kept mumbling.
However, he knew it was essential. He knew the consequences of a mistake. Phil showed him the remains of the paperclip they had tried to transport. It was just a small cluster of metallic spheres, welded together by an intense heat. He told Tom the rock containing it disintegrated to ash under the high temperature.
Phil apologized for the treatment and repeated its necessity. He was now dressed in a similar simple linen robe and together the two men, looking like refugees from a passion play, walked through the lab. They arrived at an enormous door, with a number of different locking devices on it. First Phil underwent a retina scan, then a palm print and finally he entered a long key code number. The huge door, almost a meter thick opened slowly.
"We need protection," Phil said, "it's not from espionage, but from inside. If this rock explodes, it could take out the entire city. The walls of the building are over a meter thick reinforced concrete and the door, as you can see, will take the blast. The control room is outside." He gestured to a 'box' to the side. That still didn't explain to Tom why they had the triple lock on the entry system.
Phil led Tom inside and the sight of an enormous boulder immediately grabbed Tom's attention. He looked at it and then looked up. He thought he was in a giant microwave. He could see a mesh screen covering the walls. In the top of the ceiling, he saw a unit that looked like a fan in a convector oven. For one moment, he thought he was going to be micro waved alive.
Phil quietly said, "You don't have to do this you know."
"Oh, but I do" replied Tom. "I've been waiting years to find some purpose in my life, now I have it. When I went to bed last night, I was annoyed at a crank who telephoned me. When I meditated this morning, I knew I should have talked to him. I've been having flashes all day of being in a hot and dusty town. Now I'm about to entrust my life to the crank and go on the adventure I've always wanted. I have to go. When do we depart?"
"Now if you're ready" came the reply from Phil. "According to my calculations we should arrive about an hour before dusk and the rock will return 24 hours later at about 5 p.m. on the day of the crucifixion. If we leave it any later, we will miss our best chance to talk Jesus out of it at the last supper. If all else fails I have a plan to snatch him at the last moment. We can't risk the rock returning without him."
Tom noted that Phil said 'we' when he was talking about the trip out and 'him' rather than 'us' for the trip back.
"Will we come back?" asked Tom quietly.
"I don't know." Phil replied with surprising honesty. "There are many unknowns. I don't want to risk things again. If I hadn't made such an almighty mess-up with history last time, I wouldn't be going now. I have to put right the alternate future I may have created. I have given instructions that the moment we depart the team will destroy the computer attached to the machine and the backup software along with it. Without William to recreate it, we can't start again. This journey back into the past will be the last."