LJ Idol, Week 11
July, 2017
“Guys, if I never see you again, it’s been an absolute pleasure working with you.”
They all agreed, smiling and laughing. They raised their beer bottles into the air and clinked them together before simultaneously tipping the bottles into their open mouths. Usually, food and beverages would be prohibited from the small lab - especially alcohol, but this was cause for celebration.
Ten years of hard work and dedication for what would ultimately amount to a single moment that would either change everything they ever knew or would do nothing at all. They had asked each other, from time to time, if there was a precedent for science on this scale, but there was nothing to compare it to.
“Tomorrow morning, first thing, we’ll activate it. We all agree on this, yes?”
The other four men nodded their heads to agree.
“Alright then. Let’s get cleaned up in here and go home for a good night’s sleep. It may be your last in that bed.”
May, 2010
She had barely touched her glass of wine, and her lobster ravioli was getting cold. This was very unlike her, if only because she loved the lobster ravioli here. Every time they came here, it was she got. Every single time she got it, she could barely stop herself from eating the entire plate. She’d joke that next time she’d save just enough to have for lunch the next day, but it never happened. Now, it was just as neglected as she had felt at this moment.
“Not hungry?” he asked, knowing all to well what the problem was.
“Not really,” she said.
He felt guilty taking another bite of his lasagna. Eating as much as he had so far made him feel a little guilty. Should he not be eating just because she wasn’t? Sure, he was upset too, but he was still hungry. He was going to eat that damn lasagna.
“I don’t think this is going to work anymore,” she said. There may have been a tear in her eyes, but he couldn’t tell because of dark the restaurant was. It was just a slight glimmer from the table’s candle.
“We’ve made it work for so long, though,” he said in protest. “Just a little longer, that’s all.”
“No, we haven’t made this work at all. The past few years, all you’ve cared about was your work and your research. You know, you still haven’t acknowledged that it was my birthday three weeks ago.”
“Shit,” he said. She had him there. It hadn’t even been a thought in his mind. “Happy Birthday.”
She rolled her eyes. Now she was taking a sip of her wine.
“Too little, too late, Clark. I think we both know that there’s only enough room in your life right now for your work.”
“Corrine, I love you,” he said.
“Even if I believed that…which I don’t…I don’t think it’s enough anymore.”
He ate some more of the lasagna.
July 2017
“Absolutely, positively not,” said Redford, taking a drag of his cigarette.
“I’m not asking your permission. I’m telling you that I’m going to do it. You can either help me or not.”
“Clark, you’re talking about taking ten years of hard work and throwing it all away for some ridiculous plan that probably won’t even work.”
“You said it yourself, Red: We don’t know how time works. Nobody does. Even with our best intentions, we might activate the machine and find that it did absolutely nothing…we may just form a parallel time-stream in which our desired goals come to fruition.”
“Well, yeah, we don’t know what’s going to happen…but that’s science. We’re going to find out.”
“It’s the butterfly effect,” Clark said. “Let’s break down our plan here: We have a machine that we believe is capable of transporting an object back in time. We don’t know this for sure, but all of our research points to that. We’ve spent the past ten years developing this machine…but we can only use it once. Just once! Then the crystal-boards that we’ve developed are dead and we’d need another 10 years to replicate them…if we even had the funding for that, which we don’t. So we have exactly one chance at sending a small object back in time. And what are we sending? A package, filled with charts, diagrams and reports on the events of September 11th, 2001. Some of those details are things that still aren’t public knowledge. Everything in that package is essentially enough to prevent that disaster from ever happening. World Trade Center? Prevented. The Pentagon? Prevented. That plane in Pennsylvania? Prevented.”
“Clark, I thought you were trying to convince me that we shouldn’t be doing this.”
“Hear me out. Okay, so let’s say we send this package back and that 9/11 really is prevented like we are hoping, right? What then? The laws and measures that the government took in the post 9/11 world may not be created. Perhaps the government thinks ‘Hey, we prevented that attack, we can do it again.’ Now, our defenses really are down and the US gets hit with an even worse terrorist attack.”
“Okay,” Redford said, considering this, “we just include more information in our package. We detail the laws and policies that need to be created in order to prevent a bigger attack.”
“I’m just making an example, Red. Look, no matter what we do, we’re always leaving a door open for something worse to happen. I know that we’ve all talked about the butterfly effect before…but I think most of us are so blinded by what we’re about to do that we can’t see how real of a problem this is.”
“So, then, you’re proposing that…”
“I become the sacrificial lamb, of sorts. I send a letter back in time. Tonight, before the other guys come back to the lab tomorrow. I send just one letter that goes back to Corrine. She gets it, reads it and then gives it to the me from 10 years ago. This may put into effect an entirely new chain of events. Corrine and I might not break up. She might not marry Todd. And if those things happen, Todd doesn’t get into a car accident that kills both him and Corrine. You see? I’ll know it worked, at the very least, because Corrine is going to give me the letter back. Then…once we know more about how this thing works…then, we can do bigger and better things like saving the world.”
“You know,” Redford said, after taking another long drag on his cigarette, “when it comes down to it…what’s ten more years of scientific development when we might be able to go and get all that time back later anyways?”
“Exactly.”
The Letter, as Originally Written by Clark to Corrine
Dear Corrine,
First and foremost, I love you. Perhaps you don’t believe that these days, as I seem to have become more and more involved with my work, but I assure you that it’s the truth. See, as important as my work is to me, you’re even more important to me. That’s why I’m willing to make the necessary sacrifices in my life for you. I’ll be leaving my position on the research team and finding a new job that allows us to spend more time together. Please don’t try to convince me otherwise, as it’s my relationship with you that I truly want above all else.
Please, all I ask is that when you receive this letter, show it to me so that I know you got it.
Love always,’
Clark
“In the genesis, a light”
July, 2017
The two stood in the dimly lit lab staring at the machine as it warmed up. It was about the size of a microwave and may have even been mistaken as some sort of alien microwave. There was a door in the front of it that opened to a small storage area. In theory, whatever was placed in the storage area is what would be transported through time. In theory, whatever was sent back would end up in whatever occupied the space of this lab now; which, in a move of brilliant foresight, was the old mail room for the lab.
The letter would go back, end up in the mail room, and then be sent to its intended recipient. In theory, Corrine would get the letter, read it, and show it to Clark. At the bottom of the letter was a quote. Vague enough to sound like it was supposed to mean something inspirational, but in actuality it was meaningless and was only there to send a different kind of message.
In the beginning of Project Bluejay, which would eventually bring about the time-bending box that Redford and Clark were about to use, each member of the research team came up with a “key-phrase,” a simple message that they would use should they ever develop the means to contact a younger version of themselves. Reading that phrase on something they did not recall writing or developing would mean that the project was a success and they had successfully been reached by a future version of themselves. The key-phrases were kept absolutely secret except for the member who created them, as to prevent pranks and fraudulent claims of communication.
“Let me show you something,” Clark said as the timer on the machine counted down to when it would be operational. 5:44, 5:43, 5:42…
“What is it?” asked Redford.
Clark pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket. It was well-worn and folded into a quarter of its original size. Redford took it and opened it up, reading it. When he was finished, he looked back up at Clark.
“Is…this…”
“I don’t know what that means,” Clark said. “I’m hoping that we find out now.”
???, Year Unknown
A small group of men, isolated from most of humanity, sat in a circular room. Around them, completely covering every available space of every wall were computer monitors. They were all analyzing and break down data; amounts of data that few other humans could even comprehend.
“Here,” said one of the men, pointing at spiraling figure on one of the monitors. “Incident 11940 occurs here.” The other men in the room rushed to his side to observe the anomaly.
“You’re right,” said another man. “Considering the last time-breach that we encountered, I don’t think we can sit back idly and let this happen.”
“What shall we do?” asked another man.
“Once the message has been dispatched, we can’t stop it from happening. We can, however, intercept the message.”
“Are you suggesting…”
“We enter the time-stream and intercept the message in between it’s point of origin and it’s intended arrival point. We edit the message, removing any dangerous content, and then allow the message to complete its journey.”
These men, they had no names and they had lost touch with what day and age it really was. They existed in their isolated chambers, long lost in a place that humanity would remain oblivious to. They had sacrificed their lives for a greater purpose: The preservation of fate and destiny. Throughout the years, now and then, humans would find the ability to travel through time. Sometimes it was on purpose. Sometimes it was an accident. Regardless, these men, their jobs were to track all actions on the time-stream - the greater timeline of existence - and to stop events which would drastically alter the course of history.
May, 2010
“Is this some sort of joke?” Corrine said, throwing an envelope down on the table in front of Clark.
“What? What do you mean?” he asked, confused. He pushed aside his bowl of cereal to see what the envelope was. It just seemed to be a letter, addressed to Corrine. But the handwriting was oddly familiar.
“I don’t know, Clark, but I don’t think it’s very funny.”
Clark pulled the letter from the envelope and read it over. He scratched his head and put it down. It didn’t make sense.
The Letter, As Received by Corrine
Dear Corrine,
Please disregard this letter. It was sent to you by mistake.
Love Always,
Clark
July, 2017
The countdown had completed. The door was opened and the letter was placed inside of it. There was a loud humming noise, some bright light and finally some steam being emitted from the back of the machine. When Clark and Redford had opened the door, there was no letter there.
Nothing was different though. They were still there in the lab. Corrine was still dead. The rest of the team would be coming in tomorrow only to find that another 10 years of bitter hard work ahead of them.
“This letter,” said Redford. “Where did you get it?”
“Corrine gave it to me one day, many years ago.”
“You wrote it?”
“It’s…well…it’s my handwriting. The same paper as I used to send the letter we put in the machine. But the message…that’s not mine.”
“What does this mean? What happened?”
“I…don’t know. I’ve spent the past seven years holding on to this letter, hoping that one day I’d be here, now, and I’d finally have an answer to that question. But now…nothing. I’m looking at the same letter now as I was for the past seven years.”
“That’s a pretty strong argument for fate,” Redord mused.
Clark wasn’t listening. He was thinking of how much he had lost. Ten years of scientific research and all he would have to show for it was a lonely life and a lost opportunity for love. He sighed and crumpled up the paper, throwing it in the trash can.
“As of right now,” Clark said, “I’m resigning.”
“If you didn’t, the rest of the guys would fire you,” Redford said. “If they don’t kill you first.”
“Do you think I’m fated to find love and happiness in the next ten years? Or is that a once in a lifetime opportunity?”
“I haven’t a clue, Clark.”
“That’s some science that I’d like to pursue.”