It was a rotten trick—to die—while still being alive, Gregson thought. What does it all mean? We are only a splash in time—a raindrop in a puddle that evaporates. Being filled with thoughts of insignificance can be liberating, and crushing. Whatever we do, will disappear—so why do it? Our mistakes will vanish—nothing really matters.
“You’re doing a lot of thinking back there, Gregson,” Cornel Weathers said. He was driving the Hum-Vi, while listening to ACDC.
“What?” Gregson asked.
“You’re doing a lot of thinking!”
“Oh—yes—do we serve ourselves, or do we serve something larger?”
“You mean, like a grand plan, or the military?”
“A grand plan.”
“Let me tell you something, Gregson… our universe is about to collapse on itself because we sent a man back in time. Everything he does, is like a ripple in a pond the universe didn’t plan for. One man can change the course of existence.”
“You’ve thought about this…” Gregson said.
“No—I just have to listen to our physicist—Dr. Stanley. If you ask me, he’s the coward among the two we selected for this project. The one we sent back, was Dr. Dorian. We suspect he’s been murdered. Think about the implications, Gregson—what happens when you get murdered in the past?”
“This is all above my head. How did you even know that time-travel is possible?”
“Well—Einstein’s special theory of relativity suggests that it is. We’ve been able to go forward in time, but going backward is a whole different matter. Dr. Stanley proved that Time Travel to the past is possible.”
“How did he do that?” Gregson asked.
“He scheduled a cocktail party for time travelers, and didn’t announce it, until after the party. The catch is—the party already happened. If you can go back in time, you can attend the party. Four time travelers showed up. Apparently, alcohol is difficult to find in the future.”
“This is all a bit much,” Gregson said.
“Just wait until you see our facility. To go back in time, we send our traveler through a wormhole—similar to a black hole. Don’t ask how we found it, or how many time travelers got separated from their bodies, until we got it right. We think we got it right—Dorian went gradually insane—trapped in the past, but he was a little strange beforehand—bored all the time, you see, and borderline suicidal.”
“What about Dr. Stanley?”
“He’s happier than a clam to send other people to their deaths, and to take a government salary, while thinking for a living.”
“Where are we?” Gregson asked.
“Best that you don’t know that. Dr. Stanley will fill you in. Then you can decide what you want to do.”
The hanger housed an SR-71 Blackbird and a B2-Bomber. Gregson spotted a U2 Spy Plane. It was like driving into the past.