{"id":138185,"date":"2022-11-27T01:32:17","date_gmt":"2022-11-27T01:32:17","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/?p=138185"},"modified":"2023-11-04T15:06:22","modified_gmt":"2023-11-04T15:06:22","slug":"travelers-crossing","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/?p=138185","title":{"rendered":"Travelers\u2019 Crossing"},"content":{"rendered":"

\nA strapping spaceman, greased black hair visible through his fishbowl helmet, was climbing through some twisted wreckage. Maybe it was alien plants. Who can say but the artist? Behind him a spaceship that looked an awful lot like a cruise ship with three bumps on top hovered in perfect profile. The cover story was titled Secret Weapon<\/em>, and I couldn\u2019t help but wonder if the astronaut was the eponymous weapon. Doubtful. Still, something like that would make a nice souvenir. The art was nice enough. They let us take little things like this with us, as long as we don\u2019t go overboard and we don\u2019t try to sell them. I counted out the extra dimes, handed them to the kid behind the counter, and walked out with my brand new April 1968 copy of Analog<\/em>, as well as the day\u2019s newspapers.\n<\/p>\n

\nWith lunch over I had little else to do but head back to my dingy hotel room. The day had been like most: eat breakfast at the diner, ride the bus uptown during rush hour, walk around aimlessly \u2013 never the same route two days in a row \u2013 until lunch in the park, then ride the bus back to the hotel. I\u2019d taken to getting the newspapers at the shop by the bus stop closest to the hotel, whether or not that was the stop I got off at. Walking around was a great way to bump into people and overhear what they were talking about, a tried and true method.\n<\/p>\n

\nTimmy spotted me crossing the road to the hotel and ran over from the apartment complex across the street. He had his baseball glove and ball in hand, as usual.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cHowdy, Mr. Smith! Got your papers again?\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cYou bet.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cBoy, you sure are predictable.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\nI mocked surprise, \u201cAm I?\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\nTimmy fell in step and we walked together toward the hotel entrance. \u201cSo, what\u2019s going on around the neighborhood?\u201d I asked.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cSame old boring nothing. Ain\u2019t nothing ever happening around here.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cI wouldn\u2019t say that. In my experience there\u2019s always something happening everywhere. After all, if nothing happened anywhere then where would anything ever happen?\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\nTimmy curled his upper lip. \u201cHuh?\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\nI couldn\u2019t help but laugh and give him a poke with my elbow.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cHey, what\u2019s that?\u201d Timmy had the copy of Analog<\/em> pulled out from the middle of my newspaper stack before I knew what had happened. It must have slipped out when I nudged him.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cThat\u2019s just some light reading material. I thought it might help me fall asleep tonight.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\nHe eyed the dashing spaceman with jealousy. I held my hand out to reclaim my souvenir and he reluctantly relinquished it. \u201cDo you think men will walk on other planets? Like after we go to the moon and set up moon bases and stuff?\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\nHow could I tell him? How do you tell a kid in the 1960s that no, mankind will never walk on other planets. That we\u2019ll stop after sending a dozen men to prance across the surface of the moon. That the dreamers of a generation will see their hopes dashed against the rocks, obliterated by cynical politicians and a disinterested public.\n<\/p>\n

\nI tussled his hair with my free hand. \u201cHow would I know that, silly?\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\nTimmy scrambled to straighten his hair, \u201cI don\u2019t know. You seem pretty smart. Like Mr. Donovan. He tells me a lot of cool stuff.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cOh, and who is Mr. Donovan?\u201d I thought for a second, \u201cOh, is he the new guy that showed up a few days ago? The guy that took the room at the end of the hall?\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cNo, he\u2019s at the top of the stairs,\u201d which, I should point out, are at the end of the hall. \u201cHe\u2019s from the future!\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\nI blinked for several seconds at that. \u201cCome again?\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cMr. Donovan is a time traveler sent here from the future! He\u2019s told me stuff about space ships and something he calls microcomputers and how I\u2019ll live to see them change the world!\u201d Just then Timmy\u2019s mother called after him and he ran off waving goodbye before I could say another word.\n<\/p>\n

\nAs I crested the stairs to the second floor I paused. I should knock<\/em>, I thought. No, it\u2019s silly<\/em>. By force of will I continued down the hall to my own room. Once inside I dropped the papers in the arm chair before checking my recorder. I\u2019ve never had a problem with one of these, nor has anyone I\u2019ve ever known, but it doesn\u2019t hurt to check. There was several hours of new footage on its drive. I flipped through a few clips idly, checking sound and tracking \u2013 again, needlessly. That\u2019s when I realized I was still holding the magazine. The worrying part was that my hand was shaking. Throwing the magazine on the table I dropped down into the armchair, removing the stack of newspapers unceremoniously from my underside. The stained ceiling lay before me, the same stain that kept me silent company whenever I was frustrated. A genuine concern overcame me as I reflexively groped at my stomach. I could feel the small disc a half centimeter under my skin.\n<\/p>\n

\nDon\u2019t do it<\/em>, I thought. It\u2019s stupid and a waste of your time. How\u2019s it going to look if you\u2019re wrong and, let\u2019s face it, you can\u2019t be right<\/em>.\n<\/p>\n

\nBefore I could talk myself out of it, I was standing before Mr. Donovan\u2019s door, my fist prepared to knock. Well<\/em>, I thought, <\/em>it\u2019d look doubly ridiculous if I didn\u2019t knock at this point<\/em>. So I did.\n<\/p>\n

\nThere was an immediate muffled reply. I couldn\u2019t make it out so I responded in a generic way. \u201cIt\u2019s Mr. Smith, I\u2019m your neighbor from down the hall.\u201d It suddenly occurred to me that \u201chotel neighbor\u201d was a ridiculous concept, but maybe he would take it in good spirit.\n<\/p>\n

\nThere was the distinct sound of the door unlocking and before me stood a short plump balding man in a cheap suit. He would fit in anywhere in the city just as well as me in my tweed jacket and slacks. \u201cWhat can I do for you, Mr. Smith?\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\nWhat the heck was I planning on saying? Hi, I\u2019m wondering if you\u2019re actually a time traveler because the nine year old I talk to said you were?\n<\/p>\n

\nHis questioning face told me I had to say something. \u201cDo you know Timmy next door?\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\nThe man stuck his head out in the hallway, looking away from the stairs.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cSorry,\u201d I injected, \u201cnot in the next hotel room. He lives in the apartment building across the street. About so tall, usually carries a baseball mitt?\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cOh, yes. The energetic young lad. Yes, I\u2019ve spoken to him a few times. Quite chatty, that one. Boy after my own heart.\u201d His eyes were jovial. \u201cWould you be the father?\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cNo, nothing like that. I guess you could say I\u2019m a friend of his.\u201d Then it came to me. I\u2019m looking out for the boy. Seems you told him you\u2019re a future man. You shouldn\u2019t fill his head with such nonsense or something like that. \u201cWell, I\u2019m just wondering\u2026 he told me you were from the future.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cDid he?\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cHe said you told him you were.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cBut you\u2019re not his father?\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cNo.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cThen why do you care what I said to him?\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\nThis was going nowhere. I may as well go for broke and maybe the guy would just think I was crazy and would leave me alone. Hopefully forget about me. \u201cWell, he said you used the word microcomputer.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\nThe small man gave me a sideways glance. \u201cDo you know much about microcomputers?\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cYes. Quite a bit actually.\u201d May as well go all in. \u201cMicrocomputers and wireless networks.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\nHis eyes grew wide. Next thing I knew he\u2019d grabbed my arm and yanked me inside his room; he was pretty strong for a little guy.\n<\/p>\n

\nHe just stood there staring at me, like I was supposed to do something. I reached into my chest pocket and removed my cigarette case. I slid my thumb from end to end to release the latch, my DNA unlocking the security mechanism. Instead of cancer facilitators the open case revealed a full color, three dimensional projection in all its illuminated glory.\n<\/p>\n

\nThe man was clapping and squealing like a toddler at the zoo. He recomposed himself before presenting me with a hand, which I shook. \u201cJohn Donovan.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cMathew Smith.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cI assume that is \u2013\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cNot my real name, no.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cSame here, but it will suffice. Really, what are the odds?\u201d\n<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\nThe relief was too much. I started laughing like a child. \u201cAstronomical! To encounter another Traveler, and one staying in the same hotel!\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cI know! It\u2019s unbelievable!\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cHence my concern!\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\nHe clapped me on the back and invited me to have a seat at his modest desk. In turn he sat on the edge of the bed.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cSo when are you from?\u201d I asked.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cWell now, I don\u2019t think I\u2019m supposed to tell you.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cPlease, I have to know.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cReally, I couldn\u2019t \u2013\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cHere, I\u2019ll make it easy. I\u2019m from 2118. There, now you know.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\nHis face changed subtly. \u201cWell now, that is interesting.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\nI waited for him to reciprocate. My face prodding him. \u201cWell,\u201d he finally began, \u201clet\u2019s just say I\u2019m upstream of you a ways.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\nThere was the slightest clench in my stomach. \u201cHow far?\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cFar enough. That\u2019s as much as I\u2019m prepared to say.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cOf course,\u201d was all I could respond, though I think it came out little more than a mutter. Then, after clearing my throat, \u201cI\u2019m sure you understand that I\u2019m very surprised to encounter another Traveler here. It makes me believe my mission was a failure, that perhaps my life is in danger.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cHow so?\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\nWhat kind of a question was that? \u201cWell, my chip, of course,\u201d and my hand automatically went to my stomach. \u201cI\u2019ve been syncing it every day. Even if there was data loss I would still make an oral report. I can\u2019t believe they sent you back here to the same place and time as another Traveler.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\nMy eyes must have been questing for answers because he waved me away. \u201cI\u2019m sorry, I don\u2019t know anything about your mission, and I\u2019m just as surprised to encounter you as you are to meet me.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cThen can I ask your purpose here?\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cThe standard; to study the reactions of the native population to recent events, to get the man on the street\u2019s opinion, so to speak.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cThat\u2019s much the same as my objective. What is your specialty?\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cI\u2019m a sociologist. I\u2019m studying how a culture deals with an unending conflict in the shape of the Vietnam War. My dissertation was on the Forever War of the twenty-first century. Yourself?\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cMass psychology. I\u2019m studying the contemporary public\u2019s perception of the war and the cultural tumult surrounding it.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\nDonovan waved his hand again, \u201cSee? Entirely different specialties. That explains why we\u2019re both here.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cWell, not entirely different\u2026\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cSay, how long have you been here?\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cI\u2019m two weeks into a four week stay.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cFour weeks! Well, I\u2019m only here for one week and I\u2019m already three days into that. Say, how about you and I pool resources?\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\nSuch a thing was unheard of. Two Travelers from different presents engaging in any appreciable interaction was unprecedented. As it was our interaction was likely the longest known about in my present.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cAre you serious?\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cAbsolutely! Your participation would be extremely beneficial to my work. What do you say? I take it you have a recorder capturing all the local television and radio stations? Yes, of course you do. We could add your recordings to my data. Three weeks worth for the price of one!\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cBut those should already be in the Time Vault\u2026\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cRedundancy never hurts.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\nMy brain was yelling at me to get up. Get up and walk out of the room. This is a bad idea. You shouldn\u2019t be here. You should never have come here. Go to your room, gather your things, trigger your bungee and report back. That\u2019s all that matters. Report back<\/em>.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cYes. Yes, I think we should work together,\u201d was what I said instead.\n<\/p>\n

\n

\n

\nMost of the cars in the parking lot across the street were from the mid to late 1940s. Granted they made them to last back then, but it mostly served as an indication of the poverty that gripped the neighborhood. From what Timmy had told me there were a good number of single moms living in the apartment complex, along with a lot of immigrant families just starting out in America. I smirked at the thought of calling this country America. Goes to show you how effective infiltration training is in altering one\u2019s thought processes. \u201cThe Former United States\u201d was what I\u2019d have to write in my official report. I remember thinking it would probably just be easier to write \u201cAmerica\u201d and do a find and replace search later.\n<\/p>\n

\nOf course, that\u2019s if I ever wrote my report. That ball came back in the pit of my stomach, the same one that for two hours had been forcing away my appetite to the point that I\u2019d all but decided to skip dinner. Why didn\u2019t Donovan know I\u2019d be here? I\u2019d spent a half hour considering the idea that he was lying about his origin, that he was actually from my past. In the end I couldn\u2019t work out a reason why he\u2019d lie about that. He\u2019d have to know I\u2019d figure it out when we started working together. He undoubtedly would have a computer of a make and model that I\u2019d recognize. Besides all that, if he was from my past then I\u2019d know<\/em> he was going to be here \u2013 my mission would never have been approved otherwise.\n<\/p>\n

\nIt was time to think it through from the beginning. Time travel does not allow us to move to the future, that\u2019s the first law of time travel, \u201cthe inclined plane of temporal mechanics,\u201d my professor had called it. The metaphor is apt because although it is possible to shift mass backwards in time \u2013 with a massive expenditure of energy \u2013 to shift it forwards in time requires an astronomical expenditure. Something like the entire energy output of the Sun for a week to move the mass of one human being forward one year. The consequence is that no Traveler has ever gone to the future.\n<\/p>\n

\nThat begs the question, how am I getting home? That\u2019s where the tachyon bungee comes in. The physics is way beyond me, but it is (evidently) possible to tether an object to its point of origin in both time and space through the use of tachyon particles, some sort of weird matter that I\u2019ve been told won\u2019t give me cancer even though they are streaming through me all the time. That\u2019s where the disc in my belly comes in. It functions as the anchor for my tachyon bungee. I trigger it and it snaps my whole body back to the very instant I departed. I\u2019d spend four weeks in 1968 and not even a nanosecond would pass in 2118 for my whole trip. The bungee technology has been in use for decades, with every time traveling researcher using one. The early models could be a problem \u2013 some folks came back missing some extremities \u2013 but the worst that had happened in years was a woman that came back needing a skin graft. To outright die is a near impossibility \u2013 or so I\u2019d been told.\n<\/p>\n

\nBut it\u2019s worse than that. Though its a near impossibility, no agency wants to take the chance of not getting the data from an endeavor like this, so along with the tachyon bungee each disc contains a wireless data storage device that houses the records from the mission. Synced nightly with my cigarette case hand computer, the onboard micro-storage is radiation shielded and encased in titanium. The disc constantly monitors my vital signs. Any significant problems and it snaps the bungee so no local coroner finds the advanced tech. My hand computer has its own bungee remotely synced to the disc. The whole kit and kabootle will go to 2118, taking my corpse with it. No fuss, no muss. Even if nothing but a smoking mass makes it back to 2118 my report would still be filed in the Time Vault.\n<\/p>\n

\nWhich brings me to the Time Vault. Built to withstand anything short of a direct hit from a nuclear warhead it houses the records of every time traveler since the program began. The data storage technology has been tested to last at least 10,000 years \u2013 that\u2019s right, they sent one back to 8,000 BCE, but don\u2019t ask me where it\u2019s buried. When I get back my recordings will immediately go into the Vault to be followed a few days later by my official report and video debrief. Even if my records were destroyed there should at least be a mention of my trip in the Vault. \u201cSent Agent to March 1968 etcetera, all records lost for unknown reason.\u201d That would have to send up a red flag for anyone wanting to go to 1968. Anyone like Donovan.\n<\/p>\n

\nCould Donovan be from an unregistered time travel outfit? What would be the purpose in that? Could he be a time criminal? No, that\u2019s ridiculous. The energy cost alone would eliminate any gain. The past can\u2019t be changed, that\u2019s a physical fact. Call it time travel law number two. The past is the past. Any Traveler sent back was always sent back and will always be sent back; they\u2019re part of the timeline and always have been. Besides, Time Crime just doesn\u2019t pay. The resources needed to construct and utilize a time machine are so immense that any time criminal would already be one of the richest people alive.\n<\/p>\n

\nI was left with one set of facts: Donovan was from my future and he was a time traveling researcher like myself. That\u2019s it. Maybe I did file my report. Maybe Donovan knew I was here. Maybe he didn\u2019t. He was undoubtedly lying to me, but I had no clue what about or why. My only option was to get close to him and try to find out. My life was at stake, because either I don\u2019t make it back to file my report, or Donovan came here to intercept me for some unknown purpose. Either way, I\u2019m in a lot of trouble.\n<\/p>\n

\n

\n

\nDonovan easily established his credentials as a sociologist. His read of the public\u2019s perception of the war was spot on, though he seemed to lack familiarity with some of the references I\u2019d used in my own preparation. In our conversations it became clear he had never read Mark Bowden\u2019s award winning Hue 1968<\/em>, which I found invaluable for an understanding of the Tet Offensive. In general he felt well read on some nuance, and less so on others. I don\u2019t purport to be all knowing or all remembering, but the gaps in his knowledge continued to trouble me. When I would prod him about these gaps he would give me that jovial smile and wave of his hand and dismiss it as evidence of his poor memory.\n<\/p>\n

\nOne evening we decided to get take-out and go over the day\u2019s newspapers together. A few hours in I handed him a page six story concerning the Pueblo<\/em>.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cWhat\u2019s this about?\u201d he asked.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cIt\u2019s an update on the Pueblo Incident. Not really any new information, but it\u2019s interesting in that the reporter\u2019s professionally neutral tone carries an undercurrent of questioning the official story of how the Pueblo <\/em>was captured in the first place.\u201d I rubbed my bloodshot eyes as I spoke. \u201cActually, it\u2019s a very nice example of the Credibility Gap. After all, this is the decade that birthed not only the term, but the concept.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\nDonovan\u2019s eyes skimmed the article twice. \u201cThis has nothing to do with Vietnam.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cNot directly, no, but it speaks to the overall feeling at the time. Like I said, it reflects the Credibility Gap.\u201d Confusion was plain on his face, so I elaborated. \u201cIt\u2019s the idea that the White House has a lack of credibility, that they can\u2019t be trusted concerning exactly where the Pueblo<\/em> was when it was captured, and similarly can\u2019t be trusted about the Vietnam War. Had the boat crossed into North Korean waters before it was intercepted, or was it actually in international waters like the White House claims? Was it a legal seizure for trespass or wasn\u2019t it? The public doesn\u2019t know who to trust, and the reporter\u2019s tone carries that \u2013 it\u2019s subtle, but it\u2019s there. I think that\u2019s a large reason President Johnson is about to announce that he won\u2019t seek reelection.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\nDonovan was nodding slowly as I spoke and continued after I\u2019d finished. Eventually he placed the newspaper back on my pile and muttered a barely perceptible \u201cinteresting\u201d before going back to his own stack.\n<\/p>\n

\nI watched him for a minute before checking my wrist watch. \u201cSorry to do this, but I\u2019m feeling pretty tired. Do you think we could call it a night? It\u2019s almost 10:30.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\nHe responded with his usual jovial smile. \u201cNot at all. I would like to scan this material before I leave, if that\u2019s all right.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\nThere had to be a dozen Sunday editions laid out on my meager table, not to mention the various news magazines we\u2019d picked up. \u201cI\u2019m probably going to crash as soon as you walk out the door. If you like I can help you carry these to your room.\u201d I really hoped he didn\u2019t want that. I wasn\u2019t even sure I was going to make it the meter and a half to bed.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cNo need, I\u2019ll just be a moment.\u201d From his jacket pocket he removed a small cylindrical cigarette lighter. After a rapid gesture my tired eyes couldn\u2019t follow he\u2019d extended the cylinder to triple its original length and broke it in half along its axis. The two halves were connected by a translucent screen, on which were characters I recognized as some variant of Chinese, though I couldn\u2019t place the dialect. I could make out Latin characters interspersed with the logograms. My recognition was made all the harder since I was looking at the characters from an angle behind the translucent screen.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cDonovan, what language is that?\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\nHe feigned ignorance of my question with a distracted \u201cHmm?\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cThe language. Is that a Chinese variant?\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\nHe snapped the hand computer closed and with a swift gesture it was a normal sized cigarette lighter. \u201cOh, that\u2019s just my horrible handwriting. Good evening, Mr. Smith.\u201d He made for the door.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cBut you didn\u2019t scan any of the papers!\u201d My exclamation was unintentional. After seeing his hand computer I had pressing questions.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cYes I did. I told you, it would only take a moment.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\nI was on my feet, arms waving impotently at the stack of folded papers. \u201cBut you could only have imaged what\u2019s on top\u2026\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\nDonovan waved his hand dismissively. \u201cAh, I see your confusion. My scanner images holographically on a molecular level. I\u2019ve copied every page, inside and out. It will take some processing power to reconstruct the image, but I\u2019ll do that when I get back to my own time. Good night, my friend.\u201d Donovan bowed slightly and let himself out.\n<\/p>\n

\n

\n

\nThe lunch talk at the diner was largely concerning Johnson\u2019s announcement the day before that he was officially out of the presidential race before it even began. Apart from the private minutiae of daily life I overheard people speaking of little else. I knew my cigarette case was recording more than I could hear from its position on the counter in front of me. Back in my room I could order it to reconstruct the conversation from any point in the room with near-perfect acoustics.\n<\/p>\n

\nBut imaging an entire stack of upside down newspapers\u2026 I\u2019d never seen a device that could do that.\n<\/p>\n

\nI\u2019d drifted off to sleep that night telling myself that advancements in technology were to be expected. Who knows, there could be scientists in my present working on just such a piece of equipment. Another decade or two and it could maybe be miniaturized, depending on what principles it worked on. I\u2019d seen kids play with something like that transparent screen of his. Current technological vogue put them out of style for serious work, but maybe they\u2019ll come back.\n<\/p>\n

\nI rolled my coffee cup between my hands, letting my eyes skim the morning paper. Sometimes I read it, sometimes I used it as something to stare at while concentrating on the conversations of the people around me. It all depended on what the topic of conversation was. That morning I kept falling back into the printed page. The local paper had chosen to reprint Martin Luther King Jr.\u2019s complete speech at the National Cathedral in Washington D.C. the day before. My eyes fell on one paragraph in particular. It read,\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cFirst, we are challenged to develop a world perspective. No individual can live alone, no nation can live alone, and anyone who feels that he can live alone is sleeping through a revolution. The world in which we live is geographically one. The challenge that we face today is to make it one in terms of brotherhood.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\nThis was my third trip through time, and I\u2019d always been able to maintain the air of the observer that they drill into us in training, but there was something about reading the words of such a great man and knowing they had been spoken only yesterday<\/em>. That if I ran out of this diner, I could possibly find him and shake his hand. I wondered what he\u2019d be like. I mean really <\/em>like. In person. Just to speak to him alone. It\u2019s silly, but I wondered what it would feel like to shake his hand. Would it feel special? I\u2019d shaken a President\u2019s hand once, I mean my President, the one I voted for in 2108. She came on a tour of the training facility my third year of classes. I wish I could say it was exciting or even interesting, but when one is training to travel through time little else holds interest. I hadn\u2019t even dated these last few years. Everything took a back seat to my training.\n<\/p>\n

\nThe preceding two weeks I\u2019d really come to enjoy reading the daily newspaper and the connection to the world it gave me. My first assignment had been as a medic in the American Civil War. I was there recording the history that few survived to record. I remember thinking, \u201cNobody back home can imagine what I\u2019ve seen here.\u201d Not that we don\u2019t have wars, but there\u2019s a minimum number of casualties where I\u2019m from, and wholesale suffering during war has been alleviated to a large extent. That\u2019s one thing globalism did right: we\u2019re all so economically and culturally interconnected that large scale global conflict is inconceivable. Anyway, I didn\u2019t have much opportunity to read the newspaper from the battlefront in 1863. Ditto my second assignment to observe the tumultuous 2016 presidential election in Florida \u2013 not a lot of relevant information was consumed from newspapers that year. I resolved to try and read the newspaper more when I got home. Presumably a few still exist\u2026\n<\/p>\n

\nMy contemplation was broken by a tap on the shoulder.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cHello, my friend.\u201d Donovan wore his usual smile. \u201cYou mentioned this particular haunt the other night and I thought I\u2019d join you for lunch. Do you mind?\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cNot at all. In fact, I\u2019m happy to see you. I stopped by your room several times yesterday but you didn\u2019t answer. Is everything all right?\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\nDonovan took a seat on the vacant stool beside me, which necessitated a short hop to raise him up to its level. \u201cOh yes, quite all right. I spent the day at the library scanning documents.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cI imagine you could scan the whole library in just a few minutes after what you showed me the other night.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\nHe pulled a menu from the holder between us. \u201cSadly, no. It takes some time to save the data between imagings and the field of view is relatively small. Plus a level of discretion is of course required.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cOf course,\u201d was my noncommittal reply.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cSpeaking of archival data, I was hoping to stop by tonight and copy your audiovisual recordings as we discussed. Adding a further two weeks to my report would \u2013 how do you say \u2013 shine my resume.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\nAny opportunity to see his computer in action could only shed light on my mystery. \u201cOf course. We can do it after lunch if you\u2019d like.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cSplendid.\u201d He swiveled on the stool to gaze around the room. \u201cI see the lunch rush is still ongoing. Might be worth hanging around a bit.\u201d He pulled his hand from his trouser pocket and gingerly placed his lighter on the table. I wondered if it was recording visual as well as audio with some sort of omnidirectional lens. I turned away from it, suddenly uncomfortable with the thought that I would be the subject of observation and scrutiny by a team of future historians. \u201cVisible here,\u201d the most senior would begin, \u201cis the Unknown Traveler. A man who claimed to be from the year 2118 though no record of his transit exists in the Time Vault.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\nI downed the last half cup of my coffee and stood up. \u201cActually, Donovan, I\u2019d like to get going. You\u2019re welcome to stay for lunch or come with me, whatever your schedule requires.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\nI busied my eyes with counting the change for my tab, but there was detectable pain in his voice. \u201cNo worries. I\u2019ll come with you if you\u2019re still willing to let me copy those files.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cYes, of course.\u201d I collected my cigarette holder and he his lighter.\n<\/p>\n

\nDonovan and I walked in silence for several blocks until I asked, \u201cHow many trips have you been on?\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cThis is my fifth,\u201d was his reverent reply. \u201cIt has been a true honor.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cDo you expect this to be your last trip?\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cWho can say? If there is one constant across time, it is the enigmatic logic of bureaucrats.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\nI found his jocular tone insulting, given my uncertain future.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cYou say my records will impress those bureaucrats, maybe even help secure yourself another trip?\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cI certainly hope so.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cYet you still won\u2019t tell me when you are from.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\nDonovan shook his head. \u201cI sympathize, but you know I can\u2019t divulge information about the future.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cYou divulged information to Timmy. You told him about computers and space flight.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cI told the boy nothing that he couldn\u2019t have read in a science fiction story and provided even less to back up my claims. Knowledge of the future won\u2019t help you, same as it can\u2019t help prevent what\u2019s going to happen in less than a week. I saw what you were reading when I approached you at the diner; his picture accompanied the speech. You and I \u2013 separate or together \u2013 are incapable of altering what is to come.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cI\u2019m not talking about a fixed historical event. I\u2019m talking about my life<\/em>.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cHow are they different? How do you know that your death isn\u2019t historical fact for me? You suspect I was sent back here knowing you would be here. I tell you I knew no such thing.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cSo my report wasn\u2019t in the Time Vault.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\nDonovan once again shook his head. \u201cI have no answers for you, my friend.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cThen perhaps I have no records to share with you.\u201d We had stopped walking at some point, but now my trek resumed. Donovan scrambled to catch up.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cLet\u2019s say for arguments sake that your report doesn\u2019t make it to the Time Vault. Don\u2019t you feel some obligation to complete as much of your mission as possible? To preserve some record of your accomplishment?\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cSo I die tonight, is that it? I don\u2019t make it back but you\u2019re leaving tomorrow. My disc malfunctions or something and you\u2019ve come to get a record, to solve a mystery that\u2019s \u2013 what \u2013 fifty, a hundred years old?\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cSmith, I can\u2019t provide you with any answers. If you believe nothing else, please believe that.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cI don\u2019t know what to believe, but you can stop calling me your friend.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\nDonovan\u2019s pace slowed and he fell in behind me. I could just hear his concessionary reply.\n<\/p>\n

\nWe turned onto the street that lead to the hotel. I could hear Donovan\u2019s heavy footsteps following me several feet behind. Timmy was playing in the parking lot with a few of the other boys from the apartment complex. I watched them play in a focused effort to not think about Donovan or my uncertain fate. If today was to be my last day then I would live it in the present. If not my<\/em> present, then the present of the people I find myself meeting.\n<\/p>\n

\nThe boys were playing catch, throwing the ball clear across the vacant parking lot. I realized that all the boys should be in school, and I resolved to ask them why they were not.\n<\/p>\n

\nThen it occurred to me. Let them skip school. They were having fun, and really what does it matter? Either they go to school or they don\u2019t, it won\u2019t change the future \u2013 it can\u2019t change my past. If the past is immutable then so is the future.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cDonovan,\u201d I called over my shoulder, my tone blithe, \u201cI do believe you are making me a nihilist.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cI believe this job does that after a while.\u201d His tone was uncharacteristically somber.\n<\/p>\n

\nI was startled by the loud crack of a ball on bat. One of the boys had nailed what would have been a home run on any field, far outpacing the parking lot. Timmy ran headlong straight at me to catch it, just as I heard a truck round the corner Donovan and I had come down minutes earlier. I turned to face the truck. It was one of those big box trucks, the cab bright red in color \u2013 I don\u2019t know why I remember that part so clearly, but I do. It was a candy apple red, all shiny. I knew the driver couldn\u2019t stop in time; he\u2019d taken the corner faster than he should have, probably running late in his deliveries. My head jerked back to Timmy. The boy was already in the street, running backwards, eyes at the sky to track the ball. His gloved hand was stretched out in anticipation of the catch. His friends were screaming, not in panic but in joy \u2013 they believed he would catch it.\n<\/p>\n

\nI threw up my arms, waving them wildly. I should have screamed, but in the moment I couldn\u2019t. My legs weren\u2019t as frozen as my throat, and I lunged into the road to grab him, not daring to look at the oncoming truck. The horn blared \u2013 my God, it sounded like it was right on top of me. I willed my arms to reach for Timmy, only to find myself thrown to the ground. I hit hard, a shock radiating from my elbow into my shoulder. A moment later I heard an impact and then a scream. I looked down at my prone body to see what had dropped me and found Donovan\u2019s arms wrapped around my waist, his face buried in the back of my knees. I looked up and saw Timmy\u2019s body laid out in the road, motionless. Children were yelling and from somewhere a woman appeared, screaming frantically. Some time later Donovan tried to help me up but I shoved him away.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cWhy did you do that? I could have saved him!\u201d My fists were balls of rage, but Donovan\u2019s voice was as calm as ever.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cThere was nothing you could have done.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cWhat are you talking about? I was right there! I could have reached him in time!\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cBut you couldn\u2019t have saved him.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cYes, I could have!\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\nDonovan shook his head, \u201cNo, you couldn\u2019t have. We can\u2019t change the past.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\nI took a deep breath. I wanted to strangle him, exchange his life for Timmy\u2019s, but I couldn\u2019t make such a scene. \u201cDonovan, we\u2019re part<\/em> of the past. We can\u2019t change anything big, we can\u2019t kill Hitler or save Lincoln, but nobody would have noticed this one boy<\/em>.\u201d The last word choked in my throat and I realized my eyes were filling with tears.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cNobody would have noticed him?\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cExactly!\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cThen nobody will miss him.\u201d Donovan walked on toward our apartment complex. I turned back to the scene and saw Timmy\u2019s playmates crying on the curb, hugging one another. I was witnessing the birth of a mass of regret and blame that would carry forward through time. I saw his mother running from the apartment complex \u2013 screaming and crying \u2013 past Donovan as he continued his nonchalant march across the street.\n<\/p>\n

\n

\n

\nI spent a long time in my room after that. Crying, punching the wall, kicking the furniture, productive stuff like that. Eventually after, I don\u2019t know, a few hours? I went over to Donovan\u2019s room. I was honestly surprised he opened the door for me. In retrospect I think it was his generally jovial nature. That and I now believe he really was a nihilist.\n<\/p>\n

\nHe was packing his meager possessions into a period appropriate suitcase. On the bed was a single newspaper, painstakingly folded just so. I picked it up and noted it was the latest edition.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cSouvenir?\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cYes. Maybe it\u2019s a bit unimaginative.\u201d His tone was somber.\n<\/p>\n

\nA small smile crossed my lips, I\u2019m not sure why. \u201cI got myself one of those old pulp science fiction magazines. Seeing it is what prompted Timmy to tell me about you.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cMy, life is full of coincidences.\u201d His tone was almost mocking.\n<\/p>\n

\nThe slightest trace of the smile melted from me. \u201cTimmy is dead now.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cYes. An historical fact.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cIt didn\u2019t have to be.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\nHe pushed a folded shirt into the suitcase with more force than was necessary. \u201cPlease. Leave it be.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cNo!\u201d I was enraged again, ready to punch the wall but considering substituting Donovan\u2019s arrogant face. \u201cIt did not have to be<\/em>. We could have saved him \u2013 I could have saved him, but you stopped me. Why?\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cDo they teach you nothing where you are from?\u201d There was a harshness, a raw hate on Donovan\u2019s face that I\u2019d not believed possible. I stepped back instinctively, as if a friendly dog had just bared its teeth at me.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cThe past can not be changed. Stop being such a baby and accept your role in this. We are observers, nothing more and nothing less. We are not participants in this time. We can not alter any events.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cSays who?\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cSays physics<\/em>.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cBut we\u2019re here. I\u2019ve eaten their food, I\u2019ve talked to \u2013\u201d my voice caught. \u201cI\u2019ve talked to them. They\u2019re good people.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cSo what?\u201d He spit the words. \u201cTheir being good doesn\u2019t affect the chronometric equations. There is no `good person\u2019 factor in the equations that lets you alter the timeline.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cBut I\u2019m here<\/em>. I could have saved him without altering the timeline. That\u2019s what I\u2019m trying to tell you. I could have saved him because I\u2019m here.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cThen go save Martin Luther King.\u201d Donovan\u2019s tone was mocking, his hand jabbing toward the door. \u201cGo on, then. You\u2019re here<\/em>, after all.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cYou know I can\u2019t.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cWhy?\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cBecause I\u2019ll fail.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cWhy?<\/em>\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\nAnd that was it. I\u2019d fail because I\u2019d have to. Because Martin Luther King, Jr. was assassinated on April 4, 1968. That single event was part of a chain of dominoes that fell forward through time, triggering other events in an immense tapestry that was mathematically unalterable. I couldn\u2019t save him because it would unquestionably alter the past.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cYou don\u2019t know that saving Timmy would have altered the past.\u201d My tone was little more than a whisper. It was all I could muster.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cI do now. Because I stopped you. Something would have stopped you. If I hadn\u2019t jumped you then maybe the bus would have killed you along with him. Then you\u2019d disappear in front of all those people. Wouldn\u2019t that have violated a non-contamination rule where you come from? We can\u2019t tell people about the future and we can\u2019t show them our technology. We may not be able to alter the past, but don\u2019t forget what happened in Roswell.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cDon\u2019t lecture me on temporal accidents. I know how to handle myself.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\nHe straightened himself, his face one of questioning disbelief. \u201cDo you?\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\nOnce again I found myself backing away from this short rotund man. \u201cWhat\u2019s that supposed to mean?\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cI know what you\u2019re afraid of. Believe me, I know. But you have no idea why I\u2019m so mad at you.\u201d He took two steps toward me and I steadied myself against the desk. \u201cYou couldn\u2019t save that dumb kid just like I can\u2019t save your sorry life.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cSo I do die here.\u201d The resignation in my voice surprised me.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cI have no idea.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cHow is that possible?\u201d I found my vigor had returned. Indignation rejuvenating me. \u201cYou say you can\u2019t save me then claim you don\u2019t know what happens to me? Why is my report not in the Time Vault?\u201d I screamed that last bit.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cI have no idea what\u2019s in the Time Vault!\u201d As soon as he said it he regretted it. That much was plain on his face.\n<\/p>\n

\nI think I just stood there for several minutes. Could have been seconds, could have been hours. Finally I gasped out a question along the lines of \u201cWhen are you from?\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\nDonovan slumped onto the bed. His head was cradled in his hands like a child who just awoke from a nightmare. His voice barely escaped.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cYou would call it 2457.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\nI knelt down beside him. \u201cBut the Time Vault\u2026 it can last for 10,000 years. Donovan, I don\u2019t understand. Why didn\u2019t you access it?\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cIt was destroyed.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\nMy heart was trying to escape my chest. Between breaths I gasped, \u201cHow?\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\nDonovan raised his head from his hands, his face white as the sheets. \u201cThe War.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cWhat war?\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\nHis face hardened. He swallowed hard. \u201cYou\u2019ll see.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\nI don\u2019t have clear recollection of what happened next. I remember grabbing Donovan. I was shouting questions, demands. I don\u2019t think he said anything. He may have wept, but that could have been me. I think I punched him a few times. I must have, because I recall I was on top of him one second, then he was gone and I punched the floor.\n<\/p>\n

\nAfter I calmed down I realized that his suitcase was gone as well. It must have had its own bungee. His souvenir newspaper never made it inside.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

A strapping spaceman, greased black hair visible through his fishbowl helmet, was climbing through some twisted wreckage. Maybe it was alien plants. Who can say but the artist? Behind him a spaceship that looked an awful lot like a cruise ship with three bumps on top hovered in perfect profile. The cover story was titled …<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":107450,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[3,20083],"tags":[20084],"class_list":["post-138185","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-fiction","category-tcl-38-winter-2021","tag-the-colored-lens-38-winter-2021","entry entry-center"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/138185","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/107450"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=138185"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/138185\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":139442,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/138185\/revisions\/139442"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=138185"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=138185"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=138185"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}