Author: Cyrus Borzak
Parker sat on his bunk and stared at an empty wall. His thoughts circled around what they witnessed with Desmond and what Ulf finally told them in the octagonal room. Evidence of Desmond’s safe return had yet to surface, and while that seemed to surprise the NOREA team, Ulf remained confident something would appear. The prevailing theory was that documentation from Demond’s period was less prevalent, so they just had to dig deeper to find a sign of his existence. Parker could accept that explanation for now, but he did not ignore the nagging voice inside saying Desmond never made it back. If that turned out to be true, the scarier piece was having no idea where he may have gone, if he truly was not currently sinking in the depths of the Atlantic Ocean.
While Parker lamented Desmond’s situation, the other news Ulf shared occupied more of his thoughts. The world had changed in fourteen years. Parker thought back to when they were first introduced to the Black Mystic and told they were off the New Brunswick coast. It turns out they had not drifted at all and were still off the Maine coast as they knew it, except Maine was now part of Canada and no longer Maine. Toward the end of the twenty-twenties, one of the president’s last acts was to sell several border states before they could secede. While that president spent his last days disgraced and under house arrest, his family made off with a portion of the sales’ proceeds and now lived lives of ill-repute in foreign countries. Parker struggled to believe any state would consider secession after the bloody lessons of the Civil War, but upon hearing all that transpired in the country after they disappeared, he realized those states attempting to break away did so to try preserve the essence of the United States. Canada put itself in economic uncertainty by purchasing the northern states, because they were doing what they could to stave off a conflict that would undoubtedly spill over into the rest of the world. There was a standing agreement between Canada and the United States that the US could purchase back their states once the economy and domestic landscape stabilized, but even in twenty-forty, that criteria had not been met.
Once Parker and crew recovered from the shock of that news, Ulf decided it was time to discuss NOREA’s operational time travel theory. With a few keystrokes, he activated the glossy-top table in the octagonal room and a crisp hologram projected above its surface. The hologram displayed a year timeline and populated with milestone events from eighteen-hundred forward. Ulf made a special note of the points pertaining to Parker, Hudson, and Stone. Parker’s head spun; it was disconcerting seeing historic events from his family’s lives that he knew nothing about.
“Gentlemen, this will undoubtedly be a difficult conversation. You are seeing things from your lives that are etched in time. Returning you to twenty twenty-six will not change what is on this timeline. The path to get to these outcomes may shift slightly, but ultimately, these events are immutable.”
Parker felt bile rising from his stomach as he read the words “remarry” and “birth of daughter”. These were things in his wife’s life that he apparently could no longer be part of. He spoke with choked words, “I, um, can you explain? How will going back not change that my wife remarries and, uh um, starts a family with someone else?”
To Ulf’s credit, he looked genuinely sympathetic.
“Yes, I’m sorry. It is another of the universe’s cruelties. You all may have an idea of how time travel works, that changing the past creates a different future. You save a life in the past, and the date on their tombstone changes or disappears altogether. It is a clever and optimistic way of viewing the problem. Unfortunately, that theory’s inherent flaw is its potential for multiple futures, or the creation of multiple timelines spawning from the point of change.”
More keystrokes zoomed the holograph to a nondescript point on the timeline, and they watched as multiple new timelines extended from that genesis point.
“Essentially, every being in the universe could require a new timeline. One change has the ability to affect the course of everything. While this may be possible, it is untidy. Modern thinking says the universe would naturally go down the path of least resistance.”
Stone spoke up, “You don’t think the universe is messy?”
Ulf remained solemn and serious, respecting his audience’s situation and the topic’s complexity. “The universe is incredibly messy where we lack understanding. Humans have the inherent belief in control over their own lives. Despite contrary experiences, we trust that our decisions and actions are responsible for charting our path through life and that accounting for the decisions and actions of others is a weakness. It is all intertwined, however, so that our actions absolutely impact the direction others’ lives may take, and vice versa.”
Stone wore a contemplative look and nodded slowly. “I guess, I guess I’ve always thought that…to an extent.”
Ulf gave Stone a small smile. “That does not surprise me. Your history and actions since joining us here show you are a naturally thoughtful soul with great concern for the well-being of others. That does not preclude you, however, from believing you have more control over your life than you do, and it’s that way for all of us. But because our actions are all connected, the reasonable conclusion around time is that there is only one timeline.”
Hudson had been watching his nephew and marveled at the kid’s thoughtfulness. He deeply wanted to tell his sister she was doing a good job, and Hudson wished Stone’s father could see the person he was becoming; the man would be proud. The direction of this conversation, however, bothered Hudson. He did not want to believe that after everything they had experienced, there was still such a strict permanence to the world. His scan of the timeline showed little attached to his name after their disappearance. Hudson felt a pang of sadness in his soul, or it may have may have just been his stomach, that he left such a small footprint. “Sorry to interject, but even if that’s the truth, why can’t we change anything?”
“We do not know exactly why it works the way it does. But for those we’ve sent back, the timeline events of others that exist after their disappearance remain unchanged. We believe there is fluidity on the timeline that allows for an individual to be reinserted without changing the course of events. It is like the world progressed with a gap where the individual should be, and when they come back, they fill that gap without disturbing anything.”
Stone listened with a furrowed brow and intense expression as he tried to follow along until he was caught by sudden thought. “Then that would mean we were always meant to return, to fill the gap.”
Ulf gave another small smile and shrugged. “So it may seem.”
Desmond sat on the floor in the room of pink swirls. He hated that all around him, frozen faces stared from their cells. Most of the ghastly inhabitants were strangers, but the presence of those he knew were the most chilling of all. Desmond wondered which swirl was his. Did he ever have a swirl? Was he ever actually in this room?
“We apologize. It was not your time. We are fortunate to get you back.”
Despite the voice’s attempts to be soft and reassuring, it echoed through the large room and had an unnatural tone. Desmond was unsure if he should talk back, lest he invite further surprises.
“We sense you have questions. Because of our mistake, we owe answers. Please, speak freely and do not be afraid.”
Desmond looked straight up but did not know why; there was nobody specific to speak to. His words came out louder and angrier than he expected. “I was supposed to be going home! I was never supposed to leave in the first place! I don’t want to be here! I want to be in my own time with people and a world I know!”
There was no immediate response, but then the room hummed, like whatever entity spoke to Desmond took a deep breath. Then, the voice responded.
“You are where you are meant to be. There was no accident. Returning to your time is impossible. The time to fulfill your purpose has yet to come.”
Desperation seeped into Desmond’s voice. “Just send me back! What do they call it? Time jumping? Time…travel! Do the time traveling thing you used to bring me here and send me back!”
“We are sorry. There is a misunderstanding. Traveling through time is not feasible. We must repeat, the time to fulfill your purpose has yet to come. You must stay here under our protection until then.”
Desmond stood as frustration and anger roiled through his body. “LIARS! If you can’t send me back in time, how did I get to a future I have no business being part of?!”
“Desmond Beauchamp, you were acquired in your year one-thousand eight-hundred fifty. Upon acquisition with the rest of the crew of the vessel Mother’s Venture, you were transported here and immediately placed in stasis for protection until the designated time to fulfill your purpose. Unforeseen events removed you from stasis and placed you in another acquisition event.
His anger momentarily subsided, and the frustration was replaced by confusion. “Wait, stasis? What’s that? You mean I was like everyone here?”
“That is correct. You have been here under our protection for one-hundred ninety of your years.”
In that moment, Desmond did not know which story he wanted to believe. Which course for his life did he want to believe? Jumping through time was a concept he could not comprehend, but existing and living for over two centuries was just as unbelievable and brought heart wrenching implications. It meant the life and world he knew was dead. His family, everyone he knew was gone, and there was now no possibility of correcting a life that inexplicably went very wrong.
“I need to know why this is happening to me, why this happened to all these people. Why did I come back here after other people got to go home?”
“Your presence here indicates you have yet to fulfill your purpose. The life you lived in your one-thousand eight-hundred fifty would not fulfill its necessary purpose. This scenario is not uncommon as no system is perfect. Corrections are necessary. Sometimes, corrections require an extended absence from the universe’s machinations. You do not need to worry. We will be sure to place you in the appropriate location and time to ensure your purpose is fulfilled.”
“Isn’t it purpose enough just to live and make as good a life as one can?”
“Living is all you should ever need to worry about. For most, that will naturally lead to fulfilled purpose. As stated, the system is not perfect and corrections are required.”
Desmond fought through the ever present shock of the past week as he tried deciphering the entity’s words. His mind grazed against thoughts of higher powers playing puppeteer to humans and how free will was actually a predetermined action. There were too many gaps in Desmond’s comprehension of the situation, so he forced his focus to one unknown at a time.
“You didn’t answer me. Why did I come back here when others got to go home?”
“If you are referring to the others unintentionally released from stasis and then given back to us, we can confirm they are all there with you.”
The room darkened as the pink swirls dimmed except for several that Desmond could see in his immediate vicinity and more faint glows in the room’s dark recesses. He quickly realized the entity was showing him the holding cells of those thought to be returned to their original times. After several seconds, those swirls also dimmed until only one remained illuminated in front of Desmond, two rows above the floor.
“Is that for me?”
“It always has been.”
“I have another question.”
“You are welcome to ask.”
“How did you get me back, and, I guess, why did those people believe they were returning people to their original time?”
“It is easy to convince humans of something they want to believe. Humans also innately desire the outcomes they seek to be the direct result of their actions. Not all outcomes are full truths. Evidence proving something as fact is not always true itself. Its mere presence is often enough to establish long-held beliefs.”
“I don’t know what that means. Can you explain it differently?”
“The people who threw you in the ocean look for evidence from the past to confirm their actions were successful and justified. The evidence they find can be constructed by anyone or anything at any time. The evidence does not need to be inherently true. Its existence is accepted as proof.”
There were other questions to ask, but Desmond’s mind strayed to thoughts of the truths of his life. He thought of his parents and a life on the water, of cool ocean winds caressing his skin and the crush of waves against a ship’s bow. As he looked back over his life, Desmond thought it felt so compact, and though it was short, his life was dense. He lived years packed with experiences. The thought made it difficult for him to believe he had not yet lived to a purpose.
Those ruminations hung in Desmond’s mind as he lifted off the room’s floor and drifted upward. The pink swirl covering his cell dissipated as he floated toward it. He noticed none of this happening, his world now anesthetized to reality. Desmond saw only pleasant memories of a distant past. As he came to rest in the cell, the mist reappeared to seal him inside. A thought toward the world’s endless mysteries began forming at the edges Desmond’s remaining consciousness before it abruptly ceased and there was no more thought at all.
Black Mystic plowed through rising wave after rising wave, the collisions barely registering against the vessel’s massive size. Darkness surrounded the ship, so dark it swallowed the illumination of the Black Mystic’s running lights. A similar scene from the prior day played out on the deck as klaxons blared. Crew members moved purposely around the deck, taking sensor readings and observing various monitors. At the stern, Doctor Ulf Hrafnsson and Captain Lazz Stall watched as The Orange Nightingale stayed in the larger ship’s wake.
Captain Stall turned to Hrafnsson, “Anything on Beauchamp?”
Hrafnsson kept his focus on the fishing vessel as he answered, “Finally found something from eighteen-sixty. He enlisted in the Union navy.”
Stall nodded and turned back toward the Nightingale. “I guess that makes sense. I’d hoped we would’ve found him getting married or becoming captain of his own ship, something like that.” She paused. “Do you ever worry about what we’re sending them back to?”
Hrafnsson sighed, “What choice do we have? We don’t know what would happen if an anomaly went unresolved.”
Stall again looked at Hrafnsson, “How do we know one hasn’t? This was happening long before we showed up.”
Hrafnsson sighed again, “Take your pick of any of the terrible things that have happened in the world throughout history. Maybe that’s what happens.”
On The Orange Nightingale, Parker fought against the wheel to keep the boat in the Mystic’s wake but not too close that they risked getting pulled into its propellers. The intent was to shield the small fishing boat from the rough ocean to help facilitate their return, vessel and all. Next to Parker, Hudson visibly fumed and tightened his clenched fists. Their departure was not voluntary, and the three men remained tense as they watched Stall and Hrafnsson monitor their departure with a host of armed personnel posted along the stern deck.
While Ulf talked about theories and how the world changed since The Orange Nightingale disappeared, he received word another storm was upon them. Moments later, Captain Stall burst into the room with several officers, and they ushered Parker, Hudson, and Stone deeper into the Black Mystic. They stepped into the ship’s massive wet dock where The Orange Nightingale bobbed in the pool that remained sheltered from the ocean waters by a heavy bay door.
“It’s time to go home,” Stall said, and she motioned toward the Nightingale. The bay door began opening to reveal the violent waters beyond. Parker started to speak but held his breath as six officers entered the bay and filled the space behind Stall and Hrafnsson.
Hrafnsson noticed the surprise on the faces of the three men and gave what was meant to be a reassuring smile. “It’s okay. There is more I wanted to share with you, but we need to take this opportunity to get you back. Take The Orange Nightingale and stay in our wake. That will protect you from the storm and make it easier for the return process to occur.”
Hudson spoke up, “I don’t think we’re ready to do anything until we have a better understanding of what’s going on here.”
Ulf held his pseudo smile as Stall and the other officers stepped forward. They grabbed the three men and hauled them onto the Nightingale, not leaving the boat until her engine was fired up and Parker was stationed behind the wheel. The officers kept their weapons trained on the men until the boat cleared the bay door and it closed again.
Stone stood behind his uncles and watched the waters around the Nightingale. Despite the frothing water, he saw movement beneath the waves. Whatever it was, it came closer, and The Orange Nightingale rocked with its impact. He felt Hudson’s hands pull him close and Parker shout, “Hold on!” The vessel shuddered, and Stone felt fear emanate from his uncles despite their outward bravery. He caught Parker locked ahead, staring daggers at Stall and Hrafnsson high up on the Black Mystic’s deck.
It was done. Stall and Hrafnsson looked out upon empty waters returning to their normal tidal cadence. Hrafnsson turned slightly toward Stall, “I’ll handle the report. Thank you for your assistance.”
Stall waved her hand in the air and dismissed the officers. She gave the clear ocean another look before turning to Hrafnsson, “It’s what we’re paid to do.” She paused, “Do you ever worry we’re doing the wrong thing? There’s always fear and anger in their eyes right before they go.”
Ulf sighed and gave Stall a half smile betrayed by eyes that showed he did not fully believe either way. “I’d have the same feelings if situations were reversed. And until proven otherwise, I have to believe we are doing what is best.” He gave Stall a pat on the arm and left to find Bergansdottir.
She sat at the desk in her office, the lights were dimmed except for a row spotlighting the various documents spread across the dark oak surface. Bergansdottir looked over various maps and graphs, occasionally circling a location and jotting down the corresponding graphical report ID next to it. She knew her desk’s interface would provide a more efficient method for this work, but she enjoyed the feel of her pen against the sturdy paper stock she requested for all documents sent her way. The world had become so digitized and automated that there were fewer opportunities to interact with physical objects, so Freya took every chance to keep her senses attuned to what was real.
Bergansdottir’s desk beeped, and the image of the hallway outside her office materialized in the air above her work. She saw Hrafnsson approach and touched a command on her desk to open her door.
He stepped inside and looked around the darkened office, waiting for his eyes to adjust. Bergansdottir noticed how relieved Ulf looked relative to several days earlier. He always acted like a massive weight was removed from his shoulders once he no longer had to be responsible for the displaced.
“Good evening, doctor. How did it go?”
Ulf snapped his attention back to Bergansdottir and squinted from the brightness surrounding her desk. “Thank you, ma’am. The return went relatively well. Captain Stall perhaps intervened earlier than necessary, but she got the three displaced on the boat. She and I watched until they were returned.”
“Thank you for the prompt follow-up, doctor. Did Captain Stall act in a way that you feel was inappropriate?”
“No, ma’am. I likely could have convinced the men to act without any threat of force, but it was Stall and the presence of her officers that ultimately got them on the boat and out on the water.”
“Very good. You and Captain Stall should take the night to celebrate with the crew. There are a number of new potential anomalies we need to investigate, which means the coming weeks will be busy. Take the night to unwind and tomorrow we chart our future.”
“Yes, ma’am. Thank you.” Ulf turned to leave but hesitated.
“Is there something else, Doctor Hrafnsson?”
The oppressed look of a weighty burden returned to Ulf’s face. “Sorry, ma’am, I am wondering, this is silly really, but I get to know these individuals…”
“You want to know if we are doing the right thing?”
“Yes, exactly, ma’am.”
Bergansdottir mustered the most sympathetic smile she could. Doctor Hrafnsson had always been troubled by a thoughtful conscience. “Doctor Hrafnsson, Ulf, I admire your dedication to our mission and what you do for the displaced. I also recognize the emotional toll these efforts can extract. Now, do you think I would ask you to do something if I did not believe in it myself?”
He smiled, honestly, as relief flowed through him. “No, doctor, I do not. Thank you.”
Ulf turned to leave again but this time was stopped by Bergansdottier. “Oh, Doctor Hrafnsson, have you already checked that their return was successful?”
“Oh, no. After the delay in Mr. Beauchamp’s update, I decided I could provide the update to you before doing that.” He looked concerned he may have done something wrong.
“Ah, makes sense. Very good, doctor. Thank you.”
With that, Bergansdottir went back to reviewing her papers and, after a pause to make sure the conversation was done, Ulf stepped out of the office. Freya watched Hrafnsson stride down the hall, content that his work served a greater good. After he cleared the hallway sensors, she touched the same control on her desk and closed her office door. Bergansdottir dimmed the lights over her desk, further darkening the office, and stood. She stepped to the back wall and pressed a button that indistinguishably blended into the wood paneling of her office decor. The panel to her right popped ajar, a soft pink light emitted from the narrow gap. Bergansdottir pulled the door fully open and stepped into the room beyond. The room was cool, quiet, and empty except for a silvery cylinder sitting in the middle, the only break to the smooth cylinder’s surface was a single viewport.
Freya stepped up to the cylinder and looked into the viewport, the pink light coming from within the container fully enveloping her face. She waited for the swirling mist to dissipate and smiled at what it revealed.
Parker first thought he was floating. The surrounding darkness was absolute, and he was afraid to move, lest he drift into the ether.
“Hello? Stone? Hudson?”
“Hell, I’m here.” The presence of Hudson’s voice sent a pang of relief through Parker. “Can you see anything?”
Hudson started shaking his head before realizing its movement would go unnoticed. “No, and I don’t know if I dare move.”
“Eh, I already rolled over and nothing happened. It’s a stone floor. Can’t tell if it’s wet or just cold.”
Parker patted his hands around and felt the hard rock beneath him. It indeed was wet and cold. He then held his hands over head and slowly stood. “Should be able to stand up, but be careful.”
There was a thump and a curse as Hudson failed to follow the advice. As Parker listened to his brother’s foul language and fumbling steps, the space around him illuminated. The pink light spread along the floor and then the walls, filling the space until the ceiling and moss-covered walls could be clearly seen. Parker saw Hudson about six feet to his right. He had the unfortunate luck of trying to stand up where the ceiling first curved toward its apex, giving him less clearance and a noticeable bump. This brought a smile to Parker’s face that lasted only a second until he realized Stone was not with them.
“Stone?! Stone?!”
Hudson forgot his ailments and joined Parker’s calls. Both men quickly realized they were at the dead end of a one way path and walked toward the light. The tunnel stretched before them, and the pink light brightened with each step. After what felt like an unnecessarily long walk without any response or sign of Stone, they reached the arched doorway through which the pink light streamed. Parker stepped through first, followed closely by Hudson. They took in the massive room and the numerous pink swirls covering the walls. Further into the room, Stone walked from one swirl to the next, pausing at each to lean toward it.
Parker called out, “Stone!”
Stone jumped at the sound and turned. His face was pale, even in the pink light, and he wore a troubled expression.
“They’re people!”
Parker was not sure what he heard. There was still a fair distance between them that necessitated shouting. He yelled back, “What?”
Stone pointed at the swirls, “They’re people! There’s people in there!”
Hudson had wandered over to the nearest pink swirl and stared into its depths. He immediately jumped back. “He’s right! There’s someone in there!”
Parker rushed to the closest swirl and tried to look past the thick mist. He found a face staring back at him, sending chills down his back. He did not recognize the person, but the face looked to be from a different time. It was weathered and wore hard years. Despite the terror gripping his consciousness, Parker remained mesmerized by the sight and realization of just how many swirls filled the room. He stepped back from the wall to try take in the magnitude of what sat before them when Stone’s voice cut through his thoughts.
“Dad?!”
Bergansdottir spoke softly to the viewport and raised a hand to caress its circular edge. Her words were barely audible, but she knew they were heard. The pink light in the cylinder pulsed occasionally before returning to a steady glow. Though the mist intensified and obscured the viewport, Bergansdottir caressed the viewport one more time and smiled once again at the static sight of Doctor Wilbur Harrington.
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