At the conclusion of the duet with Colin, the two of them decided they’d head on down to Derby Town a bit earlier than usual for the customary meeting after an announcement of this magnitude. Dr. Bishop waited patiently, quite comfortably in the red chair, humming the lyrical limerick while Dr. LaPierre took a quick shower. He emerged donning his most dapper duds, prepared for what would inevitably be an eventful day ahead. Grabbing the manila envelope of forms from his desk, in all the excitement, he was surprised he’d had the presence of mind to remember it.
Leaving the apartment building, carrying half empty cups of lukewarm coffee, two jovial gentlemen were taken by the sight of the courtyard on such a delightful morning. Stepping over the threshold through the oak door, there they stood, taking in the view, drenching the senses with brilliant August air. Competing essences of floral bouquet in early morning mist, Ethan found the intoxicating aroma as enticing to him as the scent of a woman was to Colin. Ah, perfect timing! Breaking into their infamous pub song, both drunk with joy, as the first rays of sunlight filtered through trunks of trees across the road, the merry men embarked upon a six street jaunt to the campus of Oxford University.
Admiring the splendid view along the way, natural beauty spawned by ancient, fertile, English soil, both felt blessed to witness this event. Shards of light split the sky, illuminating a multitude of colors splashed along the sides of buildings, Mother Nature’s murals. Ethan could still feel the stroll even though his feet were barely touching ground and his head was in the clouds. Warm rays beamed like a spotlight directly onto his face. Drinking it all in through every open pore, he paused, closing his eyes. As if God was smiling down upon him, the moment was something sacred. Colin waited for his friend, watching a sublime awareness sweep over him. Ethan’s expression said it all, revealing his sense of supreme satisfaction. When he opened his eyes again Colin was standing beside him. Hoisting up his cardboard cup, Ethan returned the gesture in kind, a toast to welcome the new day.
“Well done, mate! I’m proud of you. Now, let’s go get a refill and a bite to eat. You’ll need a good breakfast in you to face this day.”
“Thanks, Col...yes, let’s!”
For Ethan, it was a new day in every respect. It seemed different, almost surreal. The antiquities of the campus were, as always, inviting to the eyes. Both men shared the sense of being at home there, welcomed, embraced by the academic community. But there was something different in the air, the sweet smell of success, cajoling an eager professor to notice everything. The first stop was breakfast at the Grand Café on High Street. Accustomed as the British are to the chronically cloud covered sky, bright sunlight accompanied this new day dawning. It was an unexpected pleasure, a warm and welcoming presence so early in the day. Others mulling around campus were taken by its radiant glow, the force of nature compelling them to don an array of stylish sunglasses kept at the ready but rarely necessary. The campus looked like a Hollywood movie premiere, all glitz and glamour.
Students and faculty alike gathered daily at the Grand Café. Leaning up against its gray marble pillars, each topped with gold leaf inlay, they’d await an open table at the oldest coffee house in England. Its famous history wasn’t the only draw to its doors. The cuisine was contemporary, delicious and nominally priced. Said to be a favorite place of Chelsea Clinton while attending Oxford, she’d brought her famous father there on occasion. Fine custom ground coffee and loose-leaf teas kept a café and its clientele buzzing morning, noon and night. As the hostess for their breakfast crowd continually rotated tables as guests came and went, customers stood patiently awaiting their turn. They’d politely file in then pile in together, gravitating to a four top table or the bar stools, there to begin yet another day of learning and teaching.
“Top o’ the mornin’!” Dr. Ellis tipped his hat but not his hand. He too had gotten an early start, having received news of his inheritance overnight. Coming out of the café as Ethan entered, in passing through the alcove they’d paused, blocking traffic in a moment of recognition. “Professor LaPierre. Congratulations.” Understated, as usual, his typical tone, he knew about Flicker and Ethan’s rare opportunity, having covered for him in the past. Likewise, he knew it was nothing to speak of in public.
“My students are, indeed, fortunate to have you, sir.” Ethan’s sincerity beamed like the morning sun as he leaned down to share his sentiment with this short, stout Irishman. Detecting the sweet scent of pipe tobacco, it rushed his senses, reminding him of how pleasant his campus office would smell upon his return.
“My pleasure, Ethan. It’s the least I can do.” On the verge of retirement, he was anxious to participate, gladly accepting the interim assignment, his contribution to a noble cause. He whispered, keeping a secret secure. “They’ll adjust to this sudden sabbatical. Besides, they like me. I’m old but feisty.”
“With age comes wisdom, sir. I’ll drop by your office later this afternoon.”
“Looking forward to it. We’ll celebrate!” Dr. Ellis kept a stockpile of vintage Irish whiskey on hand for just such occasions. There was always something to toast!
Feeling Colin tugging at his coat sleeve, the men parted ways for the moment. It appeared normal, just another routine day on campus but looks can be deceiving. For one professor and his colleague it was a very special day filled to the brim with anticipation, dripping with adrenaline. Both feeling like school boys again charmed by their surroundings, Ethan was a pensive man most of the time but this morning he could barely contain his youthful enthusiasm.
Maneuvering through the crowd to a window seat, by happenstance, claiming a favorite spot, they settled in for a meal. This café, an ornate eclectic mix of period design had the blissfully sinful atmosphere of a church, a classroom and a nightclub all rolled into one. Old English style chairs and bar top stools decorated the place. Aesthetically pleasing beyond the creative vision, it displayed an authenticity hard to resist. A grand café, indeed! Vaulted ceilings of stained marble were evangelical, a befitting image for ascending minds pursuing higher education. They needed only to look up for inspiration.
While unfolding his napkin, Ethan glanced out the window, noticing a familiar object in the road gliding slowly past the glass. They had been followed by the same unobtrusive black sedan that drove him home the night before. It crept off, parking across the street. Ethan knew the driver. It was Sparks keeping an eye on his charge. Motioning toward the vehicle, he brought its presence to Colin’s attention.
“I should go tell him the good news.”
“He already knows. That’s why he is here, P.” Colin was right. “Get used to it. You’re the hottest commodity on campus. A shame. I used to think it was me.”
As a young man approached, neatly dressed in his freshly pressed black Oxford shirt, trousers and an apron, Colin grimaced with disappointment. He was the waiter assigned to service their table that beautiful summer morning. The lad was pleasant enough, welcoming the two men by filling their glasses with ice water. His offer of a warm smile and a hot cup of coffee simply wasn’t good enough to satisfy Colin’s voracious appetite...wrong item on the menu.
“Oh, bloody hell! Tell me, P. Why do we always get a male, not the pretty girls? It has been four years since they introduced female servers here, yet we still get the blokes!”
Ethan tugged at the corner of his reading glasses, shooting a lowbrow look at Colin, a scolding expression resembling that of a parent whose child is acting up in public. Their server ignored the dry comment as if he’d already heard it from every sophomoric male student since the first day of employment.
“Proof of its existence! The Immutable Law of Attraction or Repulsion. Perhaps your reputation precedes you.” Ethan teased.
“Ouch!” Colin winced. “Touché!”
“Serves you right! With your appetite, be happy the café opens at 7:00 now!”
While Ethan ordered his usual, an almond croissant with fresh fruit, Colin went for broke with the Grand English breakfast, consisting of sausage, bacon, scrambled eggs, balsamic tomatoes and toast. It was not any sort of surprise to Ethan that Colin could put away so much food in one sitting, almost comical the way the man could eat. Ethan sat quietly for a moment studying the person he considered to be his long lost brother. There were many fascinating aspects to Colin, including his ability for absorbing life, its many gifts embraced with reckless abandon. Overindulgence was his natural overindulgence. He knew what he liked and he liked to enjoy it in fruitful portions. Colin’s conspicuous consumption of a veritable cornucopia of delights his life had to offer, all things tolled, took proper measure of the man.
Ethan admired Colin’s irrepressible, unabashed freedom. Never a dull moment, never a sense of remorse expressed for any actions taken, never the pangs of regret, including the aftermath of a hangover, just as cherished as the festivities the night prior that brought on the cloudy, hazy morning in its wake. It was another memory to reminisce about. His inordinately high metabolism produced a constant, raucous display, an abundance of energy unleashed on the world. Based on the vast amount of food Colin could consume, it was the only thing keeping him thin as a rail. As tall as Ethan, similar in stature the true differential as one distinction drawn between the two was Colin’s blonde, short cropped hair as opposed to Ethan’s jet black hair, cut in a far more moderate style. By contrast, they were as dissimilar in personality and social relativity as possible, in some ways, opposite ends of the spectrum. Ethan grinned. Together, he thought, they made one well-rounded man.
“What are you looking at?” Colin felt Ethan’s stealthy gaze fall upon him.
“Just admiring the view.” Mustering his most effeminate voice, Ethan ribbed.
“Who could blame a bloke? I am so bloody attractive. Give us a kiss, love.”
“Not now. You know I abhor public displays of affection.” With a wink, Ethan redirected Colin. “As for admiring the view, there’s plenty to see this morning.”
“I know! Now, you see, P? Right there!” Gesturing with his fork, pointed in the direction of a young and lovely lady, Colin’s complaints were obviously justified. “Why couldn’t she wait our table?” Ethan cast a discreet glance up as the ravishing redhead passed, ignoring the comment she’d heard just as her male counterpart had earlier. They were all used to it. In his morning glory yet frustrated, not nearly close enough to his heart’s desired server, Colin observed those around him while Ethan observed Colin. They were both Scopes, after all.
Having placed their order, Ethan then requested another cup of coffee from their waiter, asking that it be delivered, “to go” across the road, indicating the black Benz parked within eyesight. As he did so, he’d lifted a paper napkin from the lad’s tray. Scribbling a note on it, he handed it back to him.
“Please make sure he gets this, too.”
“Will do, sir.”
“Thank you...what’s your name?”
“Terry.”
“Thanks, Terry.”
The café was vibrant, filled to capacity. Students, faculty and visitors alike, the crowd was fueling up for the day with selected cuisines and favorite beverages. The air laden with the aroma of fresh ground coffee as well as an assortment of culinary delights, he could have his appetite sated merely by breathing in the fragrance of it. Ethan loved the old café. Moving through that colorful crowd was always an event, a sensual experience. Anybody passing through its doors was immediately privy to a pleasure, instantly detecting a wide variety of aromas. Some subtle and innocuous, barely there, others more pronounced, wafting through the air of the unique eatery. Each step taken was a flight of fancy, a new encounter with the next scent.
The social gathering, as primal an instinct as any of mankind’s idiosyncrasies, is an ancient ritual engrained in the DNA. Wandering a crowd feeds that craving to belong within it, to share and compare. Some guests dined alone, seeking solitude amidst the hordes, faces buried in laptops or smart phones. Others paired off, teams of two, not unlike Ethan and Colin, while others made breakfast a gathering of the clan, seated around four top tables, some pulled together to accommodate the crew. Sitting shoulder to shoulder, presenting a unified front, stalwart companions were determined to face the day together. These folks were resolute, perfectly willing to pack it in, there to feed off of one another’s energy. They were tight, literally and figuratively, loyal to each other’s causes, reinforcing the notion that they could all overcome the forthcoming day, come what may. Quietly studying his surroundings, Ethan noticed everything, committing it to memory as a series of snapshots. There he sat at the table, making picture postcards. They hadn’t spoken in several minutes while waiting for their food to arrive. Colin finally piped up, noticing the brooding expression as it crept onto Ethan’s face. He’d have none of it. This was to be a day for celebration. Colin would not allow any slipping backward into a reflective pool.
“Look at that one. She’s new.” Colin fancied himself an aficionado of fine wine and women. He spotted the recent hire immediately.
“You have a one track mind, Dr. Bishop.”
Watching the waiter crossing the street, Ethan waited for some response. Sparks opened the door to receive his complimentary cup of coffee then read the napkin it arrived with, plunging his huge thumb high into the air above the hood of the car.
Arrival of their luscious breakfast a welcome sight, Colin plunged into it before Ethan could adjust the napkin laid across his lap. Typical! Resisting an aggressively persistent urge to comment, Ethan chose to hold his tongue, reserving it for another, more useful purpose. Meanwhile, Colin lunged at his plate in attack mode, as if he had not dined in a decade. Gesturing with his fork again, this time a piece of sausage attached to a protruding prong, he was emphatic, disagreeable about his lot in life.
“That one’s been here for years and she never waits on me!”
“I wonder why.” Nothing like his dry sense of humor, Ethan perfected practice of it with Colin, an easy mark to target. “Yes Colin, I see your point. She obviously must be a better server than the bloke who politely brought us a delicious meal in a timely manner. I’m sure she does a better job of it, no doubt, in spite of the constant barrage of courtship invitations she receives from men and, I imagine, some of the women, too. I’m certain it is her primary source of satisfaction every morning.”
Colin stopped chewing his sausage mid-link, staring at Ethan in utter disbelief. “Do you really think she gets hit on by women?”
“Oh yeah Col, of course. You’re so naïve for a worldly sort. Your competition just doubled.” Ethan went back to his water glass, leering over the rim, hiding his smile. Colin stared off into the distance, considering the moment of epiphany as a revelation he could have lived without.
“Bloody hell, P.” He continued gnawing on the thought along with his sausage.
Having finished his much more conservative menu prior to Colin, who was still negotiating with the sausage, Ethan thought it an opportunity to write in his journal, a simple, three-by-five inch black leather bound book. It was his written record of significant moments, appointments and questions to ponder and reflect upon later. As an ardent student, then a professor, he was already fascinated by and dependent upon the written word. “Everything everyone does is history.” It had been the creed instilled in every student of the science of history for eons. As the dawn of Ethan’s journey approached, coming ever closer, so came this thought, how significant the most trivial event can become over time. How one discerns what single occurrence or individual act could do to affect the future when every action has an effect.
Today he would meet with his friend, Anson Van Ruden, facing him along with select members of the FTCOC panel, going over their schedule leading up to the Flicker proposal day of launch. Reaching into his breast pocket, he retrieved the mechanical pencil he so regularly relied upon for most things relating to his classes and those unrelenting report submissions for test trials from The Valley. Seeking the next undisturbed page of white with black lines, he sifted through previous notes and illustrations that once again brought him back to those exact memories, the cause or reason for these entries. Ethan always had a romanticized, old-fashioned fantasy that every soul on the planet had a journal just like his to record every one of life’s experiences as their own personal history book. Alas, Colin didn’t have one. If a form was placed in front of him, he would complete it fully. If Colin had a questionnaire that required attention, he was on it, but asking him to freely record experiences that should be denoted, logged for posterity? Ethan meant to ask him why he’d never kept a journal but Colin was preoccupied at the moment, distracted by two young ladies from Italy at the adjacent table. (They had been hiking Europe.) It was a ridiculous notion to think he would consider doing some writing, unless it was in a specific journal predominantly filled with phone numbers, his little black book of conquests. Ethan wouldn’t be surprised if Colin submitted a second Flicker proposal to have carnal knowledge of Cleopatra and Joan of Arc.
***
Journal Entry ˜ 17 August 2020
This morning my wake-up call was an alarm sounded by Colin pounding on my door with news! Late last evening The Consortium gathered to finalize the approval for my proposal! This was my moment of realization that this was going to happen. All my research, my studies, my perseverance was encapsulated in a single moment of decision making and I didn’t even know it as I filled out forms as it happened.
This morning, I’ll stand before the panel and accept full responsibility with the utmost seriousness, a respect for the power and danger of Flicker. My research is, without a doubt, of paramount consideration. I’ve labored long, sacrificed much to have this privilege of recording, potentially rewriting history from my own unique perspective then, once I return, have it published in every scientific journal known to the civilized world. Yet, overshadowing that notion of recognition and respect is the supreme responsibility to the non-interference directive. I was a fan of Star Trek in my youth. I always wanted to call it the Prime Directive which was a mandatory order of the Federation: no interference allowed to indigenous planetary life while studying them. So it is with the past. This directive is driven into the psyche of every selectee from the inception. I have the utmost confidence that I can commit to this endeavor with no incident of timeline displacement due to any actions on my part. Just finishing breakfast with Colin the Café Conqueror. The time has come to face the respective music.
***
Returning the journal to his coat pocket, Ethan noticed he had Colin’s attention again, as the two ladies were moving on, undoubtedly to conclude their hike across the continent and Colin seemingly always had to talk to someone. Ethan was up.
“Anson will probably be there waiting for you.” Colin suggested, taking another nonchalant sip from his freshly refilled coffee cup. “I’m sure he’ll be there waiting. He represents The Consortium but you’re his favorite, most special project.”
“Well, at least I’ll have one bloke on my side...besides you.”
“Bloody hell, P! What are you worried about? Enjoy the moment! Your project is fucking approved! The event is a GO!” Resorting to his falsetto tone reserved for special occasions, Colin leaned in close to Ethan’s face. “They say it’s a GO, mate!” Leaping to his feet, clearly over stimulated by caffeine, Colin began dancing wildly around him, circling their table. “Good to go! He’s good to go!” Heads turned.
“Have you no shame, my good man?” Peering over the rim of his spectacles, scanning the local vicinity, a few female students walked by giggling as Professor Bishop continued dancing like a lunatic or an extra from the Broadway production of “Fiddler on the Roof”. Ethan smiled awkwardly, humiliated by the shenanigans he could not control. Clearing his throat to make the jester aware of his audience, Colin responded with a post-performance bow toward the gathering crowd. There wasn’t a pair of eyes that did not recognize Dr. Bishop’s animated personality. This was his teaching style, as well.
“Will you please sit down, you clown!” Ethan was embarrassed but never cross.
Obliging the request, Colin reluctantly took his seat, speaking in hushed tones. “It’s only the FTCOC wanting to congratulate you! Sure, they’ll need to look over the project once more but that’s to be expected. They want to cover their own arse! I can see those gears turning in your head. Stop it! You’re worried about nothing.”
“Don’t be such a twit, Colin. There is no need for them to cover anything at all. The test trials and committee procedures did that. They want to pick my brain. They will want to know why, aside from the obvious reasons, of course. Colin, you know the inner workings of Flicker just as well as I do. I can get tossed off right at the moment of the event, at the doorway, the plug pulled for the smallest infraction, the least conflicting issues. I won’t be happy until I pass through the portal. In fact, my comrade, I will be much happier long before you will ever be born to cheer me on!” Taking a sip from the lip of his cup, Ethan smirked, pouring the rest of the hot brew into the paper cup he’d arrived with, apparently a “to go” cup. Rising from his seat, leaning in to speak privately with his cohort as if preparing to share a secret, Ethan winked, whispering “Pay the tab, mate. Breakfast is on you, including your shirt.”
Taken by his discordant comment, Colin scrambled for his wallet while wolfing down the last of his scrambled eggs, hurriedly swiping the crumbs from his chest. Meanwhile, his companion glanced at his pocket watch then abandoned him at the table, making his way toward the exit. While navigating a narrow passage through the tables, Ethan looked down upon several of the fresh, young faces he knew, some of whom he had tutored over time. Suddenly the tableau transformed in his mind’s eye, something akin to Pink Floyd’s “The Wall” – a bunker scene. As if he were their commanding officer, he found himself surveying the troops in what appeared to be a World War I fortification. Bombs impacting above the cave shook earthen walls, showering dust on everyone huddled together. Walking past his foot soldiers, gazing into the scared faces of young boys, each tipped a salute as he passed. Dirt on their brows, fear in their eyes, he’d been the one chosen to lead them into battle.
Departing the establishment, Ethan bolted across the main street to spend a few minutes with Mr. Sparks. When Colin caught up they decided to pass on a free ride, resuming their trek across campus. It was quite a hike to the Museum of the History of Science. His spirits lifted, Ethan picked up the pace. Colin sprinted from behind to keep up. That man was on a mission. Dr. LaPierre wanted to get on with it. Broad Street was set in his sites. Ethan always took the initiative to arrive for appointments on time, punctual by nature. This morning he intended to be earlier than expected, a sign of respect.
“Ethan, are you having a good laugh at my expense? Ethan! Wait up!”
“I don’t know, Colin.” Ethan stopped in front of the monument erected to honor a man who would still be alive when he passed through the portal. How interesting! As he stood there reading the inscribed dates carved in granite, the thought occurred to him. “I may have to have a chat with your ancestors, try to persuade them not to procreate, make my life easier. Certainly quieter.”
“That’s not funny, P.” Colin remarked, feigning the tone of someone seriously wounded, cut to the core.
“Don’t be offended, mate. It’s on me. My burden to bear. Who knows?” Ethan continued taunting. “I might even fancy a night with your great, great grandmother and become your great, great granddad!”
“Now you’re just being mean, you fucker.” A grin and bear it smile on his face, Colin suggested, “You could marry the Queen then fucker too! Put me in the will!”
“You know something Dr. Bishop, you’re a man of clear conscience and moral fiber, but then, I jest.”
“Not to mention my exceptional intelligence and model good looks.”
“Mmmm, yes, there’s that.” Taking another sip of lukewarm coffee, completing the thought, Ethan remarked, “Not to mention your modesty, such a humble sort!”
Colin paused, poking out his chest like a peacock, strutting his stuff, posturing, proudly displaying his imaginary feathers. Ethan was so very fond of Colin. In fact, he loved the man far more than a friend, more like a brother, the comic relief in the room. Everything Ethan lacked in social skills, Colin possessed in abundance. Yang to his Yin, his oldest and dearest was also his nearest friend, someone to confide in, share with and count on. Trust is everything. Ethan could trust Colin with anything. His companion had been a continual source of encouragement when Ethan became impatient awaiting the fate of his project in the hands of The Consortium. If Colin knew the intricacies of Flicker like Ethan did, he knew, as well, the inner workings of Ethan. It wasn’t like the Cox Paradox but rather, an internal reflection regarding this rare opportunity. Still humbled by the prospect of it, even after all these years invested into the program, it had not sunken into his thick skull. His Flicker project was one of the committee’s favorites and he knew every facet of it, every detail of the history, every nuance of the mystery, the tale left to time itself to solve. He had earned the respect and confidence of his colleagues. It was his baby, right from the point of conception. They could almost hear it wailing from across campus when it took its first breaths, demanding to be acknowledged, begging for attention. Ethan was about to receive copious amounts of attention for his efforts. Approaching the museum, he chastised the naughty circus performer prancing beside him.
“Straighten up and fly right!” Ethan warned Colin to behave in the company of The Consortium panel, thereby having one less thing to worry about.
Truth be told, there was no way he could have mustered the patience to see this through, especially during those early stages, had it not been for Colin, there to help him keep a level head and some semblance of brevity in light of such pressure and responsibility. On certain long nights at his flat, having spent countless hours in the big leather chair at his desk, Colin would appear at the door like a cavalier of sanity to rescue him just prior to his leap off the edge of reason. Off they’d go for a walk or a stiff drink at some unsavory pub where Ethan could unscramble his brain and decompress. Colin was an anchor for Ethan, his first and best mate long before the Flicker proposal originated and he would be evermore. Cognizant of his faults and frailties regarding his social skills or lack thereof, Ethan felt comfortable, far more uninhibited in the presence of his friend. Although he was a well-spoken, brilliant individual, in a social scheme he often portrayed the wallflower. He could speak to anyone about anything, but basic human interaction of frivolous banter was never part of his répertoire. It did not come naturally to him and Colin never allowed him to be placed in an awkward position, always watchful, ever mindful of Ethan’s shy demeanor. He was a pensive, insightful man, the strong, silent type depicted in old films as the leading man. Colin admired these attributes, protecting him at all cost.
The two turned west on High Street towards the University Church of the Virgin St. Mary. Oxford is so much more than just an educational institution. Dating back to the 12th Century, it has had the distinguished history of having some of the most influential people around the world walk its halls, receiving a variety of degrees in many fields of study. In some respects, Oxford University was a popular destination for tourists, especially those who were fans. From Lewis Carroll to Harry Potter, it was a way to feel a connection to their heroes. High Street was a main thoroughfare, a passageway to class for the students, staff and visitors. Although in modern times its sidewalks were paved, the asphalt and design of High Street was modernized so to accommodate the constant barrage of buses, cars and endless bicycles parading between majestic, truly historic structures, some dating back to the middle 1500’s. Overwhelming stone architecture lined the streets, as if telling the story of ages and wisdom encompassing the roads and walls. No one traveling its streets could remain unaware of Oxford’s significance. Ethan was still in awe of its ancestral echo.
Turning right onto Catte Street heading north along a side road, Colin began to feel the effects of the large morning meal he had just ingested back at the café. Out came his trusty smoking pipe, a perfect addition to any overindulgence, punctuating the proclivity. Stopping for a moment to light up, Ethan hadn’t noticed his absence, moving onward toward his well-defined goal with single-minded purpose. It was a veritable quick step. Colin’s turn to pick up the pace, smoke trailing behind him, as he huffed and puffed his way back, catching up with Ethan as they passed Radcliffe Square, he reached out, placing his free hand on Ethan’s shoulder. He’d had an idea he felt compelled to share.
“P, tell me, when you’re horribly rich and famous, doing the lecture circuit, you WILL remember the little people you left behind, won’t you?”
“How could I forget, Col? I’ll need to collect at least two thousand pounds for all the breakfasts I’ve bought for you at the café.”
“I picked up the tab this morning!”
“Wow! One whole day in a row! And only because I told you to get the check!” Well of course Ethan was only teasing but Colin took it to heart.
“You keeping track, mate?” Colin inquired nervously, suddenly concerned by the comment, hoping he hadn’t been perceived as taking advantage of a friend.
“I’m making tracks! YOU might try to keep track of me, if you can!” Ethan’s long legs stretched out like the neck of a giraffe, his stride widening with each step, he left Colin behind in a matter of milliseconds. Checking his pocket watch again, a slave to time, it was not a matter of being late as much as a force of habit. Getting ahead of it was his objective, dispelling concerns that something or someone would impede his progress. Ethan sprinted away from every delay.
Racing to catch up with his friend, Colin became winded keeping pace with his impatient companion. He managed to duplicate Ethan’s cadence while they passed through one of the many open plazas located just south of the Sheldonian Theatre. Reaching the side door entrance into the Museum of the History of Science just off Broad Street, Ethan paused then placed his hand on the door knob. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. This was no longer a paper acknowledgement, phone call or e-mail. He was about to hear it from The Consortium director himself. He was about to receive news of his submission acceptance from Dr. Anson Van Ruden.
“Uh, P?” Leaning in toward Ethan’s ear, Colin whispered, “You’ve got to turn the knob for the door to open.”
Ethan snapped out of his momentary paralysis. “Right. Yes.” Turning the brass knob, he pushed the door open and they entered the museum.
This enormous cathedral-like structure housed an amazing and unrivaled array of historical artifacts honoring the instruments used in the development of science. Many of the items had been donated by the museum’s benefactor Lewis Evans back in 1924. On the ground level, Ethan and Colin continued along the polished marble floor past a plethora of science-based technology, displays including the collections from the Royal Astronomical Society and the Royal Microscopical Society. At the center of the ground floor they turned left, facing a set of ascending and descending stairs. Their journey continued downward as each footstep echoed through a narrow stairwell heading toward the basement level galleries. Ethan envisioned the future, counting footsteps in his mind as more a metaphorical excursion into the past. What would he experience once he stepped through the portal? Would he actually go into the past as the present or would it be the echo of an era long gone?
His mind was reeling, though he did not share a single word with Colin. Ethan’s thoughts were loud enough to create an echo! Considering the definition of the word pertaining to the resonance of sound, it was a sound repeated, duplicated after cause of the initial sound, mimicking it as effect. This journey would also have to include the visual echo of past events. Of course, science would eventually contest a theory, inevitably so, as sound and light travel at very different speeds. Be that as it may, accepting current science, no one to that day could formulate the equation otherwise known as Flicker. The doorway, in all its aspects, was exactly that. It was not some sort of Divine intervention nor extraterrestrial in nature. Due to human imagination, a natural curiosity for advancement of science, he’d be an accidental tourist in time, passing through a portal revealed as a by-product of research, a fortuitous moment of serendipity. They were not searching for it because they did not know it existed. The LHC was not designed for this purpose and those who never planned for a fluke of natural law or a rip in the fabric of the Universe did not have to understand it to utilize it. Regardless of its origin, if their discovery was predestined or preordained, whether this was caused by the power of atoms colliding or something else entirely, the door now existed and Ethan was destined to step through it.
Reaching the end of the stairway, Ethan opened a door to the basement gallery. It was one of his favorite areas, where Einstein’s blackboard was on display, as well as a wide selection of items and instruments contributing to the research of physics, chemistry, medicine, microscopy and photography. They would bypass this section as their destination was through the “C” gallery, a revolving exhibit display. At the moment there were no displays of anything, as the area was cleared for this meeting. Straight through the “C” wing to the end of the hall, a sudden left turn brought them to the conference room. On the other side of the door was Ethan’s future in the form of five Consortium representatives. Anson Van Ruden was expected to be there but it was anybody’s guess who accompanied him on the flight from Geneva to Oxford. This was the last hoop to jump through before his giant leap into the past. Although it was just a formality, the reps were there to ensure that Ethan, or any selectee, for that matter, was mentally and physically prepared to go forward with the research. The incident that happened when Anson went through the portal as well as the Cox Paradox had never been concealed or sugarcoated at any time during the project’s existence. In fact, it had become an integral part of the selectee screening process.
The conference room smelled of fresh coffee and old books. Ethan stepped into it first as Colin trailed closely behind, trying to be invisible, to shrink into oblivion. It was Ethan’s moment of truth. Colin had to be there. He wouldn’t have missed it for the world, though he wanted to be as unobtrusive as possible. To both, it seemed like an anxiety-ridden trip to the principal’s office, or worse, into the coach’s office to see if they’d been cut from the team. Strange how pessimism can sneak into even the most confident mind, in spite of all the cards on the table indicating the ultimate winning hand. It was never an aspect of self-doubt for Ethan. He knew who he was and what he brought to the table. His thoughts were more of a preparatory mentality to expect the worst, especially when one’s future lay in the hands of another. Within those four walls, confirmation of Ethan LaPierre’s destiny would come, at last. Five men stood chatting around a table at the far corner of the conference room, enjoying coffee and extras served for their pleasure, nibbling on crusty scones and fresh fruit. One of them took a particular interest in the new arrivals, looking over his shoulder, a familiar face with a reassuring smile.
“Aye! Ethan! Right on time! How are ya, buddy?”
There was an ease in Anson’s demeanor as he finished stirring cream and sugar into the hot brew. His jubilant expression provided Ethan a deserved sense of relief. The “barrel-chested Swede” (as Flicker personnel affectionately called him) made his way over to Ethan, extending his hand in a warm and welcoming gesture. It was an immediate signal to Ethan that all his predisposed trepidation was unwarranted. The air was suddenly lighter, more vibrant; easier to breathe. Glancing past Anson, Ethan recognized the other Consortium members still jockeying for their coffee. In attendance, Dr. Anthony Galli of Switzerland, a brilliant physicist, Dr. Lars Linsin of Sweden, an incredible particle scientist, Dr. Franco Carmalini, a psychiatrist who had been with the project from its inception and Dr. Devon Murth of Australia, who was not only an amazing physician but also a selectee in the program.
“Dr. Van Ruden, I’m so delighted you were one of the members coming today.” Ethan spoke with a tone of humility, sincerity while reciprocating, shaking the hand of this great scholar. Anson’s vice grip was legendary, having puddled blood in the fingers of most recipients. The man did not know his own strength.
“Anson, please Ethan. Call me Anson. I wouldn’t have missed this! Actually, I am the reason for recent delays. I wanted to be here for this, so had to fit it into my schedule. I beg your pardon.”
“Told you.” Colin made his presence known, poking Ethan gently in the ribs.
“Dr. Colin Bishop, good to see you!” Anson grabbed his hand with such force, it was like getting caught in the Jaws of Death in The Valley during time trials.
“Was your flight in a smooth one, gentlemen?” Ethan asked out of concern.
“Like a baby’s bottom.” Anson replied with an enormous smile.
“Fantastic to hear.”
Ethan began moving towards the four other members of The Consortium with whom he was very familiar, holding them in the highest regard. His respect for their accomplishments was unparalleled, actions before and during the Flicker program. Each of them greeted Ethan with unbridled enthusiasm. He sensed their excitement for him, filling his heart. He hadn’t expected to feel so emotional, trying to disguise the lump in his throat. With each handshake he knew this project was not only going forward but those involved were so encouraging, supportive of this Englishman of Irish and French descent. Likewise, Colin greeted them as he made his way over to the table to have another caffeinated beverage, as if he needed it! Ethan needed his moral support, Colin by his side. His attendance at this briefing was, if for no other reason, to work his magic misdirection of Ethan’s mind should something shocking or disappointing be announced. Colin was the cockeyed optimist he counted on for some balance in his life.
“Did you get enough rest? I know both of you were out at The Valley last night.” Anson asked with some concern, aware of the ridiculous hours they kept as Scopes.
“Oh, yes. I’m just fine.” Ethan responded by handing over the manila envelope to the project director. He then reached for a fresh cup of coffee, mixing in an extra sugar cube into the brew, taking one sip to test it before committing to the cup, the consummate scientist.
As a scientist himself it was in Anson’s nature to be observant yet he was a kind man, as well. His generous comments, thoughtful gestures of support were heartfelt, nothing cold or clinical about him. Over time he had developed a specific empathy, compassion for those assigned to this formidable task, the link established between gentlemen who would walk in his shoes. It was the bond of kinship, having been in that identical position before, one in which Ethan stood, examining the examiners for any signs of strife or doubt. Leaning in to comfort a kindred spirit, Anson knew few mortal souls would ever pass through their portal. Selectees became a tightly woven family over time, individuals who were the intermingling threads, there to enhance the big picture, to be the strands that expand the tapestry of the Universe.
“Not to worry, this is just a formality.” Anson whispered the words as if sharing a secret kept. “You’re good to go on your way.” As a father would comfort his son, a few lyrical words functioned as a lullaby, ushering Ethan into a daydream.
Closing his eyes, Ethan dropped his head in relief, chin to chest as his shoulders relaxed for the first time in forever. A chronic tension headache as his nemesis, one sign of the stress he’d carried all morning, it suddenly evaporated into languid air. A burden lifted, Ethan smiled. Perhaps it wasn’t eye strain after all! Anticipation is almost as powerful as fear, and is, in fact, borne of it. An insidious fear, it creeps in through the back door, a worry, not that something will happen but that it won’t.
The center table in the room was an exquisite replica of a 17th Century trestle style, made of a lighter material for easier mobility and relocation. Surrounding it, eight built for comfort modern desk chairs, luxury made for such meetings as their own; the one about to occur. Anson motioned to everyone present to take their seats. The time for not so idle chatter having passed, the moment to begin was upon them and everyone sensed the gravity of it, especially Ethan, sucking him down into his seat as dead weight.
Removing a small digital recorder from his breast pocket, Anson used it strictly for dictation purposes, as was done for every Flicker interview by every committee leader during the application process since the beginning. Redundant, perhaps, as the museum had security video with audio in virtually every room of the building. The Consortium was filming these proceedings and would secure all the recorded data of their meeting. This was Anson’s personal accounting for his report. Pressing a button on the recorder, noting the date, time and every member in attendance for the event, Anson announced commencement of the closed door conference.
“We have gathered in this formal capacity, as required, to finalize all remaining details prior to initializing the third Flicker Research Project, ‘20/20 Hindsight’ as spearheaded by candidate Professor Ethan LaPierre of Oxford University, England. During his endeavor as Scope, in pursuit of objective real-time observations, events in history which have transpired are to be scrutinized by Dr. LaPierre, requiring his transport via Flicker to the established time frame between the dates of 28 August 1888 and 9 November 1888. Regarding these five similar unsolved criminal cases, known as the Whitechapel murders, Dr. LaPierre’s intention is to clarify history, to determine a culprit, thus identifying the infamous Jack the Ripper.”
The atmosphere in the chamber suddenly shifted. Anson abruptly fell silent, as if pausing to reflect on the process, allowing those present to reabsorb the nature of one intense research project as the dense air thickened further. It seemed to possess an intelligence. A memory was awoken by the spoken words. It became oppressive, unbreathable as Dr. Van Ruden continued, consuming what oxygen was available.
“Candidate LaPierre will be provided vintage attire, currency and identification indigenous to the era. He will be entrusted to faithfully and accurately execute, duty sworn, accounting these events from a non-invasive vantage point to such a degree that a proper conclusion may be drawn as to the identity of the notorious assailant. Professor Ethan LaPierre, are you of sound mind and body and do you completely comprehend the responsibilities inherent to this endeavor in the name of puritanical research and historical documentation?”
“I am sir, and indeed I do.” Ethan responded with confidence. No doubt.
“Note that on this day, 17 August 2020, Professor Ethan LaPierre’s affirmation of the project directives and procedures as provided in the Flicker Legal Doctrine that all candidates have been previously required to read and sign, acknowledging a full understanding of the responsibilities and requirements prior to their project launch. Dr. LaPierre, do you have any questions, comments, concerns regarding acceptance of your candidacy and forthcoming duty?”
“No sir, I do not.” Ethan responded in a somber tone of deep commitment. He’d taken his pledge of allegiance to the program long ago, years before.
“Does any member of The Consortium Final Review Panel have an objection to this project or to the candidate we are addressing on this date at this time?” Anson inquired of his colleagues, knowing their answers in advance, a collective response of “No.” For the recipient of a ringing endorsement, it instantly reiterated the most powerful word in the English language.
“This concludes the final project review with candidate Dr. Ethan LaPierre. We thank you for your time and patience, professor. Launch preparations are currently underway. Its countdown has commenced. Ethan, you are scheduled to go forward. Congratulations, sir. Your destiny awaits. Meeting adjourned.” Anson grasped the candidate’s hand then held on, smiling warmly at his protégé, sharing his own sense of satisfaction with the professor as the culmination of this final confirmation.
Turning off the recorder, they sat in silence, taking in this momentous occasion. The spark of inquiry ignited, Anson wanted to know the long elusive answer to the question as much as anybody else at that table, solving the ultimate whodunit once and for all time. He wanted his acolyte to be the one to reveal a secret kept by time itself and he knew Ethan was destined to become a witness to history in the making, albeit a series of gruesome observations. He would wander the streets of London in disguise, focused on the one who prowled the dark alleyways in search of his prey. With the eyes of a detective, just like any bobby walking his beat, Ethan would be privy to events as they unfolded, present at the scene of the crimes as they occurred. Intriguing beyond measure, it was a fascinating proposal right from the inception, captivating those who knew the details and ultimately approved the petition request. As the anticipation continued to rise, it erupted out of Anson with one rogue gesture as he threw his arms up like a football referee signaling a touchdown.
“Tonight we drink to your success!” It was a proclamation. Dr. Van Ruden had made plans for the evening, a customary celebration the burly Swede insisted upon, as a good luck toast to the selectee as well as a tribute to Flicker.
Much to Ethan’s delight the other panel members followed Anson’s lead, all of them cheering him on. Their outburst caught Colin mid sip, dazed and confused, as if he had been warped into an alternate Universe. Again, he was the comic relief in the room, a priceless expression on his face for all to enjoy. Placing his coffee cup and saucer at the edge of the table as elegantly as possible, he finally sent his arms sailing into the stratosphere, better late than never. His colleagues howled, a rather standard response to Colin’s antics. It broke the tension.
Beyond the door of a basement conference room, up to street level and all along the campus, then out to all of England, the United Kingdom, Europe and the planet, the vast unawareness of what had transpired within the confines of those walls was staggering when considered. For only the third time in the history of any species, the ability existed to travel into the past as a witness to firsthand accounts of events long echoed in time. The “Laws” of physics had been rewritten and redefined, never more vitally so when applied to the discipline and dangers related to what humanity had discovered and what had discovered humanity. If those chosen to comprise The Consortium allowed a research project to continue without taking every precaution they would be irresponsible, knowing what could happen to those assigned the task. The result would be nothing short of catastrophic, fracturing linear time. Their final decision had ramifications beyond borders.
“So, Colin will lead your project team then?” Anson queried.
“Yes, yes sir, he will.” Ethan responded. “He’s been with me from the start and knows my research better than anyone. I trust him implicitly.”
“Very well, then.” Anson continued. “Ethan, as you prepare for the event I will correspond with Colin regarding protocol and any program fluctuations which may occur in the offing, freeing you to mentally plan without further distraction.”
“Thank you.” Ethan responded with blissful contentment.
Anson knew Ethan need not be told how to prepare for this “timely” adventure. He had not seen a more focused and logic driven individual selected as a candidate since the program went public. His research was faultless and broad, covering every angle and approach a Scope would need to consider for this journey, and then some. There was no allowance of apathy for any candidate tasked to breach this doorway. When it comes to due diligence required to conduct research of the past by a living strand of its content, someone from a time not yet in existence during the time it is conducted, suffice to say Anson Van Ruden always placed his bets on Ethan, quite confident he was the perfect candidate for the task at hand.
“Colin, I’ll have Rita Drocman from my office in Geneva get with you via email to organize flight arrangements and shipping priorities for the project.”
“Right, sir. Any idea when we will be in Geneva?” Colin asked sheepishly, not wanting to push but anxious for an answer on behalf of Ethan as well as himself.
“You’ll have a charter from Heathrow the morning of the twenty-fifth. Rita will bring you up to speed this week.”
“Thank you.” Colin glanced at Ethan who’d momentarily closed his eyes while lost in thought, perhaps lost in the concept of time itself.
As the gentlemen stood and shook hands with one another, it was clear to Ethan that this incredible opportunity was upon him. The entire meeting had been surreal. His research was no longer a pen and paper affair, no longer relegated to the realm of the cerebral, no longer a figment of imagination. It was manifesting, taking form, shape-shifting, morphing into a new reality. It was made tangible with one meeting. It was happening, after all. Anson collected the files and recording device from the table, leaning in towards Ethan and Colin once more.
“I have a few things to attend to over at The Valley. I’m hoping we can all meet later on at The House sometime around four o’clock?”
“Yes, right. Four o’clock then at The House.” Ethan shook the hand of a friend and colleague, yet felt humbled in the presence of the great Dr. Anson Van Ruden.
The two men once more shook the hands of their counterparts as Anson ushered the other four members out the door, following behind them. “The House” he had spoken of was the popular Oxford pub off of Blue Boar Street, a faculty favorite. Anson’s thick Swedish accent could not conceal his intentions, to share a few pints with them in celebration and, in some way, a preparation for the weeks and months ahead. As the door closed, a moment of serenity settled into the silence of the air. The two remaining men altered their blank gazes from the door toward each other. Colin and Ethan stood there like statues made of stone, allowing time to lapse of its own accord as the consequence of the meeting was absorbed. Mount Vesuvius had nothing on Colin. He spontaneously erupted, spewing forth a yell that undoubtedly could be heard across campus! Reminiscent of two soccer fans seeing England win the World Cup, Colin jumped into Ethan’s arms, wrapping his legs around his torso like a toddler clinging to his mother. Ethan embraced Colin as they reveled in pure, unbridled joy. Rapidly losing his grip to the force of gravity, Ethan yelled, as well:
“Col? I’m falling. Col? I’m losing my balance.....Colin!”
And down they went.