Journal Entry ˜ 28 August 2020

This is my final entry before my jump which is scheduled in less than two hours. The moment of truth. How interesting to note on the eve of a jump back in time that the time since meeting with Anson at Oxford, until now, has seemingly sped up in total opposition to the timeframe prior as I waited for it to happen.

I am ready. I have been ready for weeks, for months. For years. Where my mind goes is to the intangibles. Does it mean Colin was right about uncertainty? Not in the least. For me there is nothing about the jump I am not ready for and then some. I think more so about the science of this endeavor. There have been myriad tests, so many jumps confirming the Flicker’s stability and continuity. The Consortium and LHC teams have perfected the exactness of the duration and direction of the doorway. I cannot stop, however, dwelling upon the forces we are trying to harness. Can this be the day that, as I walk through the portal, some sort of cataclysmic, unforeseen alignment shift in physics occurs and all of my molecules explode? My thoughts also go on to the return point. In two months I will be finished with my research and return to the area where the gateway will be waiting for me. What if, during those months, there is a global war or a natural disaster that debilitates the Flicker permanently? It is not about my survival in the slightly more primitive time of London or, in fact, the world. I have the distinct advantage of knowing the times intimately well, a crystal ball of sorts, having both the privilege and the curse of being a being from a future time. It would mean having to watch every step, every action for the rest of my life, constantly having to be on guard, knowing the slightest historical involvement from me would create ripple effects on the future timeline in an undeniable, unknowable way. I would have to disappear or die to assure events didn’t change due to my presence in the past, my existence. Existence is a bigger concept, a word of consequence, of greater weight when you are about to hold that word in your hands. As a schoolboy I read about earlier, simpler times in London. As a child, your imagination is enough wonderment to fill the Universe and never have to violate anybody or anything for answers because all was there to savor in the simplicity of thought. Nothing and no one to be responsible for, I’m just trying to peer into my future trip to examine the past.

***

Ethan was never one for church, in spite of the fact that he’d found monuments erected to God amazing, a testament to mankind’s imagination. He worshipped the genius of creativity, admired achievements in majestic architectural design, edifices built as places to gather in devotion to the Almighty, including structures at Oxford. Certainly there was faith, perhaps on a more practical scale. God, for Ethan, was an ideal. As a university man, so much of the literature on the subject of the Supreme Being was available to him. He understood the ideology of religion and its power, constructive and destructive to cultures which have risen and fallen by the faith they supported. His inspiration came in walking those hallowed halls.

There was a foundation to his belief system that was a variation of forced-logic. Having accessed so much on the subject throughout his academically driven life, it seemed self-evident from his educated perspective, leading to a conclusion that the evidence that God exists is inarguable. For those who’d dispute God’s existence, it was Ethan’s scholarly way to meekly inquire, “Why?” In having faith, a belief that there is an all-seeing, all-knowing being, guidance from the heavens above, perhaps humanity could comprehend existence, overcome fear then achieve understanding. There was a certain solace in the feeling that there was someone who would always be playing a supportive role behind the scenes of life. As a pragmatist, having faith seemed to him, logical, far more astute, more beneficial to body and soul than not.

In the time remaining before his jump, as part of the time allotted by the project powers that be, Ethan used this personal time for reflection. Speaking with himself internally, addressing the depth of his own faith, it became incumbent upon him to reconcile the science with spirituality, what it meant during this insightful hour and beyond, in the magnitude of the moment to come. He had found peace long ago, so his humble prayers covered any intangible issues before departure. At the doorway there would a clergyman present, someone to bless and release him to the journey; the striking similarity to The Last Rites before execution was a little bit unsettling. Leave it to superstitious banter, a necessity for “public relations”. To have someone of the cloth on hand would avoid any atheistic accusations by the press.

Now to address the press, something Ethan knew was forthcoming, dreading an inevitable encounter at the facility. Since the launch of the LHC there had been film documentation during particle acceleration tests. Much of their funding for Flicker was motivated by footage captured during sequential modifications, tests leading up to an introduction of the Scope candidates. Those given press access were hand selected by Anson and other top brass as well as LHC directors for their credibility and prior security clearance / access background. If the military cleared these men and women they were on the recording team, allowed to disseminate the report only after a Scope had returned from the jump and the event was concluded, to keep any disastrous incidents in-house. God forbid something went amiss, the slightest detail misconstrued, any and all opponents of “Flicker” would bring to bear everything in their arsenal to force the program to permanently shut down.

Thus, the ineludible requirement for the Flicker trials on the outskirts of Oxford. Every aspect of event preparation thought then rethought with a surgical precision and exacting calculations, it was a process, a prime example of the phrase “no stone left unturned” in search of scenarios. The poorest of analogies is Lamas classes for the most important “labor” in the history of science. The world would be watching the film of this birth. Ethan would be the newest to breach and all of his family felt confident he would come out the other side head first, ready for the world in 1888. Ethan preferred to think of it in terms of a familiar sports metaphor, as the pressure brought to bear was no different than telling a coach if he did not have an undefeated season he’d be terminated. The stress rested squarely on Ethan’s shoulders. He was the quarterback of this game, left to his own devices to make calls on the field.

Time to close the journal and lock it away, In fact, anything from “present day” had to be left behind. Draped on the desk chair was the 19th Century suit he’d wear for the jump. The Consortium provided Ethan considerable currency from that time period, generously donated from collectors around the world for this specific event. It was intended to be used for additional period clothing as well as perishables and living accommodations, enough funding to sustain him for months.

Resting on the floor beside the desk was his medical bag. An authentic antique, it contained all the expected instruments and his corresponding credentials. These items, pristine and protected from time by the keepers of antiquities, most of which were likely purchased from a high-end auction house. Each was part of someone’s collection, all to present the visage that Ethan was a visiting physician to old world London. In duality, a new false identity was value added, providing accessibility to prohibited areas of medical facilities which may or may not be necessary depending upon the theories that Jack the Ripper was a skilled surgeon. Other diagrams from this case of Scotland Yard of old profiled a butcher and multiple assailants, to which end his false identity would be for naught. In this case it was “better safe than sorry” in terms of deciding on an identity: Doctor Arthur Bridgeman. The prudent decision was to use the occupation that had the title of “Doctor” as the prefix to his fictitious name. Additionally, it would also help to substantiate the amount of currency he’d be carrying with him during the jump, should he be detected straightaway.

Finally, Ethan would find his travel journal on the desk, also indicative of that era with the proper paper stock, authentically aged leather hardbound cover, another charitable contribution to the cause that could not and would not be returned to the donor. Intending to transfer its contents to his current journal upon return before he turned it over to The Consortium, once again, everything was being considered and reconsidered to avoid any connection to the present.

Thirty minutes had mysteriously passed since Ethan donned his period attire. In that time he’d stood facing the closet mirror. Less than an hour remained before his decided leap of faith. Peering into his own eyes, this was not a psyche out session before the jump, nor was it a doubt about his research knowledge regarding the era or the target. It was not even about the concerns of mechanical failure of the Flicker during his departure or return. No. It was the conjuring of this character he needed to become that captured Ethan’s attention. He’d been given all the credentials and identification for the name “Doctor Arthur Bridgeman”. As a graduate of the Royal College of Physicians (in documentation only), Ethan had to take the surname and persona to such a degree of belief so as not to raise any suspicion. His identity and the knowledge base to qualify this title of “physician” was one of the initial design blueprints adopted when this project was submitted. So, too, was the considerable research he had needed to master, as if he were obtaining the scholastic degree as a specialist in his field of study. Staring into the mirror, Ethan fixated on suppressing his own identity and embracing this new persona. The surname was a familiar one, from the annals of English medicine, one of hundreds of small details scrutinized during his pre-submittal planning.

In his mind he imagined being in a variety of scenarios, perhaps an encounter with a stranger who had a background in medicine of that time or London’s “finest” were to begin questioning him. Looking in the mirror, as he’d done countless times, he once again rehearsed his responses in those probable situations he would likely encounter. Selling it to himself meant selling it to anyone else who might approach him. Character acting 101! He thought, “I should’ve done more theatre in school.”

Then came a knock on the door. Ethan took one long last look at a mirror image, and in reflection, took one last long breath. It was time. He looked around the room. As dull and drab as his quarters had been, they’d become a sort of sanctuary, a place of solitude where everything was certain, in its place. As another friend he’d have to say goodbye to, he did so silently while opening up the door. There in the hallway staring at him were nearly two dozen pairs of eyes, some scrutinizing, patronizing and even criticizing. Then there was Colin. His eyes, smile and body language were supportive, protective. He was the first to step forward into the room toward Ethan, leaning in to whisper an important message.

“The green-eyed brunette from the tech team wants me bad.”

“For fuck’s sake mate, please don’t have me returning to a wedding invitation.”

Two ardent men reached out, grasping one another firmly by the shoulders. Any unspoken conversation between them served to reinforce mutual confidence in this day, one of such historical significance. A shared smile, acknowledgement that both of them were ready for this jump, a simple nod concluded their nonverbal dialogue. It was time to go site seeing at the most sophisticated scientific facility in the world.

Ethan quickly grabbed his 19th Century belongings and they were out the door, escorted by security personnel, medical staff checking the traveler’s vital signs one more time in transit. Flicker techs surrounding him, Ethan would’ve normally been squeamish around this many people in such close proximity but the experience was surreal, almost magical; he noticed everything and everyone, including Colin’s new love interest. The distance between their quarters to the jump site was about twenty minutes, less during their late night excursion, like crossing the campus at Oxford.

Outside the staff housing complex, lining its circular drive, three vans sporting LHC insignia awaited their charge. Standard transport, it was nothing special but it felt so to Ethan, glancing at his own reflection in a van window as they approached.

“I did ask them for a limo.” Colin boasted. “They said it was too conspicuous.” His mouth drooped into a petulant pout.

Looking over his shoulder at the cast of characters accompanying them, Ethan replied, “A circus clown car may have been more appropriate for our troupe.”

The entourage piled into the three vehicles which already hosted the driver and two additional armed security guards (per van) for their fourteen kilometer journey to the LHC facility. Every person presently involved with the Flicker program was playing a supporting role to Ethan.

Support. That word had numerous faces, some Ethan may have never even met, not even so much as basic conversation with people who held his fate in their hands throughout this entire project. Most of them were strangers to him yet they felt like close friends in his moment of need. It was imperative they do their jobs efficiently to get Ethan where he was going. Launch time for Flicker was slated at four o’clock in the morning, the best shot for him to reach the other side without being spotted.

Even at such an odd hour of the morning and still a couple of kilometers away, the LHC compound illuminated the night sky like a small city. Ethan never tired of the dramatic visual effects of the approach to this facility. Poetically reminiscent of returning again and again to the “New World”, seeing the Statue of Liberty in New York City as some fictitious literary immigrant boy from the classic story, this place was the new world. To these explorers, the ones who came before and would come afterward, the discovery of new lands, new frontiers and new opportunities was no less frightening and exciting to them as those who sailed across the Atlantic Ocean to a place both foreign and familiar at the same time.

The surrounding property was vast. Ten minutes earlier merging roads funneled the vehicular traffic of workers, press and security cleared dignitaries into the main artery leading to all the different entrances from Route De Meyrin 385. At any time on any normal day this property was cluttered with thousands of cars belonging to its employees covering shifts at all hours in every department the place required for operation. This incredible location was composed of dozens of separate buildings. If The Consortium hadn’t limited access, the number of attendees to the event could have gotten out of control. Everyone with a security pass to the facility would have arrived prior to their shift (or remained after their shift was completed) to hopefully witness the early morning leap through time. For security and safety protocol, there would only be a communion of thirty people actually present during Ethan’s jump. He had wanted a rather understated affair, an exclusive group of invited guests but the turnout was more than he’d bargained for, in spite of his humble request. It was Anson’s call to make, as these events were so significant and rare. The Consortium had to use these jumps as demonstrations for promotional purposes, fundraising for further proposal research grants and to finance amongst other things, the time trials of future Scopes back at The Valley.

Arriving at the facility just past 3:30 a.m., soft breezes blowing in from the west cooled the summer night otherwise adorned with phosphorous streetlamps lining the pavement. As three LHC vans made their way through the security gate, a guard read the drivers’ manifests then signaled someone in their gatehouse to make a call. Once inside the gate their vans took an alternate route from other traffic to access one garage large enough to allow passage of five semi-tractor trailer trucks entering side-by-side. The concrete floor inside the building was polished to a sheen. Tires on the vans (moving at a slow pace) made a high-pitched screeching sound with the slightest turn of their steering wheel. Sixty or so yards into the large warehouse the vehicles came to a dead stop. As all the passengers disembarked Ethan immediately recognized the nearly deafening sounds of the turbines and generators. Standing in the LHC Engine Room, they were there, inside the driving force behind the particle accelerator. Cooling systems, air conditioning units, gigantic water pumps: dozens of massive machines serving either a primary or a redundant purpose lined the walls of what appeared to be a futuristic miniature city.

A small, bald man in a lab coat and wire framed glasses approached Ethan with one hand extended, the other holding a walkie-talkie.

“Dr. LaPierre. Dr. Bishop.” The man greeted them in a heavy Austrian accent, attempting to be heard over the cacophony of electrical noise.

“Dr. Eschmann, hello.” Ethan replied as he reciprocated the handshake.

“Everything is ready.”

They all began walking, following the lab coat and six additional assistant lab coats that accompanied Dr. Eric Eschmann. He was initially a project director with the LHC until the first “event” that began the Flicker trials. From there he willingly took a demotion in position to join The Consortium with a fire rekindled, a passion ignited for the project and keen curiosity regarding what possibilities may await on the other side of a doorway.

“Flicker’s up and running perfectly!” Gesturing toward an access door, the good doctor led the way in advance of Ethan’s support team. Ethan knew his way around the building but he deferred, following dutifully behind. It was one of the few jobs Dr. Eschmann had, to escort him like a dignitary as if it was his first visit to the site.

Once through the entrance, the last of the group (which looked like an entourage following a prize fighter to the ring) hit the security pad, closing the oversized slab of metal behind them, effectively muffling the heavy whirring of machinery.

“Dr. Van Ruden has been here all night greeting visitors, heading up the Public Relations team.” Eric continued in better audible conditions.

As they walked along Ethan looked over his shoulder at Colin.

“You think Anson brought beer?” Colin asked rhetorically of Ethan who shook his head and smiled, recalling their night of celebration together at The House.

Turning his attention back to the corridor ahead, little by little, employees began to emerge from office and lab doors aligning the walls of the hallway.

“Good luck, Dr. LaPierre.” One head popped out.

“Viel Gluck, Arzt LaPierre.” Several of the workers spoke in unison.

“Bon chance, Medecin LaPierre.” It was an international Bon Voyage party.

Ethan never felt more uncomfortable. He was the player at center stage, yet the spotlight felt too hot. He had no appetite for it, no craving of attention from others. Even in his familiar classroom setting his methodology of teaching was minimizing eye contact, keeping the focus of young minds on the work at hand. He was acutely aware of the significance of the events unfolding and the electricity it was creating. Anson would tell him to hold his head high and play the role of Ambassador for the project, star of The Consortium. Once again, regret fell upon him for never pursuing thespian training. He was a very shy man and a very bad actor.

In an understated corridor, an incredibly vast maze of halls, tubes and humming, whirring, buzzing walls, all vents and equipment, Ethan could hear the faint sounds of muffled music like a distant echo chamber. He did not recall seeing any speakers being installed in his presence but the sounds had permeated his mind for a moment. As the entourage continued forward, the soft repetitive snare drum and bass became instantly familiar. Ethan and Colin looked at each other and began to snicker, saying the same familiar name at the same time. “Anson.”

“One pill makes you larger and one pill makes you small

And the ones that mother gives you don’t do anything at all

Go ask Alice, when she’s ten feet tall.”

Anson was a prideful product of the 1960’s and always made an effort to remind everyone (twenty years younger or more than he) that the greatest era of music and of revolution was in his time. Booming one final reminder of his plight, Anson had Jefferson Airplane’s “White Rabbit” piping through the communication system that broadcasted in this section of the LHC, the magical place where the ALICE project became a true and legitimate looking glass into the past. They were going down the rabbit hole to “Go ask Alice”. Perhaps, just perhaps, Anson was spot on.

Music continuing to play, Ethan was also greeted by the sounds of spontaneous applause from a group awaiting his arrival. Past the sounds and showcase, past the people in attendance there was a doorway, an invisible doorway into the past. Ethan reflected back to the first time he saw the Flicker, or did not see it, until he looked at one of the thermal imaging screens. The control room was a simple moving pod transformed into a makeshift operation center. Standing in front of a monitor, Ethan stared at the portal, amazed he was about to create a path for his future by stepping back into the past. Though not visible to the naked eye, on the screen he could see in multiple spectrums the barrier he would soon breach.

The doorway was fluctuating, oval to circle to oval, a free-flowing form pulsing in the light spectrum, from yellow to blue to red, indicating temperature variations. An energy access gate to another time and place, it was so beautiful. For practically every moment since its accidental discovery in the ALICE system, so many of the world’s greatest physicists and mathematicians labored in cooperation with LHC directors to harness it, calibrate the collider’s energy, speed, heat; any and all other factors regarding manipulation, perfecting Flicker’s timeline, duration and location. Achieving accuracy to a percentage point, flawless in the mechanics of operation, it was the crowning achievement of mankind working in harmony with a force of nature never before witnessed. Ethan gazed at it with wonder, humbled by Flicker, his ride into the history books.

Ethan was not one to look the proverbial gift horse in the mouth. The facts were set, data compiled and analyzed. Flicker was so precise in specificity of calculation, he could have gone through at any present time to the planned arrival date and time in the past. There would be questions regarding the timing of this jump, scheduled three days before the anniversary of the first murder. He’d been told only three days prior, informed upon his arrival at the LHC, exactly why this project had been held up for so long, biding its time. Only then was it disclosed as a deliberate delay, their intention to synchronize the dates. Basically, The Consortium had been stalling for time and “20/20 Hindsight” was waiting out a calendar. It would be the first attempt to correlate the past with the present, pertinent for the sake of testing new theory.

Of course, there was no such thing as Daylight Savings Time in 1888, although these slight variations were considered inconsequential by the scientific team when compared to the impact made by being able to accurately measure deviations to the second from Ethan’s departure to return. Having concocted this very scenario while dissecting the delay in his mind over months, Ethan had his suspicions but nobody confirmed them. Anson explained his decision to withhold such vital information with one line composed of nine simple words:

“Less time for you to be mad at me.” Then he winked.

Knowing Anson’s warped mind enough when it came to his Scopes, Ethan also assessed that by keeping the time short between project approval and Flicker jump limited the Scope’s tendency to overthink and stress about their project submission. Never known to hold a grudge, Ethan accepted Anson’s rationale with good humor, no hard feelings. Being present at the site certainly softened the blow. Actually, Dr. LaPierre applauded the concept. There was a perfection about it he could not ignore. In spite of the realization that this approval could have come sooner, it all appeared meant to be in an exciting moment of exploration. Anxious to get on with it, Ethan longed to arrive at his ultimate destination to make his appointed rounds. Dates and stars had aligned and his date with destiny had arrived.

Framing the invisible Flicker anomaly was something new and different, quite necessary from the perspective of the Medical Department effectively arguing their point. Considering the premise of this project, the expected proximity between the Scope and people of the target era, a vital precaution was taken with the installation of the sterilization chamber positioned directly in front of the vortex. On loan from the World Health Organization (WHO), the chamber was a preventative measure, another step taken to assure there would be no pathogen hitchhikers into the past or brought back from it. Nothing was left to chance. Just to the left side of the invisible portal was a large digital clock box displaying red illuminated numbers.

00:12:41

“Ethan!” Anson’s forceful, familiar barrel-chested voice echoed throughout the facility, followed by his roaring laugh. An offering of camaraderie for all to witness, watchful eyes enjoyed an embrace between the two men.

“Good morning, Anson.” Ethan barely uttered his greeting, trying to catch his breath while locked in another Swedish bear hug.

“A great morning! A wonderful morning!” Anson exclaimed.

PR was Anson’s forte. Leading Ethan up to a glass barrier separating them from the uninoculated audience all present, the crowd he was expected to “hobnob” with included various dignitaries, program contributors, heads of state, religious leaders and other media and marketing targets. No need for a formal introduction. They all knew precisely who he was and what he was about to do: make history. Ethan felt dizzy, overwhelmed by the social circle of admirers. The transparent partition was more for a dramatic effect. Ethan had been sufficiently immunized against virtually any bug. Anything external would be wiped out in the sterilization chamber before his jump. Anson thought keeping their guests behind a glass wall added impact and would diminish Ethan’s stress level. Though well-intended, it failed. His awkward stance and sweaty palms could be diagnosed as agoraphobia were he not a professor at a prestigious university. This was all just too weird. He had always been eager to get on with this project, to go back in time, never more so than in those few fleeting moments, feeling quite like a gorilla caged in the zoo as humans stared at him. The only visual distraction for countless eyes in the room was the minister standing off to the side, softly praying for and bestowing a blessing upon this event as pomp and circumstance with the Almighty present, another Van Ruden maneuver.

Ethan always considered Colin Bishop his friend, a colleague, even his brother. Never before had he been his hero until the instant he approached, wrapping an arm around Ethan’s shoulders, easing his discomfort, protecting the man from himself.

“Sorry, ladies and germs, but our man of the hour has already had his shots and, I for one am not sure all of you are free from infectious disease so I think it best we press forward before his overexposure to all of you filthy rich people!”

The crowd laughed, exploding into applause as Colin whisked Ethan away to a secure location far from the enthusiastic crowd, a small room off the project floor.

“Any more of that nonsense and you are going to demand your own trailer with fresh flowers in your dressing room.” Colin often joked even when he should not.

“Bollocks. Well, I DO want a personal assistant. You, perhaps?”

“Yeah, you know what you can do with that fucking idea, mate.”

Both men laughed then, for a moment, stood silently, each avoiding eye contact with the other, looking around as if the words to speak next were floating by on the air, awaiting someone’s grasp.

“Look, Col.” Ethan began.

No one understood Ethan better. “I know, P. I have got everything covered for you. There’ll be a pint waiting here when you get back. I’ll be the one in the hazmat suit with a cane and top hat doing the Bishop Bounce, my moves you most enjoy.”

“Well, that’d be a dead giveaway, wouldn’t it, and quite a sight for the rest.”

The affection between them was so obvious, almost painful. Having bonded as brothers in their youth, this separation would literally be the longest since they met. Though neither said it, they both knew it. Should something go dreadfully wrong, they may never see each other again.

“Well.” Colin abruptly extended his hand. “Best be off with you, then.”

Ethan stared at Colin’s gesture with confusion then embraced his best mate, his friend, his brother, his hero. A comrade in arms.

Leaving the anteroom behind, they walked toward the chamber entrance. Colin turned, an astonished expression on his face.

“I just got it, P! Your project title is ‘20/20 Hindsight’ but you could not have known it then, could you? I mean, you filed your submission years ago. Now you’re leaving in the year 2020! It’s a good omen, mate! It’s as if you’d known it all along. Ethan LaPierre! Come now, give us a kiss.”

“You’re a twit.”

“You’re a twat.”

00:08:19

Sharing one final laugh before separating, Colin led Ethan back into the project room, which was now cleared of all unnecessary personnel. Anson remained in the room. As the Consortium’s PR man, he knew the project’s future was only as stable as its last project success. Each jump was a chance to promote and sell the concept to the next group of financiers and charitable donors. Oh, but his heart was in it this time. Anson walked towards Ethan with his arms open wide and gave him another giant-sized bear hug. His coffee and cigar stained smile was gleaming through his rust colored handlebar moustache and beard, peeking through like the early rays of sunshine. As he embraced Ethan he made sure his back was to the isolated audience.

“Alright, Ethan. Let them see a confidant smile from you! When I let go of you laugh like I’m capable of saying something fucking funny, lad.”

Ethan looked up to see all these unfamiliar faces through the glass partition. He mustered a smile to hide the awkwardness of the role he represented and the burden he bore at the moment. Anson, still with his back to the viewing room slowly altered his facial expression, gazing at Ethan like a proud father. No microphones nearby, no one behind the glass could hear their exchange.

“I hate my fucking job.” Anson continued. “You know I have four daughters.”

“Yes sir.”

“I couldn’t be any prouder if you were my own son.”

Ethan felt uneasy, never hearing or seeing this side of his mentor before.

Anson grabbed both of Ethan’s shoulders. “Be invisible, be safe and come back home or you’re going to have to answer to me. Understood?”

“Understood.”

Anson, still holding Ethan’s shoulders, did not speak but kept staring at him.

Ethan, looking to his left then to his right, cautiously queried, “You’re not going to head butt me now, are you?”

Anson burst into his hefty laugh once more then turned to the curious onlookers, keeping his arm around Ethan’s shoulders, one final sale made to the buyers.

00:05:33

The dull, scuffed gray flooring of the area around Flicker’s invisible doorway and sterilization chamber was painted with yellow caution lines, a framed doorstep leading to the breach’s entrance. A Flicker support team member passed Ethan his period medical bag. Another handed him his aged bill fold with a generous amount of currency. Finally, he was presented credentials establishing his false identity, the documentation validating his medical education and citizenship. Ethan tucked away the billfold and paperwork into his 19th Century jacket pocket. Opening the medical bag, hoping there was some sort of gift left by Colin or his students or even Anson, Ethan knew all too well The Consortium would never have allowed anything to slip past them, as risk of contamination of the past was priority one. It was just wishful thinking, only the journal and surgical tools inside it.

00:02:59

The time had come. Within a few seconds of standing in front of this doorway, Ethan reconsidered the Cox Paradox. He could not see that which would transport him to a time he’d never been, walking the streets he knew so well in the year 2020. How horrifying it must have been to reach this point then, in the last moments, lose his nerve. It must’ve be demoralizing, that sudden loss of confidence. Had he failed to overcome the disability, David Cox would have suffered a lifetime of regret.

Ethan had no such issues, no lapse in personal or professional confidence. Only for sentimental reasons had he, once again, glanced over his shoulder, one last time, first spotting a good friend. Anson was still in the room. As they made eye contact, he wondered if this far journey would prove to be somehow redemptive for him. A flawless mission executed, a seamless return may further bury Anson’s frightening experience with a Japanese soldier years ago. Then he looked toward Colin. Again, no words. Just a smile exchanged. Colin, true to form, grabbed his crotch and made a “peace” sign with his free hand, mouthing the same line he’d used on Maggie as he yelled across The Valley: “Have a safe trip!”

00:01:51

Returning his focus to the task at hand, Ethan watched the digital clock ticking down to a series of zeroes. It was time. Stepping up to the yellow line designating the edge of the breach, this was something he’d had the opportunity to do before on seven prior occasions. During trials he’d been whisked away to preselected, remote locations. This would be no different. Flicker really was an Einstein-Rosen Bridge between two times and locations, yet no movie or theory ever described or depicted it correctly. There was no tunnel or worm hole, no molecular alteration or derivative pains such as exiting the birth canal. Clothes did not burn off the body and the brain did not get scrambled or fried. Nothing with an electronic pulse ever short-circuited, not a thing lost in translation or transportation. As Ethan recalled, it was more like being a celebrity walking through a door to find a paparazzi using a high-resonance flashbulb to take his photograph. That was it! A bright, blinding light then he’d be through it. All the Scopes who ever made the jump described it as “anti-climactic” for an event of such historical significance. Yet, there it was, so the focus on impact became the event on the other side, no longer the many events around getting there. So be it. Ethan stepped into the chamber. Pausing for a decontamination process to work its magic, once concluded, a light flashed then Ethan stepped through time.

00:00:00