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FEBRUARY 1945
Roosevelt Aviation School
Roosevelt Field, Naval Air Facility
“Bill?” A crew cut, straight-laced, scientific looking man stood in the doorway of the classroom.
Bill looked up from his notes. He immediately recognized the man as one of the men from his class earlier that day. The man looked twenty-two, maybe twenty four. By his ridged stance and the way he held his arms at his side, he had certainly come from a military background.
“Mind if I ask you a couple of questions?”
“Sure.” Bill stood up. “Come on in.”
“Your class today was a...” he fought for the words, “...interesting. I actually had a few questions that I wanted to ask during your talk, but then the guys...” His voice trailed off.
Bill smiled. “I understand. The other guys kind of made it difficult.”
“I’m really interested in the theory of time and space. I’ve studied up on it best I could. But you seem to have a better understanding of it all.”
“Thanks...sorry, I’ve forgotten your name.”
“Ray Scott.”
Bill’s expression gave away some shadow of skepticism.
“I know,” Ray said, smiling. “I have two first names. Blame my parents.” He chuckled, adjusting his black-rimmed glasses.
“Well, Ray. Shoot.”
“What’s that?” Ray’s grin turned serious.
“Ask away, shoot, what’s your thoughts?” Bill said, watching the man and noting uneasiness about Ray, as though he was hiding something and not particularly well. Maybe just nerves, Bill considered, then dismissed the thought.
“Oh, OK.” He paused briefly, then continued, “I have my own theories on the possibility of traveling through time and that’s why I was so interested in hearing you speak.” Ray sat down in one of the chairs.
“Great,” Bill said, taking a chair alongside. “I may have taken the time travel element a bit too far. I meant to just mention it, but I think it got the better of me.”
“So do you really believe it’s possible? Or were you just trying to get some of the older guys here pissed off?”
“I wasn’t trying to piss off anyone. It just happened. Then the argument got to me. And I don’t like people who aren’t willing to open themselves up to the possibilities and...” Bill stood and walked to the desk in the center of the room close to the blackboard. “What I had hoped to do was get a better understanding of the physics of flight from the guys who actually keep the planes up in the air. I’ve had plenty of talks with engineers and scientists, but I’ve never taken my studies down to ground level. That’s why I’m here. It’s just part of my studies.” He paused taking a good look at Ray Scott. “To answer your question, I think time travel is possible. I know, looking at me, a nineteen year old kid...”
“Some say genius, nineteen year old kid,” Ray tossed in.
Bill shook his head and arched his shoulders. “Some may. I don’t.”
“I picked up a bit of information about you: graduated high school at sixteen, moved on to study at Columbia University...” Ray pulled a piece of paper from his pants pocket and read, “Research into the atom with faculty members I. I. Rabi, Enrico Fermi, and Polykarp Kusch. That’s an impressive list for anyone.” Ray folded the paper and returned it to his pocket.
“What’s this all about, Ray?” Bill stared at the man.
“Physics. Time Travel.” Ray took his glasses off. “Maybe even God.”
An odd thought hit Bill, and he immediately questioned whether Ray needed eyeglasses at all or were they some cheap attempt at a disguise? Nothing more than a prop.
“Physics and time travel are right up my alley, Ray. As for the God business, I don’t believe in God. I say I’m agnostic simply because it’s easier on those who do believe. But I’m an atheist.” Bill’s eyebrow arched, “If you’d like the truth?” He waited. When no response came, he continued. “So, if you want to talk about the glorious powers of God? I’m not your man.”
Ray stood, folded the glasses that he had just removed moments ago, and placed them in his shirt pocket. He walked the ten or so feet to the door.
Bill couldn’t help but question the action, as apparently the need to see clearly was not a concern for Ray Scott, any longer.
Ray turned just before stepping through the doorway. “Thank you, Bill. You’ve been a tremendous help.” He reached for the doorknob and pulled the door closed behind him. Ray Scott exited the building that housed the education hall, leaving Bill alone in the classroom.
***
RAY SCOTT CROSSED THE hot pavement of the airfield without looking back toward the education hall, or the man he left in the classroom, although he was sure that he was being watched by him. He dodged a stream of utility vehicles, workmen, and airplanes, and headed toward a small, nondescript metal-sheathed building, that could only be described as a shed. Except for a crudely painted identification number, 773–H, on the otherwise faded, chipped, and worn paint that managed to cling to the rusted metal facade of the building, there were no distinguishing marks.
Ray’s pace was deliberate, almost cautious. He circled around the small building once, then headed to the back, where he stopped. Here the line of sight to and from the other buildings, hangers, and people milling about the airfield, was completely blocked. There were no outbuildings behind the shed, securing the privacy of anyone standing behind it. What appeared to be hapless military planning was actually a perfect disguise. No one paid attention to a shed at an airfield. There were many of them scattered about, some large, others no bigger than an outhouse. Ray and the others could come and go with little concern of being spotted. Still, Ray glanced around the corner of the shed, making sure, one more time, that no one was in sight or watching him.
He pulled a half-inch by three inch magnet from the pocket of his pants, and held it up to the right side of the shed, moving it slowly up and down a one foot section near the top portion of the siding. He heard a click and the door popped open. What had moments ago appeared to be a seam in the sheet metal, now revealed a doorway.
He inserted his fingers into the small opening and pulled on the door. The sheet metal slid open, easily moving on well-oiled hinges. Ray Scott stepped inside, allowing the door to close silently on the spring mounted hinge.
He paused for a moment, allowing his eyes to adjust to the interior lighting. A narrow set of stairs led to a floor below. A string of bare bulbs, which had been hung precariously along the smooth cement walls of the hallway, dimly lit the way. Ray stepped down the stairs and immediately felt the cool damp air on his face and arms. He followed the lights along the zigzag of the corridor, going first right, then left, then repeating. Twenty five yards later, planted precisely under one of the large hangers topside, Ray slid open a glass door and entered what he and the other’s had dubbed...The Time Room.