3
Nassau, Bahamas
April 13, 2018
Fidel Alberto Gonzalez looked at the brochure in his hand. “Paradise Island is one of the most beautiful and luxurious places on Earth, with white sandy beaches, exclusive resorts, and blue, sunny skies.”
The pictures portrayed the calm Caribbean coast that inspired its famous carefree feeling. The shining sun refracted through the crystal-clear water, deepening the coral reef colors.
“Yeah, right,” Fidel said aloud. He tore the brochure apart, threw the pieces on the floor, and spat on its remains. I’ll bet that the loco who wrote this mierda is now hiding in his rat hole.
A day earlier, Fidel would have agreed with that brochure. Back then, Paradise Island, which was connected by two land bridges to Nassau, had definitely justified its name. Everyone seemed subscribed to an easy, no-rush lifestyle. Slow-going American cars designed for right lane driving casually cruised in the left lane.
But not anymore.
Dark clouds covered the sky from horizon to horizon. Pieces of paper and plastic bands flew through the air.
“Hola, Alvaro. It’s Fidel.” He spoke Spanish into his cell phone, trying to overcome the howling wind. “Can you hear me? Alvaro?”
The voice on the other side was fragmented. “I can’t hear you … well.”
Fidel swore. The connection always broke down when you needed it most. He stepped into The Reef Atlantis’ aquarium for better reception. The aquarium was so big that people could cross under its transparent bottom while observing the sea creatures above.
“Alvaro?”
“Where are you? Did you find the gold?”
“I’m on Paradise Island,” replied Fidel. “It’s crazy here. Didn’t you hear about the storm?”
“Storm? What storm?”
“It’s all over the freaking news. Everyone’s running. I’m getting the hell out of here on the next flight.”
“You idiot,” barked Alvaro through the phone. “You will keep your ass right where it is, comprende? Unless you want me to feed you your own balls. Now, where is all the damn gold that Sobol brought to Nassau?”
“Calm down, boss, it’s all loaded on his yacht. Trust me, with this storm, that gold is going nowhere.” Fidel’s voice was somewhat shaky. “I can book a flight to Costa Rica. I’ll be back as soon as the storm’s over.”
“Fidel, you goat head!” Alvaro growled. “Listen, and listen very carefully. There is no way you’re taking your eyes off that gold.”
“But the storm …”
“We’re talking about three tons, for God’s sake. I’ll bring more men from Barranquilla. We’ll be there in two days. Until then I want you to rent a boat, ship, or even a goddamn aircraft carrier, I don’t care. Don’t lose sight of the gold. Comprende?”
“But, Boss …”
“No buts …” Alvaro cleared his throat, a clear indication that he was extremely upset, mad enough to kill someone. Fidel gulped.
He walked out of the aquarium until he had a clear sight of Sobol’s yacht, the Angela. “Sure, boss, trust me. Don’t worry about it. I’m looking at it right now.”
When Paradise Lake’s marina came into view, what Fidel saw took away his breath.
“Santa Maria,” he screamed into the cell while moving his right hand along his chest making the sign of the cross. “They’re crazy!”
“What?”
“Alvaro—the yacht is leaving. Didn’t they hear about the hurricane?” Fidel almost dropped his cell. “God have mercy on us all.”
Fidel cursed. If he stayed here, Alvaro would kill him. On the other hand, if he went into the storm, the hurricane would surely kill him too.
Not that he expected to find anyone loco enough to sail through this tropical storm.
“Don’t you fail me, you hear? If you do, I’ll bury you, your parents, your sister, and your kids. However, I’ll keep your mother-in-law alive. Now follow the gold and keep radio contact. I want to know where your miserable ass is at any given moment.”
“Si, jefe. I’ll remember that.”
Cold sweat trickled down Fidel’s forehead. He looked at the eastern sky where dark clouds covered the sun. His hand was shaking. He wondered if it was due to the coming hurricane, his desperation to find a boat, Alvaro’s threatening, or just fresh memories of his mother-in-law. Nevertheless, his shaking thumb somehow managed to click the “end call” button.
Caribbean Sea
Sheets of rain lashed the helicopter. Flashes of lightning illuminated the chopper’s interior, cutting the otherwise dark sky. They flew just above the crests of house-sized waves. The sound of the whining engines could barely be heard above the howling wind.
Martin’s stomach revolted. Since he’d signed the dammed contract, things had begun to fall apart. First, it was the hurricane warnings all over the news. Next, he learned that Eric wasn’t exactly in Nassau, but in the middle of the ocean on his yacht. In addition, Vera told them they were required to fly—against all safety regulations—into this diabolical storm. It was insane. How had he let Vera manipulate him into this lunatic quest?
“What have you got to lose?” Steve said in a high-pitched voice, as if mocking Vera. “A nice three-day cruise in the Caribbean? I already regret signing those damn papers.”
Vera opened her mouth, yet no words came out. Her face was green, her pupils dilated. She looked like she was about to throw up.
Jack turned his head toward Steve, “What’s the matter, ‘dude’, afraid of a little swing?” He tilted his lips in an angle that almost resembled a smile. “I thought test pilots weren’t afraid of flying. You’re getting soft, Stevie-boy.”
“At least I don’t have to print Martin a new passport,” snorted Darryl.
Geri leaned her head against the window, staring at the raging waters. She raised her head. “Vera, all of us signed the confidentiality contract. Why don’t you spell it out?”
“Leave me alone.” Vera stared at Geri with glazed eyes. “You’ll find out …” She grabbed a paper bag and vomited.
The smell didn’t improve the atmosphere.
The chopper made a sharp turn. Among the waves, a small white shape tossed on the raging black water.
The helicopter completed its turn and headed toward the floating smudge. Could that be Eric’s yacht? As they drew closer, Martin saw more details—people working on something on the exposed deck. Judging by how small those individuals were, the yacht must be at least two hundred feet long, as expected from a boat owned by one of the richest people on the planet.
Landing a helicopter on a yacht, even one as big as Eric’s, was one of the most complicated maneuvers a pilot can perform. When adding a stormy sea to the equation, it seemed an impossible task.
The pilot talked into his headset. He looked nervous. He shouted something into the mike while exchanging glances with the copilot.
“We have forty-eight minutes.” Jack looked at his wristwatch. “We must land now.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” yelled the pilot. “This is suicide, pure suicide.” The pilot shook his head in dismay.
The chopper struggled to hover against the merciless wind. A large “H” was painted on the deck below. The chopper managed to stay stable, and it slowly descended.
To Martin’s dread, a gigantic wave approached. “Look out!” he screamed. It was too late. The wave lifted the yacht and smashed it into the descending helicopter. Flashing yellow and red lights filled the compartment. The horrible squeal of twisting metal deafened him.
The helicopter lurched upward and began to spin. Jack and the pilot shouted at each other. Martin couldn’t hear what they said. Not with all the alarms going on.
Martin untied his safety belt, making sure his life jacket was properly fastened.
The pilots moved their arms across the panel and the controls. More alarms sounded. There was no way the landing skids could have survived such a brutal blow.
“Vera,” shouted Martin, “check your life jacket.”
She nodded, took out a metal box from beneath her seat, and turned it upside down. A wrench, a small hammer, and a few screwdrivers rolled on the floor. “There is no life jacket.”
The chopper stabilized against the wind, slowly lowering toward the landing zone for a second attempt. As the helicopter approached the Angela, crewmen from the ship fired grappling hook cables at the base of the helicopter. Martin felt a vibration as a crewman captured one of the chopper’s landing skids, or at least what was left of it. They pulled the chopper toward the landing deck.
Flames erupted out of the ceiling.
“Fire!” the pilot shouted.
The helicopter jerked, knocking Martin to the floor.
“Hydraulic failure!” screamed the pilot. “I’m losing control.”
In seconds, the compartment was filled with the smell of burnt rubber. Thick black smoke filled the compartment. The chopper turned sideways, pulled by the cables attached to the Angela. Martin heard an ear-shattering roar. He watched in terror as part of the floor disappeared beneath his legs. He managed to see Vera bumping her head on one of the metal pipes before he fell out of the helicopter into the raging sea.
Slamming into the deep water, Martin’s body spun violently. His eyes were blinded by the stinging salt water. Unable to say which way was up, he didn’t dare to close his eyes. He gagged reflexively, swallowing a mouthful of saltwater before he remembered to shut his mouth. Salt water surged into his nose. If he could hold his breath long enough, perhaps the buoyancy of his life jacket would drag him back to the surface. Thank God he was wearing one.
He hit the surface and gasped. At first, he saw nothing but impossibly high walls of water sweeping toward him. Clinging to his life jacket with one hand and wiping salt water out of his eyes with the other, he knew he must find the yacht.
When a huge wave lifted him, he noticed the Angela was no further than a hundred feet away. Crewmen ran back and forth on the deck. Flames raged behind him. More heads bobbed in the water, obscured by the spray and the storm.
Vera had hit her head, and was knocked out. She would need help.
Martin was raised again by a mountain-sized wave. He looked back at the Angela. They were too far away. He couldn’t recall if anyone in the chopper had seen Vera fall. Perhaps no one but him knew she was still in the sinking chopper.
He had never considered himself a hero. What should I do? He swam toward the upside-down wreckage. By now, he could see only its tail, and part of the landing skids. The helicopter was sinking beneath the waves. Sheets of burning fuel covered the surrounding sea, preventing Martin from approaching it.
Martin tried to dive below the blaze, but his life jacket pulled him up. He searched again for a way to reach the chopper. Its tail was still floating. The passenger cabin must have filled with water. Desperately, he looked around looking for someone, anyone who might help. He only saw waves and the burning inferno. No one else was within reach. He couldn’t dive after Vera, not with the life jacket on, unless … unless …
Martin took off his jacket and plunged after the sinking metal hull.
At first, he saw nothing but darkness. He swam beneath the burning surface, until he saw it, nothing more than a flickering shadow. Martin couldn’t tell for how long he held his breath, only that it was far too long. Martin’s pulse raced as his heart pumped blood faster and faster. He thought about giving up, swimming back to the surface. But Vera would die. A few more strokes and he’d reach her.
He grabbed the chassis and managed, somehow, to find the strength to go through the opening. In the darkness, he saw a human shape, floating within. Martin grabbed Vera’s motionless body.
Bands of wires entangled her. He needed air. It was an impossible task. He had to leave her. The chopper sank. He didn’t know how long it would take to free her and how much time he had left. His lungs were about to explode. He grabbed her motionless hand, and he pulled. Something blocked her. He knew he must give up now, or he would perish. He kicked the frame and pulled her once more. This time, she broke free.
Martin vaguely remembered he should hold her with both of his arms. He couldn’t bear it any more. He needed air. Dark spots fogged his eyes. His heart and lungs burned. By sheer reflex, his mouth opened, and he took in a deep breath of ocean water. What was left of his consciousness became aware that these were his last moments. Then, blackness.
Martin coughed. When he opened his eyes, a dark shape leaned over him. He coughed up water as he tried to breathe. The world spun around him. He nodded, trying to say “Thank you,” but no words came out. Martin inhaled and coughed once more.
How did I get here? He had been certain he was about to die. But, somehow, he found himself here, alive. He wondered where “here” was. His hand touched the material he lay upon. It was hard, cold, and wet. He turned his head sideways. A metal deck. Could this be the Angela, Mr. Sobol’s yacht? He looked up again. Jack Tober, the Navy SEAL captain, stood above him.
“Brave, but foolish.” Jack helped Martin to roll over onto his side.
Martin coughed again. The taste of salt was still strong in his mouth, his throat sore, but at least he managed to sit up.
“To be fair, I must add,” continued Jack, “your recklessness saved Vera.” He shook his head. “Diving beneath the burning oil …”
“Where is she?”
Before Jack had a chance to reply, a bang came from the direction of the ship’s railing. Steve was on the landing deck on his knees. He was completely soaked when he raised his hands against the battering sky.
“Hallelujah, there is a God. Thank you for saving our li—” A new wave crashed on the deck, thrusting Steve on his back, washing everyone with the saltwater.
“How’s Vera?” asked Martin.
“Vera was taken below deck to the clinic,” said Jack. “She suffered a head injury.” He lowered his head. “The pilot and the copilot are dead.”
“Dead? What about the others?”
“The helicopter crashed nose down. They’re fine.”
Another wave smashed onto the upper deck, washing Martin and flipping him into the railing. Jack helped him up, and walked him toward a nearby door.
The wet passengers were escorted below deck, and gathered in a small recreation room. Dry blankets and hot cups of coffee and tea were passed around. Martin inhaled the scent from his cup. It was heavenly. He held it with both hands, enjoying each and every sip.
An elderly man entered. Martin thought he recognized the face. He was none other than Eric Sobol, the man behind all this mess.
“Welcome to the Angela.” Eric’s eyes scanned their faces. “I’m terribly sorry about the accident. I knew the pilots. I’m glad you made it in one piece.”
“We almost didn’t.” Martin shook his head.
“I apologize for the unconventional circumstances,” said Eric. “Time is one luxury we couldn’t afford to waste. It was essential to bring you here promptly.”
“You almost killed us, you dumbass,” Darryl snarled, glaring at Eric.
Ignoring Darryl, Eric extended his hand for a shake. “Nice to meet you, Professor Richter. I’m pleased that you agreed to come. I have a hunch you will be a great asset to this mission.”
In real life, Eric Sobol looked somewhat shorter than on TV. He wore a black raincoat and leaned on a walking stick with a silver handle. He stood firm despite his age and the ship’s rocking deck.
Three crew members entered the room. They carried a collection of unfamiliar electronic equipment, along with something that reminded Martin of a large, ten-foot-long, diesel generator. They placed the generator near the wall and hooked it to the floor.
“Darryl is right, Mr. Sobol.” Martin took another sip from his cup. “We almost died coming here. I believe we deserve an explanation.”
“Please, people, please,” said Eric. “Nobody knew the chopper would crash. And please let’s skip the formalities. Call me Eric.”
“The famous Eric Sobol,” whispered Steve. “So this is what the flesh and blood Dr. Evil looks like, eh?”
Martin hushed him.
Despite his cane, Eric seemed vigorous and in good shape for his age. His dark hair, thin waist, and smooth skin took at least ten years off his appearance.
“Thanks for the tea, dude,” said Steve. “I wish I could drink the stuff. But as long as we’re in the middle of this bloody hurricane …”
“That shouldn’t be a problem,” said Eric.
Steve narrowed his eyes.
Had Eric lost all grasp on reality? The hurricane was expected to rage for days. Martin wished the Angela could survive for that long in this angry sea. What kind of cruel joke was Eric playing?
“You heard me right,” Eric chuckled. “Any minute now, we’ll enter the eye, and the storm will subside … hmm, at least for a short while.”
Eric nervously looked at his wristwatch; wrinkles appeared on his forehead. “Thirty-four minutes left. We have no time to spare. Please follow me. I’ll explain everything.”
Martin thanked the Angela’s sailors who’d helped him walk through the yacht’s corridors. They entered a larger hall. The sign at its entrance said “Briefing Room.” Twenty plastic chairs were arranged in two lines facing a small stage with a podium. A large monitor hung on the wall behind the stage. The room was painted white, like the yacht’s exterior, and it smelled as if it had just been washed with fresh soap. Much nicer than the vomit and diesel stench mixed with salt water that Martin had experienced on the upper deck.
Covered with blankets and dripping water on the luxurious carpet, the rest of the passengers entered the hall. They sat on chairs facing the podium.
Eric climbed on the stage. He stood firmly, without his cane, holding a cylindrical device. He was correct regarding the hurricane. The yacht had settled.
Someone tapped Martin’s shoulder. It was Vera.
She had a white bandage wrapped around her head. Martin was surprised to see her up and about already.
“May I sit here?” she asked, pointing to an empty seat next to him.
“Vera!” Martin smiled. “I’m so happy to see you’re well.” He looked at Vera’s fragile face and felt butterflies in his stomach. The last time he’d felt like this must have been when he was in his early twenties. He stood up, brought forward a chair for her, and helped her sit, gently.
Despite the bandages covering her forehead, Vera looked lovely. Color had returned to her face. She seemed pleased. “You’re so kind.”
“Do you have any idea what that cylinder is?” Geri whispered to Martin.
Martin shook his head and shrugged.
Eric cleared his throat. “Thank you for coming on such short notice.” He sounded apologetic. “When we started this project, we thought we had all the time in the world.”
He laid the cylinder on a desk and scanned the small audience with his eyes. “Two days ago the situation changed. We learned that our window of opportunity is about to close.” Eric looked straight at Martin, then at the others. “I brought you all here because I need your expertise. Do you see this?” he asked, putting his right hand on the device.
Martin gave the mysterious metallic cylinder a closer look.
“Two hours ago, we successfully finished testing a new technology, one that will change history. And when I say change history—I mean literally. We have discovered a way to send a capsule back in time. In fact …”
“Bullshit,” said Geri.
“Geri,” Vera said. “Do you think someone like Eric Sobol would risk our lives, including his own, for a fairy tale?”
Geri rolled her eyes and sighed. She adjusted her glasses and stared at Vera for a long moment. Then she turned to Eric. “This is a joke, right?” She took a pen out of her plastic pocket protector and began playing with it. “Now seriously, don’t pull our leg. Tell us the real reason why we’re here.”
“As I was saying,” explained Eric, impatiently checking the time. “Scientists working for me managed to send this back in time.” He raised the cylinder, showing it to the group.
There was an awkward moment of silence. Geri and Steve looked at Eric in disbelief.
“Crap. Are you telling me you’ve managed to build a time machine?” Geri tapped her pen on her chair’s arm. “It’s physically impossible. If it were possible, surely we’d be overrun by tourists from the future.”
Darryl laughed. “No kidding.”
Everyone spoke at once.
Martin sat back and watched. He had no stake in whether what Eric was saying was physically possible or not. While he didn’t believe it for a second, he was exhausted and wet and didn’t have the energy to argue. All he cared about was that the storm had stopped. If Eric was going to continue being this mysterious, if he didn’t mind risking their lives, then Martin wasn’t interested in his proposal. He’d take the two hundred grand and tell Eric thanks, but no thanks.
“You nearly died saving my life.” Martin’s train of thought was interrupted by Vera. “It was brave of you,” she whispered in his ear.
Martin blushed. He smiled at her.
She smiled back and took his hand. “Thank you.”
Eric looked again at his watch. “Please listen! Time travel is theoretically possible, Geri. But before I explain how, let’s just take the obvious off the table.”
Geri shrugged.
“I’m sure you agree that traveling into the future is feasible,” Eric said.
“Ho yeah,” Geri nodded. “No sweat. According to Einstein’s theory of relativity, all we have to do is to travel close to the speed of light; time will slow down for us.”
Vera grabbed Martin’s head and turned it her way. To his complete surprise, she kissed him full on the mouth.
Martin tensed. Once he realized he should control himself, it was too late. He had already kissed her back. One thing was certain, though—Geri was right. Vera’s sweet lips were a definite proof time can be slowed down.
“Get a room, kids,” Darryl laughed.
“Sorry,” Martin whispered.
Eric shook his head and cleared his throat. “Geri,” Eric said, “Alpha Centauri is 4.2 light-years from here.”
“So?”
“If an astronaut travels to Alpha Centauri and back close to the speed of light, people in Houston would be aged by 8.4 years, while the astronaut would barely age.”
Geri stood up. “Humanity’s fastest spacecraft, the New Horizons probe, which is en route to Pluto, is traveling at the speed of twenty kilometers per second. That’s more than ten thousand times slower than light-speed.” She grinned in triumph. “Besides, slowing time still means traveling to the future. Not this crap about traveling to the past.”
“Totally agree with Geri.” Steve defended her.
Geri smiled warmly, a faint blush appeared on her cheeks. “Thanks, Steve.”
“Please let me finish. We don’t have much time.” Eric coughed. “Sending an object to the past is more complex than going to the future, but it’s not impossible. It takes light 4.2 years to travel from Alpha Centauri to Earth. When you look at Alpha Centauri, you actually see the Alpha Centauri of four point two years ago.”
Geri wiped her eyeglasses, and gazed at Eric. “Looking into the past of a far-away star isn’t exactly traveling back in time.”
“Thank you, Captain Obvious,” Darryl snorted.
Eric, still holding the weird device, stiffened. “What if I could show you a way to look into the past right here on Earth?”
Geri tapped her pen and said nothing.
“Suppose,” continued Eric, “we had a huge mirror half a light-year from Earth. Now imagine having a strong enough telescope. If you place a large clock on the ground, it would take the light reflected from this clock six months to journey to that mirror and another six months to travel back to your telescope. By looking at that mirror with that telescope—you would see what was happening on Earth one year into the past.”
“Fascinating subject,” said Darryl sarcastically, while putting his hand in his wet jacket. “I’m sure everyone here is dying to learn more about that science crap. I, myself, am dead bored.” He dug out a pack of wet cigarettes, and put one between his lips. He then took out a match, trying to light it, unsuccessfully.
“The damn thing is soaked. Does anyone have a lighter?”
Eric gazed at Darryl. “Will you be kind enough to allow me to complete the explanation?”
“Yeah, go ahead,” replied Darryl, still holding a wet cigarette between his lips.
“I’ll answer Geri’s question,” said Eric.
“Which one?”
“Regarding why we’re not overrun by travelers from the future. Have you ever heard the term ‘Cauchy horizon’?”
Martin leaned forward.
Eric’s fingers tapped on the cylinder. “A Cauchy horizon defines an area of space-time where time travel is possible. That means if you had a time machine, you wouldn’t be able to travel beyond the Cauchy horizon of that machine.”
Now even Geri seemed confused.
“It’s a simple principle,” explained Eric. “You can’t travel back to a time before the time machine was first built.”
“What?” Geri asked. Martin was confused too.
“Perhaps an example would help.” Eric laid the device on the podium. “Suppose someone manages to build a time machine in the year 3,000. Then a time traveler from the year 3,100 would be able to use it to go back in time to 3,005 or even to 3,000, but not to an earlier date. The Cauchy horizon of that time machine will start at 3,000 AD. People from that year onward could potentially see many time travelers. People like us, from before the Cauchy horizon—won’t.”
Geri narrowed her eyes as she fixed them on Eric like a falcon on its prey. “Are you saying you managed to build such a time machine?”
“Me?” said Eric. “No. Too complex. It requires more energy than can be found in our solar system.”
Oh my gosh. Martin slowly began to realize where this conversation was heading. Does Eric have a time machine? Does he want us to go back in time?
“We already know that wormholes are something that connects two points in space-time,” explained Eric.
“Okay,” said Geri.
“We also know that time is affected by speed and gravity.”
“Everyone knows that.”
Eric continued. “If we go to a place where gravity is extremely high, for example, a neutron star, then time will pass significantly slower than on Earth.”
“Sure, this is all elementary. You’re describing what Einstein discovered a century ago.”
“If a galactic civilization decides to build a time machine, all they have to do is to create a wormhole with two entry points, take one side of that wormhole and put it on a neutron star. Since time slows down on the surface of a high-gravity well, the time on the neutron star’s side of the wormhole will trail behind. When taking that entry point back to their planet, that civilization will have a working time machine. By crossing the wormhole, it will be possible to go back in time.” Eric paused to look at the audience. “Yet, you won’t be able to go back to a date before the wormhole was initially put on the neutron star.”
“A nice theory,” said Geri. “You’ve just proven we can’t build a time machine. Unless you happened to have a neutron star hidden someplace, and can pull a wormhole out of your ass.” Geri waved her finger, as if she had won the argument. “So, what’s the point of us being here?”
A big smile appeared on Eric’s face. “Nature built one.”
Martin froze.
“I beg your pardon?” Geri asked.
Even Darryl raised his head.
“Nature created a time machine. One that has a Cauchy horizon that stretches from 1938 until today.” Eric checked his watch again. “We have less than half an hour before our side opens.” He looked again at the group. “This is why I was forced to bring you here on such short notice.”
Martin was lost. He didn’t care about space-time mumbo jumbo; he was a historian. He didn’t understand Cauchy horizons or physics. Now Eric believed he had a time machine? Come on. “Are you saying you know how to activate this natural ‘time machine’ of yours?”
“Exactly!”
Martin sank into his chair, wondering how he could get out of this insanity.
“Bullshit.” Geri dismissed the idea. “A wormhole here on Earth? Shouldn’t it destroy the planet?”
“Have you ever seen a wormhole, Geri?” Eric smiled. “You don’t know; nobody knows what a wormhole can really do. However, this mini-wormhole has been around for decades. The last time I checked,” Eric chuckled, “the planet was still around.”
“Where is the other side of this 1938 wormhole?” asked Geri. “Alpha Centauri?”
“No,” said Eric, “it’s a loop. Both sides are here on Earth.” Eric tapped his chin. “My scientists managed to calculate when and where it will open next. They developed the technology that will enable us to stabilize it for a short while, just long enough to send a capsule back in time.”
“How?”
“To stabilize a wormhole—we need negative energy.”
Geri jumped off her chair. “No way! You managed to make negative energy?”
“Count me out!” Darryl muttered. “Negative energy, my ass. Wormholes? Space-time? Beam me up, Scotty.”
“How is that possible?” Geri asked, still holding her chair tightly.
Eric smirked. “I happen to have a negative energy generator.”
Geri stared in disbelief. “Gee, and where did you get this negative energy generator of yours, Radio Shack?”
“What an excellent idea,” Eric said with a chuckle. “I never tried Radio Shack. Perhaps they have Casimir plates on sale.”
“Casimir what?” Geri asked.
“To generate negative energy—enough to stabilize the wormhole—we’ll need terawatts discharged into two Casimir plates. That will create the Casimir effect, aka negative energy.”
“No way!” Geri gasped.
“Well,” Eric shrugged. “I understand—you find it hard to believe. If we had more time I could have shown you the research. Unfortunately …”
“You got me all wrong.” Geri started laughing. “That’s totally awesome. Wow! You rock, man.”
“Young people,” Martin mumbled while looking at Geri. He wondered when schools stopped teaching proper English.
Noises from the upper deck made Eric check his watch again. “May I have your attention please? Two hours ago we managed to stabilize a brief time-rift opening. We sent this chrono-beacon back to 1945.” He lifted the cylindrical device. “This capsule contains an atomic clock and a tiny nuclear beacon. An hour ago we collected the chrono-beacon. It showed the time passed since we turned it on.”
Eric clicked something and opened a small algae-covered panel on his mysterious cylinder.
Martin gazed at the flicking digits. If the numbers were true, this device had been counting since December 5, 1945. He didn’t believe it for a minute. Anyone could set a clock back. This proved nothing. Eric was obviously crazy.
The audience remained silent.
“What are your plans?” Martin asked. “What are you intending to do with this discovery? And why do you need us?”
“I plan to change history.” Eric waited a few seconds, giving everyone a chance to absorb his words. “In twenty-five minutes, a second rift will open here. It will occur when the hurricane’s eye passes. All we have to do is to discharge our little Casimir effect, and our end of the mini-wormhole opening will expand and stabilize. I like to call it ‘the Cauchy phenomenon.’”
“What does the hurricane have to do with ‘the Cauchy phenomenon’?” Geri asked.
“The proper question is: What does the wormhole have to do with our hurricane?”
Geri opened her mouth, but no words came out.
“If we had to open a space-time rift powerful enough for our needs,” Eric said, “we would require trillions of quadrillions of joules. All the world’s power plants would need millions of years to generate sufficient negative energy for the Casimir effect. There aren’t enough ultra-capacitors and batteries on this planet to store so much energy.”
“Quadrillions of joules, right,” Geri said sarcastically.
“That’s why we have to be synchronized with the existing mini-wormhole’s rhythm. My scientists found a way to calculate its pulse. Whenever it becomes unstable, it affects the surrounding weather. So, you see, Geri, it’s not that the storm stabilizes ‘the Cauchy phenomenon.’ This mini-wormhole’s volatility created the storm.”
“This is heavy,” said Geri.
Eric nodded. “The current pulse will be at its peak in a few minutes. Our small Casimir plates will be sufficient to control the size and duration of the opening.”
“So,” Geri asked, “the only time we could send a capsule through the wormhole is now?”
“Correct. One chance. All or nothing. After that, the wormhole will disappear, and we’ll be out of its Cauchy horizon forever.”
This whole wormhole business made no sense. Martin was confused. “How would you know the wormhole will disappear in a few minutes?”
Eric sighed. “Earlier, I explained the concept of a Cauchy horizon, which has a beginning and an ending. You can’t travel to a destination in space-time prior to the creation of the time machine. By the same token, you can’t travel back from a time after the time machine no longer exists.”
“You didn’t answer my question,” said Martin.
“I know the wormhole will be closed forever because we aren’t overrun by people from the future, are we?” Eric coughed. “Now seriously, we scheduled to send a second chrono-beacon from next week to yesterday. We never found the additional chrono-beacon. I can safely say that in twenty-two minutes, this side of the wormhole entry will be opened for the last time.”
Martin moved uncomfortably in his chair. “Twenty-two minutes?” He glanced nervously at his own watch.
Eric nodded.
“What are your plans?” Geri asked.
“The time on the other side will be 1938, and the space will be a few hundred yards from our current location. I plan to send a second capsule and prevent World War II.”
“Oh my god!” Martin nearly fell off his chair. “1938? Time travel? This is not a joke.” Finally, the purpose of this whole conversation became apparent. “How can a small capsule change the outcome of the war?”
“Well, if you’ll be kind enough to escort me to the deck, I’ll …”
Suddenly, the door burst open. One of the Angela’s crewmen rushed into the room. “They’re here, sir. They’re here!”