Fantasy The Time War

The Freedom Riders:

They called themselves the Freedom Riders.

The day Richard Smith escaped from William Bright's lab, along with Ken Larson and Marsha Kalinsky, he realized that what William Bright planned to do would be a danger to mankind. Bright was going to change the past to suit his whims. Smith recognized that Bright had an authoritarian streak, and loved the idea of strong government control.

Richard Smith was the exact opposite. He was a libertarian. And so he labored for years to build his own Time Shaft, getting funding from a sympathetic billionaire who felt as he did. And over time Richard Smith took the name John Locke, because he thought it was more fitting for what he was about to do.
​

********​

Calle was present in the control room when a team led by Captain Tishman returned from 1930's America. They had just thwarted a plot to shorten the Great Depression.

As Captain Tishman stepped down the ramp, a giant vertical black line appeared in the air to the left of her, some three feet tall. The giant black line started to suck in everything around it. Tishman screamed as she was dragged into the line. She disappeared entirely, and so did the CS operative right behind her.

Sarah slammed the alarm as she grabbed onto her console. It was as if the room had developed an air leak. Calle, who felt himself being pulled in, grabbed onto a column. He watched helplessly as the other two members of Tishman's team were sucked into the black line.

An Indian woman with long black hair and large ass cheeks started to be pulled into the black line as well.

"Ayesha!" Sarah screamed, as she reached out with one hand while holding onto her console with the other. The Indian woman with the large ass cheeks grabbed Sarah's hand, even as her body lifted into the air. The air current was so strong that it created large ripples of tension on the Indian woman's buttocks. It looked as if an enormous hand was squeezing her ass repeatedly, creating patterns of force which Calle would remember for the rest of his life.

And then three men in hazard suits appeared, carrying some kind of fire extinguishers. They had come prepared, with ropes that attached to their belts on one end and onto magnetic hooks on the doorway at the other. They slowly made their way to the black line. When they got there, they started to spray the black line with their extinguishers, but no visible particles came out of them.

The black line started to fade in intensity, and it became thinner, sucking in air at a less powerful rate. The hazmat team kept spraying. Before long the black line was tiny, and barely possible to see... and then it was gone.

Calle blinked rapidly. It was just like a bad dream... except Captain Tishman and her entire team were gone.
​

********​

"The loss of Captain Tishman and her team was regrettable," said Strayker, looking down at his desk console.

"Regrettable? Four people just died in the control room," said Calle.

Strayker looked up at Calle. "And I said that was regrettable."

"Do you even know what causes such ruptures?" Calle asked.

"No," said Strayker. "But we do know they can be sealed with anti-time particles, the same kind that protect us from changes in the timeline when we leave this building."

"Well, it seems clear to me that time travel is causing these ruptures."

"Does it? Is that in your expert opinion, as a Galactic Physicist?" Strayker asked.

"Sir, I've been with the Service now for over a year," said Calle. "I've seen phenomena... time slowing down, time speeding up, tiny ruptures... but always when we exit the Corridor. And it's getting worse. We have to deal with the real possibility that time travel is damaging the fabric of space/time."

Strayker tossed his nuclear pen down on his desk. "And what if it is, Captain? What do you propose, that we have a permanent moratorium on time travel? I assure you, our adversaries won't observe it. The next time someone wipes out mankind, should we just sit on our hands, and watch as you and Sarah Chambers slowly repopulate the human race?"

Calle blushed. He knew that Strayker had mentioned Sarah to rattle him. "No sir."

"Then if there's nothing else... I have a lot of work to do," he said, staring meaningfully at Calle and then the door.
​

********​

"Well, that's interesting," said Sarah, as she stared her holomonitors.

"What is?" said Calle.

"The World Government."

"What about it?"

"It doesn't exist anymore."
​

********​

There had been a key conference in 2318 which had led to the creation of the World Government. Representatives from around the world had gathered and agreed on a charter. But in the latest version of the timeline, something went wrong. Evidently, the leading delegates had met in private and talked rather bluntly about their plans to have the World Government control all the peoples of the Earth. Of course, that really was the purpose of the World Government, but to have them state it in such a raw way turned public opinion against the World Government, and it was never formed.

The implications of this sank in quickly for John Calle. If the World Government was never formed... then America still had national borders. The illegal alien who rammed into Marion's car might not even be in America. The illegal alien had been high on Weed at the time, Weed that had been globally legalized by the World Government. And air cars had been made substantially lighter to satisfy the World Government dictates that more must be done to fight Temperature Change.

But if the World Government didn't exist, then... Marion may still be alive.

"Marion Thomas," said Calle, in a soft voice.

Sarah kept analyzing data from her screens.

"Marion Thomas," Calle said again. "Is she alive?"

Sarah gave Calle a hard look, and then started typing rapidly. Then she said one word. "Yes."

"Yes... and?"

Sarah typed some more, and studied the results. "She is married...." Her voice trailed off.

"Who? Who is she married to, Sarah?" he fairly shouted it.

Sarah looked up at him. "John Calle." She said softly.
​

********​

To think that Marion was out there, alive. And with John Calle. But not him. Another John Calle, a version of John Calle who never joined the Continuity Service, never joined it because Marion never died. Calle felt incredibly jealous of his other self who he didn't even know.

"I have to see her," he said.

"No!" Sarah whispered. She glanced over at Naomi, who seemed focused on her own screens and oblivious to their conversation. She took Calle by the arm and led him to a storeroom.

"John, you can't," she said, the instant she shut the door behind them.

"I have to!" said Calle.

"You can't," Sarah repeated. "There are limits, John. They won't let you cross them," she said. She reached up and caressed his face. "I don't want to see you die. Not again." Suddenly, she was almost sobbing, and Calle was holding her in her arms, feeling her shaking.
​

********​

"We need you on this mission, Captain," said Strayker, pouring himself a drink. He looked at Calle. Calle shook his head.

"I know this is a difficult time for you," said Strayker. "I'm told your wife is actually alive in this time variant."

How did he know that? Was he being spied on? Did Sarah tell him?

"I know how you feel," said Strayker, sitting back in his chair.

"Sir, with all due respect, you can't know how I feel," said Calle.

Marion was alive.

"Oh, but I do," said Strayker. "A number of years ago I almost lost Gina. It was also a car accident. She got a terrible concussion. The doctors wasn't sure if she was going to live." He paused. "She recovered eventually, but it was a long, slow, painful recovery."

"I'm sorry sir, I didn't know."

"No one does," said Strayker meaningfully. "But every so often, the timeline is changed in a way that spares Gina from experiencing that car accident, the car accident where I almost lost her. Do you follow me?"

"I do."

"I realized that I can't let personal feelings sway me," said Strayker. "We're talking about the fate of the human race here. If we have to sacrifice family to save millions of lives, we do." He paused. "I know you have no love for the World Government. But just think how many lives would be changed, how many people wouldn't even exist, if there were no World Government. Now compare that to the loss of your wife. Do you understand what you're balancing here?"

"I... I think I do, sir," said Calle.

Strayker leaned forward. "I need to be sure that I can have complete confidence in you for this mission. Can I, Captain?"

Calle considered. "Yes, sir."

"Good. You leave in ten."
​

********​

John Calle was at a fancy dinner party where delegates to the World Government conference were socializing. There was Senator Murna Feinbaum of the United States, a dyed in the wool socialist and big world government supporter; Matrice Lumumba, who had ruthlessly unified Africa into the quasi-dictatorial African Union; Francois Poupon, a leading French labor activist, "Red Jerry" Foote, a British union organizer, Alexandr Starr, a Russian communist, Li Shen, a Chinese central planner, and Latif Jazim, a political leader of the Laquinta Jihadi Movement.

And one of these people was not who he or she appeared to be. One of them had purposefully, or rather, would soon purposefully release a hidden holovideo showing these leaders plotting to take over the world, in the hopes of torpedoing the ratification of the World Government Accords.

John Calle looked at their faces and wondered who it might be. This is why he had been picked for this mission. For his Special Talent, the uncanny ability to locate a pivotal object or person in history.

Those glowing orange eyes.

Calle suspected the Bioman could do that too. That's why the Bioman was in NORAD headquarters in 1961. But what was his purpose? What was his end goal? And what was this strange connection that Calle seemed to have with him?

"You seem distressed," said a smiling man with white hair.

"No, just thinking about things," said Calle, a little startled.

The man extended a hand. "John Locke."

John Locke? Calle had vaguely heard that name before, somewhere....

"John McCallister," said Calle, shaking the man's hand.

"Nice to meet you, Mr... McCallister," said Locke, saying 'McCallister' in a slightly exaggerated way, with a small smile.

What was going on here?

Locke introduced himself as a parliamentarian from Australia, here to observe the signing ceremony. Calle identified himself as a journalist from America.

"A member of the fifth estate, eh?" said Locke, pretending to give Calle an appraising look. "Well, you've come at the right place at the right time."

The right place at the right time.

"Over there is Senator Murna Feinbaum from California," said Locke, pointing to a middle aged woman whose face looked like it was half-melted, the meat of her face sliding down with age. "'Government knows best!', says Murna Feinbaum. She's a great advocate for government control of school curriculums, government control of the arts, and of course, government control of the media. I imagine that must please you liberal media types who love centralized government control."

There was something in his tone....

"And you don't?" said Calle.

Locke shrugged. "The government knows best, doesn't it? And bigger is better, and better is smarter, right? So who I am to object?" He paused, and then pointed to a black woman with a crew cut Afro and earrings that looked like long dangling wind chimes. "And there is Matrice Lumumba, the hero of the African Union. She proved that Africans can think together and work together as one people... once you've eliminated all the other people who don't want to be one people."

"I've heard her... consolidation of power was not without some conflict," said Calle.

"Consolidation, what a charming journalistic word for it," said Locke. "Yes, that's Matrice, quite the consolidator." He pointed to a man wearing a blue beret. "And there is Francis Poupon, the great leftist leader of France. He's been quoted as saying that the day that the World Government accords are ratified will be even better than Bastille Day--the day they chopped off all the rich people's heads. Poupon believes in the wonders of income redistribution and something called "basic global income". He won't be satisfied until the poorest villager living in a hut in Uganda makes the same income as the guys who work on Wall Street."

Calle looked at Locke to see if he was joking, but Locke looked serious.

"And chatting with him is none other than Red Jerry Foote, who dreams of the day when labor unions can be global."

"Global labor unions?" said Calle, looking at the elderly, white bearded man.

"Yes," said Locke. "Imagine the day when a union represents not twenty or a hundred or a thousand people, but a hundred million. Imagine the kind of leverage that will give them negotiating on behalf of the worker class. Workers unite!" he said, pumping his fist into the air. Locke looked sideways at Calle, reading his facial reaction. "Standing next to Red Jerry is Alexandr Starr, whose famous seven year plans have turned Russia into the economic powerhouse that it is today."

Calle knew that Russia was no "economic powerhouse."

"Once the World Government is up and running, Starr hopes to institute complete centralized planning, telling all companies exactly what to produce and at what prices to sell their products. Wouldn't that be grand?"

"Wonderful," said Calle dryly.

"I thought you'd like it," Locke smiled. "To Starr's right, but maybe also to his left, is Li Shen, a Chinese economist. Have you heard of him?"

"Not really," said Calle.

"Li Shen is a big fan of the Great Leap Forward. He thinks that farms are inefficient and that everyone should grow food in their backyards. Of course, that's what led to the starvation of millions of people in the GLF, but Li thinks he's worked out the bugs in the system. Anyway, you can't make an omelet without breaking eggs, right?" Locke elbowed him playfully.

Calle couldn't tell if Locke was actually in favor of these policies, or was being ironic.

"And last but not least we have Latif Jazim, the spokesman for the Laquinta Jihadi Movement. Once the World Government is created, he will push for forced resettlement of millions of followers of Laquinta all over the world, including your very own United States, where they can open up mosques and practice their rather... charming form of Laquintan law."

Calle found himself balling his fists. He remembered how followers of Laquinta had exploded suicide belts which destroyed his beloved Mohonk Mountain House. Then, once they had driven out all the tourists, they turned it into a mosque, to worship Laquinta.

"Yes, they are truly masterminds, the best and the brightest. Personally, I can't wait for the Accords to be ratified... can you?" said Locke, raising an eyebrow. Seeing no response was coming, he smiled and said, "Excuse me. I see someone I have to touch base with," and nodded amiably to Calle as he turned away.

Somehow, Calle felt that Locke had just gotten the better of him, but he wasn't exactly sure how or why.

But he needed to focus. One of these people was a traitor.

A traitor to what? A little voice inside asked him.

A traitor to the World Government. The same World Government which had murdered the only thing he cared about in life.
​

********​

Calle couldn't sense who the traitor was. Maybe his Special Talent wasn't working. Maybe he didn't want it to work. After staring intently at the possible suspects for a while, he left the party, went to a dark ally, opened a gateway, walked up the Binochi Corridor, and returned to the control room.

Sarah was there. "How did it go?" she asked.

Calle shook his head. "There's something I'm missing. Can you play the holo for me again?"

Sarah nodded. Calle was referring to the leaked holo that sparked outrage worldwide and had torpedoed the ratification of the World Government Accords. The holorecording came on one of Sarah's holoscreens. Calle watched as the delegates, one by one, joked about how they would use the powers of the World Government.

"Unions for all!" Red Jerry Foote roared.

"Central Planning for the masses," said Alexander Starr

"And any person of wealth who objects will be dealt with most severely," said Francois Poupon.

"It will be like the Great Leap Forward and the Great Proletarian Cultural Revolution, but even more beautiful," said Li Shen.

"We will create worldwide secret police to enforce our edicts," said Matrice Lumumba.

"And spread the joy of Laquinta to every corner of the globe," said Latif Jazim.

"It will be socialist bliss in our time," came the voice of Senator Murna Feinbaum.

Calle frowned. There was something he was missing here, and he was staring right at it. He was sure of it. "Do we have anything else?"

"Daniel came back a few minutes before you did and brought back some holovideo of the party; do you want to see it?" Sarah asked.

"Yes."

It was a video of the party. Calle recognized the delegates. For some reason, he found himself staring at Senator Murna Feinbaum. She was a middle aged woman with kind of a melted face, the meat of her flesh was sinking downwards. But she was chatting quite amiably with a much younger man, a handsome man in his 30's.

And then suddenly, Calle got that familiar tingling.

Those glowing orange eyes.

"Halt." The holoimage froze.

"Do we know who that man is?" Calle asked.

"No," Sarah shook her head. "Why, is it important?"

"Get Daniel up here."

Daniel reported to the control room several minutes later.

"Daniel, do you know who this man is?"

Daniel stared at him. "Oh, yes. I overheard people talking about him. He's Senator Feinbaum's latest boyfriend."

"Boyfriend?"

Daniel smiled. "She likes them young."

Calle looked at the boyfriend, then the Senator, then back to the boyfriend. "Did you happen to learn his name?"

Daniel frowned. "I think... it might have been Russ... Rousseau, maybe? I think he's French."

"Dial up the Binochi Corridor, Sarah," said Calle grimly. "I'm going back."
​

********​

Hours had passed at the party, and many of the guests had retired for the evening. But not John Locke, who was chatting amiably with a delegate from Madagascar. Suddenly, he heard something in his hidden earpiece.

"Calle knows about Rousseau," said a woman's voice.

Locke raised his eyebrows. "Are you sure?"

"He's on the way. Get him out of there," said the woman.

"On my way," said Locke.

"Promise me you won't harm him," said the woman.

Locke started to walk briskly.

"Locke, promise me, or I'll kill you."

"I'll do my best," said Locke grimly.
​

********​

Sitting in her hotel room, Murna Feinbaum was delighted to have attracted the attention of such a young and virile man as Jean-Claude Rousseau. At her age, younger men were few and far between, mostly the occasional lobbyist who was desperate for a favor from the Chairwoman of the Senate Committee on Global Virtue.

"Oh, you taste so good," said Jean-Claude, as he kissed a circle around Murna's wrinkled neck.

"Oh, Jean-Claude," she grinned. Her nipples, which pointed straight down to the ground, started to feel faint stirrings of life.

And then there was a knock at her door.​