1.
The Sikorsky SH-60 Seahawk is flying low over the ocean heading west. It is moving at maximum speed. Besides the two Navy pilots there is only one other passenger. Sitting in back, so exhausted he can barely keep his eyes open, Christopher Colin Duprey stares at the horizon, a flat expanse of ocean below an impossible blue sky. He has been traveling non-stop since Cambridge, Massachusetts. Fifteen hours in the air with a brief stop in San Diego. It had been eleven o’clock in the morning when he found himself put on board the Gulfstream G800, after being told it was a national security issue and his expertise was needed. He had thrown a few clothes and toiletries into a suitcase and gone with the two men driving a black Suburban.
They had driven straight to the airport bypassing security, going to the Gulfstream he would spend the next thirteen hours. Only three and a half hours to San Diego, but then nine and a half hours to Pago Pago. There he was picked up by the helicopter and flown out to an aircraft carrier and debriefed on the situation on the small island of Niutao. It sounded far-fetched, and not even the photographs and video images convinced him that what he was hearing was real. After the debriefing and a quick meal in the Wardroom, a formal dining room away from the enlisted men, he was back in the helicopter. The long flights were exhausting but it was unnerving all the security, first in San Diego then aboard the aircraft carrier.
“Sir, we’ll be landing in about twenty minutes,” radioed the pilot over the headset.
Chris nodded then turned back to the window staring out at the vastness of the Pacific Ocean.
He looked at his watch seeing it was 2 A.M. Cambridge time, but the sun was up, shining from behind telling him it was early morning. He tried to do the calculation for the exact time, but his brain was mush and he just estimated it to be seven or eight in the morning.
He had read the reports, replayed the debriefing over in his mind, trying to make sense of it. He pictured the aerial image of the island, the circular lake that was 200 meters across and perfect in its shape. A lake that did not exist a week ago.
2.
Report on Charles Henry Beekman as recorded by Lt. Edward L. Matthews on 14 June 2026:
Henry has lost track of time; no longer sure how many days passed since he was found in the depression. He didn’t understand it, had no idea what Dr. John Deacan had done. He believed they were testing dimensional space, searching for a fourth dimension. Or that is what Dr. Deacan had led him to believe. Now he isn’t sure. He is obviously confused about where he was at, and from what he had seen and heard, not even the age he found himself. He had overhead one of the soldiers utter it’s the twenty-first century in response to something another soldier had said. If it was the twenty-first century, then it was sometime after the year 2000, at least sixty-four years since that night.
He had been summoned by Dr. Deacan via post on 3 March 1936. The arrangements were in place and on 2 April 1936, he boarded the RV Hypatia out of Southampton. The voyage went through the Suez Canal, with stops in Calicut, Singapore, and Pago Pago. The two months at sea had been excruciating and then he found himself on the main island of three that were clustered together. It was small and obviously part of a dormant volcano, the body of water within the three islands a caldera. Dr. Deacan had been there for eight months prior to his arrival and had a laboratory built in the interior of the island. It had made him think of Mary Shelley’s novel, for there were metal lighting rods extending from the roof and on the south side of the building, three windmills that generated the basic electricity they needed to start the test.
For days, they prepped for the main test, doing small tests of different pieces of equipment, but never the main system. The large metal sphere made of copper sat in the middle of the room, ten feet in diameter with large copper wires connected to it. He could picture it so clearly. Dr. Deacan rushing around the room almost frantic and he tries to keep up while doing each task assigned.
“Henry is the emitter connections secure?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And the Collectors?”
“I’m checking them now. When will we do the test?”
“The next storm to pass over the island.”
The storm arrived five days later, on the 12th of June. The wind had been fierce, spinning the windmills so hard, one of them came apart. And the lightning, such force behind it. It struck something near the small laboratory, and it sounded like a bomb had gone off.
“Perfect! Perfect!” Dr. Deacan had been yelling over the sound of the wind, Get ready Henry!”
They were in the observation room, looking through a thick plate glass window into the main room where the equipment was ready. They set up the instruments and Dr. Deacan adjusted dials and checked monitors. Everything had seemed in place. He remembered standing behind the doctor, feeling afraid what a lightning strike would really do. The doctor moved from one control panel to another, then a look back, one of dismay.
“Henry, the transformer isn’t online!” the doctor had exclaimed.
Then the doctor was in the main room, frantically adjusting a connection to a large metal box at the back of the room. A few seconds, just a precious few, and the doctor had stood up and gave him a thumbs up sign. Then the room went white and the air was charged so powerfully Henry knew he was going to die.
It seems lightning struck the rods projecting from the roof. The next thing he knew, he was at the bottom of the depression, desperate to get out of his hot clothing.
3.
“What do we know?” said Chris, looking across the room at Rodger Pennington and Fred Hutton. He had been shocked to find the two men on the island, but when he had heard about their travels to it, he knew they had been pulled into the situation much the same as he had been. Rodger Pennington, he only knew from published journals and watching lectures online. A claimed 68 years old but some said the man was closer to 78, and still teaching at Oxford. A genius by every definition, including the eccentricity. Married three times, all ending in divorce, but two marriages produced three children, only one of which followed in their father’s footsteps into physics.
Fred Hutton was only 56 years old and a professor at Standford University. He had heard the man give a lecture at MIT on the theory of underlying fields. The man was brilliant and unlike Rodger, down to earth and friendly.
Rodger stood, a signal he was taking charge. “The man has no identification on him, his fingerprints are not in any database, and he claimed it is 1936 when first interviewed, something he has refrained from doing over the last day.”
“The clothes he was wearing are from that time period,” said Fred.
“He could have gotten them at any theater prop store and—”
“The labels in them are legitimate, all made back in London and Cambridge in the 1930s.”
“Do you really believe he jumped through time from 1936 to now?” said Rodger.
“I don’t know…I’m not ruling it out, not with that depression in the ground.”
“What about the depression?” said Chris.
“The sides of it are smooth, really smooth. Where layers of sand sat, the surface is glass. The soil and rock have hardened, like they went through some molten state,” said Fred.
“It has to be some sort of blast zone. Some new weapon we don’t know about,” said Rodger.
“But nothing within a few feet of it is damaged. The trees have all their leaves and limbs; the grass and other vegetation is unharmed right to the very edge of the depression. It wasn’t a blast from some kind of bomb,” said Fred.
“And a man was found inside it,” said Chris, looking from Rodger to Fred. Fred nodded in acknowledgment. “What do we think about the guy saying his clothes were so hot he had to get out of them? Do they show damage from heat?”
“The wool trousers have a scorched smell to them, and his white bucks are discolored.”
“White bucks?”
“Shoes,” said Rodger. “Leather shoes. The leather shows signs of heat stress.”
“I assume the man was giving a medical checkup. What did it show?” said Chris.
“It showed a perfectly healthy late twenties male who possesses a lean athletic build, five foot nine inches tall weighing about 161 pounds,” said Fred.
“What do the two men who found him say?”
“They found him stripping off his clothes, then he tried to climb out of the depression. They retrieved ropes and pulled him out.”
“That’s it?”
“No, of course not. They saw a large dome of light rise above the trees, that it was brighter than the sun, and then it just…disappeared,” said Rodger, sounding frustrated. He looked across the room toward Fred. “He can’t be allowed to talk about it; the public can’t hear about this.”
“What do you suggest, Rodger? We lock him up for the rest of his life?”
“If we have to. Or we could let someone with the military deal with him…take him out into the woods and—”
“Are you insane?” interrupted Chris. “Did you just suggest we have him killed?!”
“Do you know what will happen if the wrong people get wind of this?” said Rodger, rounding on Chris.
“We can play it off as some conspiracy. Something made up like Roswell or the Loch Ness monster.”
“Make it like an UFO abduction?” said Rodger.
“That would work. Whatever gets leaked out, just play it off as some crazy talk,” said Fred.
“But let’s get back to our guest. I don’t even know his name,” said Chris.
“Charles Henry Beekman, Henry to his friends,” said Fred.
It was obvious to Chris that Fred was the one who had talked to the man.
“And he isn’t in the database under that name?”
“There are a couple, one is 88 years old and lives outside Edinburgh, Scotland, and the other is 73 years old and lives in Newquay on the western coast of England. We did find one Charles Henry Beekman that had attended Cambridge.”
“And?” said Chris.
“He graduated in 1932 and sometime in early 1936 set off for the far east via boat and disappeared from the record. Supposedly he was in Singapore for a few days, then nothing,” said Fred.
“You’re joking,” said Chris.
“And it gets better. Doctor John Deacan, a physicist who published some outlandish papers in 1933, seems to have set sail sometime around the same time, but the actual date is lost to us, and he too disappears from the record.”
“So, Henry’s story aligns with what record we have on him and this Dr. Deacan. I don’t remember him from my studies.”
“He got ostracized for some of his quack theories before disappearing,” said Rodger. “And many scientists of the day said good riddance.”
“What about the site? I mean, if they did an experiment in 1936, then it showed up now, what happened between then and now?”
“Do you have the images?” said Rodger to Fred.
Fred pulled out a folder from a stack on the desk he was sitting on, and held it out to Chris. “We got these from NASA.”
“Satellite images?” said Chris.
Fred nodded as Chris took the folder, top secret stamped on it. He opened it and flipped through the images. The first was dated 19 June 2026, and showed the three islands, Niutao, Pai, and Vau, framing the Niutao Caldera. In the crescent shaped island of Niutao, a perfectly round lake made Chris think of it as an eye. It was cartoonish to consider it as such but pareidolia was such a strong visual processing by the brain, always seeing faces where none exists.
“Is that depression really as perfect as it looks in this image?” said Chris.
“By every measurement it is perfect. The lower half of a sphere of exact dimension,” said Rodger.
“That rules out it being manmade…I mean with backhoes and other large equipment.”
“There’s not the equipment on the island to even undertake such an endeavor. It is two hundred meters across and one hundred meters deep at its center.”
Chris flipped through the next images. 25 September 2001. 3 October 1995. 6 June 1968. The last image did not have the clarity of the other images, but it was clear what each showed. A thick cover of forest over much of the region except where the depression would occur. Instead of forest, it was a meadow, slightly larger than the depression would be and almost perfectly round.
“It’s like something was effecting the area over the years,” said Chris.
“But what?” said Rodger.
“It’s like there is a spatial distortion that only allows plants with a short lifespan,” said Fred.
“What about the local population? What do they say about it?” said Chris.
“Superstitious bullshit,” exclaimed Rodger.
“But we know something odd happened here. What do they say about the area before the depression?”
“It was cursed land. Anyone who tried to farm the land found their crops performed poorly and livestock got sick,” said Fred. “This was from ancestors of the people, so no one even went there over the last decades.”
Chris closed the folder and handed it back to Fred. “I want to talk to Henry.”
“Be our guest,” said Rodger. “He’ll give you the same spiel he gave us.”
Chris looked at Rodger and recognized something through all the bluntness and stoic nature; fear. The man was afraid.
4.
Chris had some expectations about Henry. What the demeanor would be like, a young scientist, much like himself, with a sense of exploration and wonder about the universe. It could explain the man’s willingness to believe he had been in 1936 and jumped in time to 2026. A psychotic shock, no doubt, caused by some trauma. Maybe he could flesh it out. But what he didn’t expect was a young man who took his breath away.
Brown hair, thick and wavy, framing an oval shaped face with high cheek bones, thin lips, a prominent nose, and vivid blue eyes. A beard was coming in along the jaw and chin, giving Henry a masculine look that made Chris avoid eye contact when he first entered the room. And there was the way Henry was dressed. A white T-shirt and khaki shorts, clothes Chris knew had to be borrowed from someone on the island. The T-shirt hung loose over the upper body revealing the lean build.
“Henry, I’m Chris Duprey, a physicist at MIT.”
“MIT,” Henry repeated, sitting up.
“You went to Oxford, correct?”
“Yes.”
Chris pulled a chair from the corner to the center of the room facing Henry and took a seat. “I read your statement and honestly find it outlandish.”
“I know how it sounds.”
“What is today’s date?”
Henry looks down, shaking his head. He looks up, staring at Chris. “I think it is the 28th of June, 1936.”
“Henry, it is not 1936.”
“That is what I’ve been led to believe.”
“What year is it?”
“I don’t know; sometime after 2000 from what I’ve overheard.”
“2026.”
Henry looks up, surprised.
“Ninety years from the time you claim.”
“Whatever.” Defiant, or was it a defeated tone.
“The intelligence guys have run your fingerprints and come up with nothing, nor did they find anything with your full name that matches your description…unless you’re secretly in your eighties.”
“From what you’ve told me, I’m 118.”
It was stated stoically, not as a joke, and Chris exhaled heavily, wondering if he was going to get anywhere with Henry. He climbed to his feet and went to the door, stopping in the frame. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
Chris went to the office where the intelligence guys from the states were set up, sticking his head in the door. “Can I take Henry for a walk outside?”
The man sitting behind a desk looked up and appeared ready to say no to his request, when another man, slightly older, not as neatly dressed, cut in. “Sure. He’s not going anywhere on this island. Just be back before dark.”
Chris nodded at the man, realizing he was the one in charge. “Thanks,” he replied and stepped back, closing the door softly.
Back at the room where Henry was being held, he eased inside and stood by the door.
“Do you have some shoes?”
“There are sandals under the bed.”
“Put them on and let’s go. I need some air and I’m pretty sure you do too.”
The building was a prefabricated modular construction consisting of units the size of shipping containers creating rooms along a central corridor, and the trail that passed by it was new, fresh gravel covering it. Chris led Henry toward the west, toward the coast overlooking the open Pacific Ocean. They walked in silence; the only sound was their feet crunching over the gravel. After twenty minutes, they began to hear waves crashing on rock. A few minutes later they came out on a coastal cliff, twenty meters above the water.
“Wow, I didn’t know there was a coastal area like this?” said Henry coming up next to Chris.
“Did you not explore the island when you first got here?”
“No, none of it. We sailed to the town that sits on the caldera and went straight to the laboratory.”
“Come on, let’s go this way.”
They walked along the trail as it followed the coast, heading north. They walked for thirty minutes before Chris turned on a trail that led back into the interior of the island, hoping he had them on the trail that led to the new lake. He was going from memory after studying the map hanging on the wall in the room Fred, Rodger, and he were set up. The trail was new, the ground loose in places.
“Henry, come on, tell me. Where are you from?”
“Oxford.”
“But there is no record of you there.”
“Did you look at the records from 1936?”
Chris was going to lie, say they didn’t need to do that, but he sighed, then replied. “Yes.”
“And?”
“There is a Charles Henry Beekman in the records, a name you could have looked up and use to back up this story you’ve been telling.”
Henry scoffed, and Chris heard him falling back. He turned and saw Henry standing in the middle of the trail about twenty feet back, staring at him.
“Henry.”
“How can I make you believe me?”
“Henry, traveling through time isn’t possible, not in our age, and definitely not ninety years ago.”
“Or maybe the equations and technology was lost in the explosion.”
“Were they?”
“Yes,” Henry replied without hesitation, then he looked as if he was questioning himself. “Maybe.”
“Where would we look for any old papers by Dr. Deacan?”
“Back at Oxford. Everything here was destroyed from what I’ve been able to see.”
“Okay, we start with that.”
Chris saw it, a small smile, then Henry came toward him ready to resume their hike.
Fifteen minutes later the narrow trail came out into the open area with the round lake situated in the center of it. The trail stayed back from the edge of the lake twenty meters or so, and Chris left the trail to go stand near the lake’s edge. Henry came to stand next to him.
“If you didn’t know better, you would think it just another lake,” whispered Henry.
The surface was rippled by the breeze blowing over its surface, otherwise it was calm, nothing within it or moving on the surface to disturb it.
“How did it fill up so fast?”
“Water was seeping into it from the sides between the different surfaces and it rained for two days after the explosion.”
“…on that day all the springs of the great deep burst forth, and the floodgates of the heavens were opened.”
“Noah’s flood?”
“My mother was a religious woman who read the Bible to me constantly. But I was too curious about…everything to hold to the same beliefs.”
“A fellow heathen who disappointed their mother.”
Chris laughed, causing Henry to do the same.
“You’re not going to change your story, are you?”
“I can’t; it’s the truth.”
Chris nodded as he stared across the lake, then he turned and headed back to the trail. “Come on, we need to get back.”
Henry ended up in front of Chris on the last leg of their hike, and he kept looking at him as a sexual object; masculine and attractive, down to the ass moving in the khaki shorts. In any other time or place, he would…
In any other time? Chris scoffed at the notion.
“What is it?” said Henry.
“Nothing.”
5.
“Did Henry change his story?” said Fred as Chris entered their office.
“Not a word of it.”
“Maybe he has had a psychotic break and really believes what he is saying,” said Rodger, stepping back from notes he had written on a dry erase board.
“Or he is jerking us around with some intention we’re not aware,” said Fred.
“Let me ask, is anyone searching Oxford for journals or notes by Dr. John Deacan or Henry?”
Fred looked at Rodger, who nodded.
“Yes, and they found some journals. They’re scanning them and we should have them in an hour or two,” said Fred.
“Really?”
“I can’t wait to read what Deacan wrote; it’ll be entertaining if nothing else,” said Rodger.
“I’m going to grab dinner; do you guys want to stop and come along?” said Chris.
“Yes,” said Fred, coming to his feet. “I’ve got to get out of this room.”
“You fellows go ahead; I want to go over some of the test data from the depression and the images from NASA,” said Rodger, stepping back to the dry erase board with notes in his hand.
Chris sat back and watched Fred finish his meal, the two of them silent. When Fred took the last bit of his fish, he sat back looking satisfied.
“This is the first meal in days I was able to just sit and enjoy,” said Fred.
“Rodger and you have explored every angle of this situation, so what else is there to do?”
“Exactly. We wait for those files from Oxford.”
“I wonder what we’ll actually glean from them.”
“That the Dr. Deacan was a bit a crazy and had some wild ideas…some of which may not seem so crazy today.”
“You think so?”
Fred looked across the table then shook his head while smiling. “I have no idea.”
“I can’t believe Henry is not in any database.”
“I know. At times I actually gave some consideration to his story.”
“It’s easy to do. I’ve done the same. What if he really did travel from 1936, I ask myself, wondering if it is really so implausible. I know the theories and calculations that have been done and the possibility is…” Chris stumbles for what to confess about what he has been thinking.
“Tantalizing close to reality?”
Chris looks at Fred and realizes he is serious.
A soldier enters the room. “Dr. Pennington told me to inform you the files from Oxford have arrived.”
“Thanks!” Fred exclaims as Chris and he jump to their feet and rush past the soldier.
“What have we got?” said Fred as soon as Chris and he enter the room. Rodger is sitting at the table in the middle of the room, laptop open, scrolling through files.
“Jesus, Dr. Deacan was a prolific son of a bitch,” utters Rodger as Fred and Chris sit either side of him.
“Go to his last entries,” said Fred.
“Good idea, or we’ll be here forever,” said Rodger.
Rodger opened a file labeled ‘Dimensions’ and scrolled through it, stopping at some calculations.
“Bloody hell, this is…”
“I’ve seen calculations like that from…was it Shiu or Witten,” said Chris.
“Shiu, I think,” said Fred.
“Deacan wasn’t so far off as we would like to believe,” said Rodger.
“But there is nothing here to lead him to theories of time travel that I can see,” said Fred.
“We should keep looking,” said Chris.
6.
Chris comes out of the shower facility toweling his hair dry. He is hungry and exhausted and doesn’t know whether to prepare something to eat or just turn in for the night. He walks down the corridor heading to his room when he hears Henry talking to himself through the door of his room. He puts his ear to it and listens, making out a few words.
How long…
…is this the best…
Deacan was wrong…
…the wave fluctuation was off…
Chris unlocks the door and enters, finding Henry standing in the middle of it stripped down to his boxers. Chris freezes, unable to take his eyes from the lean athletic body. It is so enticing he wants to reach out and touch it. Just feel the smooth skin; the warmth it has to be giving off.
“What do you want?” said Henry.
The question sounded wrong. It wasn’t accusatory, in fact it sounded sincere in some manner, almost intimate in tone. What do you want, Chris? I want to have sex with you. He could hear the conversation in his mind and knew immediately it was outrageous in every way.
“Has Fred or Rodger spoke to you?”
“Tonight? No. Why?”
Chris closes the door and moves to one of the chairs opposite the bed. Henry moves to stand close to him. The fly of the boxers’ gaps open, and he can see flesh. Is it cock or the nut sac? He wants to know.
“We got copies of Dr. Deacan’s journals from Oxford.”
“I see. Did they tell you anything?”
“That he was brilliant but there is nothing in them that would lead to an experiment that you have described. Nothing about manipulation of time.”
“Maybe that journal was here on the island and got destroyed.”
“We thought of that, but it is odd there was nothing in earlier journals that would lead to him going down that path.”
“I don’t know what to tell you.”
“You had no idea what he was planning to try?”
“No.”
The frustration must have shown on Chris’ face. “You really need to take a break from all of this,” Henry whispered as he moved to stand next to Chris and began to work the shoulders, making Chris jerk away.
“What’s the matter?” said Henry.
“It’s just…I wasn’t expecting it.”
“Just relax.”
Chris relaxed a bit, letting the hands take the tightness from his shoulders. But he turned and found himself staring at the boxers. How the waistband sat low on the waist and the fly gapped just a little, enough to tease him, make him pretend to stretch his neck to angle his head down for a better look. It was cock.
The boxers shifted closer as the hands worked his shoulders. Chris looked upward, until staring at the navel, then he looked back down at the cock just visible through the fly.
The boxers moved closer, so close, Chris swore he could smell the masculine nature of Henry. Henry rubbed down his back and the boxers pressed against his face. He inhaled deeply, then pressed his face against the crotch more firmly.
“You can touch me…if you want,” whispered Henry.
It was permission and Chris took it, unable to stop himself. He pressed his mouth to the cock, mouthing it then holding the head in his mouth feeling it flex and thicken. A hand touched his head, fingers combing through his hair.
“I knew you were like me,” uttered Henry.
Chris took the waistband of the boxers and tugged them down freeing the cock. He captured it in his mouth as he let the boxers fall around the ankles. Working his mouth on the cock, he felt it grow thicker, longer, until it filled his mouth. He closed his eyes, focusing on his manipulation of the cock, wanting to bring it off. He wanted it to fill his mouth with cum.
He sucked the cock until drool runs down his chin and Henry begins to pump it into mouth. He holds still, mouth open, letting Henry work it over his tongue.
“Fuck…I’m going to cum,” Henry whispers breathlessly while pumping the hips faster.
The cock swells thick then blast cum into the back of Chris’ throat. He closes his lips around the spurting cock, capturing every wad, then swallows.
“My turn,” Henry exclaims, pulling Chris to stand.
Chris watches Henry drop to his knees, fondle his cock through his trousers, then use the mouth to do so. He stands with fists balled tight as the mouth moves along his growing cock. When he is so erect he feels desperate to free it, Henry senses it, and undoes his trousers and tugs them to fall around his ankles. His boxers tent out obscenely and Henry smiles up at him then mouths the cock through the white fabric until is it transparent.
“Henry,” Chris utters.
Chris gets his shirt and under shirt off. As he tosses them to the floor, his boxers are tugged down his legs until resting on top of his trousers. Henry strokes his cock, then takes it in the mouth making him shiver and moan.
He watches the head move back and forth. He feels the movement, how the mouth works along his cock. It pushes his arousal, makes him eager for release. He begins to work his hips, pumping cock into the mouth. Hands take his thighs and control the pace of his movement. The slowed pace does nothing to slow his building need for release.
“Henry! I’m going to cum.”
Henry buries his cock in the mouth; he feels the nose pressed into his abdomen. It triggers his release and he cries out as his cock spurts wad after wad into the suctioning mouth.
The mouth milks all the cum from his cock and keeps him hard. He wants to push Henry off his cock, afraid it has been too long, someone could come in and see what they are doing. But Henry keeps him aroused, wanting more. He pulls him to his feet and pushes him to bend over the bed, resting on the hands. He comes up to the ass and wipes his wet cock across it, then watches as Henry reaches back and spreads the ass cheeks.
“Do it, Chris. Put it in me,” Henry urges.
With cock aligned with the tight opening, Chris pushes through it, penetrating Henry. He sinks inch after inch into the tight ass until half his cock is inside him, and he holds still relishing the tightness gripping his cock.
Henry releases his ass and braces himself on the bed. Chris tugs outward, then pushes inward, repeatedly, building up his pace until fucking Henry. He sinks deeper into him until hips smack the ass, and he holds the waist to steady him, keeping the body in place for his fuck.
The room fills with the scent of cum and sweat. It fills with the sounds of grunts and moans and soft pleadings for their fuck to be harder. Faster. Pleadings for Chris not to stop. To keep fucking. And he does. He fucks until he feels feverish, sweat trickling down his face and body and each breath is a desperate attempt to pull in more air. He runs a hand up the sweaty back until his fingers are combing through the brown hair. He closes his hand into a fist and tugs the head back as he hammers the ass.
“I’m going to cum,” Chris exclaims.
Chris shoves into Henry’s depths and holds still, shaking with release until spent. When he steps back, Henry stands and he sees the cock is flaccid and dripping. Henry got off while being fucked. For a moment they stare at each other, then Henry begins to move with urgency, grabbing up his shirt and undershirt, tossing them at him.
“You need to get dressed and go,” Henry exclaims as he begins to pull his boxers up.
“But we should—”
“We should what? Talk about what we just did? Maybe talk about a future where we go out on dates and have some sort of relationship? Do you seriously think that is possible?”
Chris is stunned by the sudden change in Henry, but he knows what Henry says is true. What could possibly develop between them.
“Chris, get dressed and go back to your room,” said Henry in a low voice.
7.
Chris is sitting at the desk listening to Rodger and Fred go over their report one more time. When Fred finishes reading it, he tosses it on the desk making Chris jump.
“It’s shit. There is nothing resolved. We have more questions than answers.”
“But it is all we have,” said Rodger.
“And Henry doesn’t seem to understand what Dr. Deacan was doing,” said Chris.
“I don’t buy it. Chris wasn’t summoned by the doctor to come halfway around the world for an experiment if he didn’t understand it,” said Rodger. “And this jumping through time bullshit. Do either of you honestly believe Henry is from 1936?”
“So, he’s lying. We have nothing to prove or disprove it,” said Fred.
“Or Dr. Deacan didn’t trust anyone to know all the details and Henry was good enough to help with limited knowledge,” said Chris.
“That’s possible. The bastard did seem suspicious of everyone. What he wrote about the other faculty at Oxford: scandalous. Just scandalous. It would get someone fired if that happened today,” said Rodger. He leaned against the wall and tilted his head back, closing his eyes. “But that time travel shit bugs me.”
“The theories say it is possible—”
“I know what the fucking theories say, but…it’s nonsense. Didn’t happen.”
“If we could have just found Henry in some database to show he belongs in this timeline,” said Fred.
“So, what will happen to Henry?” said Chris.
“He wants to go back to Oxford,” said Fred.
“Why, I don’t know. He’s not getting a teaching position at the university, that’s for sure,” said Rodger.
“Maybe he just wants to get back to a familiar place,” said Fred.
“We’re still set to leave next week?” said Chris.
“Yep,” said Fred. “A boat will pick us up at the harbor and take us to Haumaefa, where we can board a plane.”
“Why did Dr. Deacan pick such a remote place.”
“No shit,” uttered Rodger. “Nearly a day to get to Haumaefa, then a plane to Sidney, a transfer, and the long flight to Los Angeles.”
“Then a flight back to Cambridge,” said Chris.
“Lucky you; I’ve got a flight to LaGuardia, another transfer, then a flight to London,” said Rodger.
“And you get to do it with Henry,” joked Fred.
Rodger smiled, shaking his head. “Don’t remind me.”
8.
Chris walked down corridor passing Fred and Rodger’s room. It reminded him of their comments about Henry. Henry had to be psychotic. Henry must be a criminal to not be in any database. He’s hiding something. He’s lying. He can’t be trusted.
If Rodger and Fred knew about them having sex the last five nights, what would they think of him. He knew he was being weak, giving in to his desires, but it didn’t seem so wrong when they were having sex. And Henry seemed so lost at times. How the hands clung to him or the utterances of desire and longing spoke to a need for someone. But it was wrong, even Henry knew it by the way he pushed him to get dressed and leave after each time.
He came to Henry’s door and stopped. He should go to his room, but he couldn’t make himself walk on by. He was attracted to Henry, found him so alluring and enticing it made him breathless. He looked down the corridor each way seeing if he was still alone. It was late and everyone was turned in for the night, ready for the next day’s traveling.
Their last night on the island and probably the last night he would have a chance to be alone with Henry. He couldn’t let it pass, and took the doorknob in hand and eased the door open. The overhead light was off, only the lamp on the small table by the bed was on. Henry sat on the bed, back against the wall, dressed only in his boxers. The upper body exposed and Chris looked at it, once again feeling attracted to it.
“It’s our last night on the island,” said Henry, and he smiles at Chris.
“Yes.”
“You’re thinking you shouldn’t be here, like you have every time before.”
Chris nods.
“But you feel it too. Some connection between us. Is it because we’re the only gay men here and our basic instinct is to go to each other, no matter how we really perceive each other. You think I’m psychotic, a bit insane.”
“No, I don’t think you’re—”
“But you don’t believe me.”
“It’s too fantastical. We have theories and calculations but nothing that has allowed us to go to the experimental stage and to believe Deacan did so in the 1930s is hard to believe.”
“Do you pity me because of it?”
“What? No, no, I don’t pity you or look down on you.”
“Not like Rodger?”
Chris looked up to see Henry smiling and he smiled back, nodding his head in acknowledgement.
“Well…are you coming over or are you here to just talk?” said Henry patting the bed next to him.
“I’m coming over,” said Chris, and he stood still for a couple of seconds before moving to Henry. He knew going to Henry would overwhelm his emotions, push aside any reservations or hesitancy. He would go to him and not hold back.
In night’s past, they had been intimate with each other at first, then playful, last night wrestling around on the bed until Chris had Henry pinned down, sinking his cock into the tight ass. But tonight there was a physicality to how they approached each other. Chris went to the bed, took Henry by the lower legs, and manhandled him down to his back and turned crossways. Chris pulled the boxers off without ceremony, just stripped them off and tossed them to the floor. He took the hardening cock in hand and manipulated it, tugging and stroking until fully erect. He bent to it, pushing the legs up and over and sucked it into his mouth. He licked it, tongued the head, then dragged his tongue over the nut sac. He moved further down, licking the ass until it was wet, then he bore a finger into it as he sucked the cock back into his mouth. He finger-fucked the ass and sucked the cock until Henry was moaning and grunting, and finally, pumping cum down his throat.
Chris rose and put a hand on the stomach, pushing it up firmly against the skin until he was holding the neck, pinning Henry to the bed. Henry was holding his legs up, ass spread for him. He aligned his cock to it and penetrated Henry, sinking inch after inch into the ass. Then he fucked, worked his cock through the tightness until it loosened around his cock, and he fucked harder. He hammered Henry’s ass making the bed rock and squeak beneath them.
“Fuck me. Fuck me,” exclaimed Henry.
“Why?” Chris uttered as he kept fucking. Henry didn’t know what he was questioning. Why were they fucking. Why were they on the island. Why was he so drawn to Henry.
Chris rose, cried out while shoving his cock all the way into Henry’s depths and shuddered with release.
His cock was still dribbling cum when Chris was moving again, manhandling Henry until he had him sitting against the wall crossways on the bed. He knee-walked over the stretched-out legs, rubbed his dripping cock across the chest, then lowered his ass to Henry’s cock. He didn’t stop, just kept dropping down, shivering with the pain of penetration. He wanted the distraction, the physical nature of it devoid of intimacy. If he were to think of it, to consider how he felt about Henry, it would shatter him, make him think of scenarios implausible and foolish. Instead, he fucked his ass on Henry’s cock with a brutal pace. Up and down, he moved his ass on the cock, feeling the fullness of it then the unbearable emptiness.
“Chris…slow down,” gasped Henry.
“I can’t,” Chris uttered in reply as he leaned back, resting on one hand, and worked his ass on Henry’s cock as fast as he could while stroking his renewed erection. He kept up his pace, pushing Henry to cum inside him.
“Fuck! Chris!” Henry exclaimed as he shoved upward, sinking his spurting cock inside him.
Chris saw Henry shuddering with release, and he tilted his head back, closed his eyes, and roped cum up his chest.
Henry held Chris as the minutes ticked away, the time gone forever, only the future before them.
“You’re going back to Oxford?” whispered Chris.
“Yes. There is something I have to do.”
“What?”
“Reset my life.”
“Reset? That is an odd thing to say.”
“Yes…well…Chris, will you give me your number? I’d like to call you when I’m ready.”
“When you’re ready? How long will that be?”’
“I imagine three months. I hope it doesn’t take longer.”
Chris wanted to ask why Henry would call him. What would he want after a few months; would he want them to be together? He considered it, allowed the fantasy of it to blossom in his mind until he felt silly for it.
“Fred said Rodger and I should be back in the UK in four days with the layovers and time change.”
“Sounds about right.”
“So fast,” Henry whispered.
Chris knew what he was referring to, the story of sailing to the island from the UK, going through the Suez Canal. It meant days at sea, about sixty days per Henry’s story due to several stops along the way. To go back in just a few days must seem a miracle…if his story were true.
9.
Chris stood in the LAX watching Henry and Rodger board their flight for LaGuardia on their way back to the UK. His flight to Boston Logan was due to take off in two hours. It would be late when he arrived in Boston, but it was only a few miles across the river back to Cambridge, and he would be back at his apartment and in his own bed.
Henry took his seat next to a woman in coach while Rodger sat up front in first class. He settled into the seat, closed his eyes, and once again went over his plans. He would go the next day to the attorney’s office and retrieve the package left in the firm’s care. He had checked online to make sure the firm was still in existence, finding the list of names in the company name was now five in lieu of two but the firm was in the same old building in Oxford. Over ninety years in one place. The Americans could never tolerant such conservatism, always looking for something new. But then again, he was more discontented, desperately seeking a place he could truly be himself. But life had a way of disappointing him, leaving him feeling lonely and ostracized. He knew he didn’t really fit in with this age, and the loneliness was as much as his fault as anyone. Chris had been such a balm to his loneliness, and he wondered if things were different could there have been a relationship. He tried not to dwell on it, tried to focus on his immediate plans and once they were in place, he would reach out to Chris and see if he was willing to take a big leap of faith with him.
The morning was grey and dreary, a perfect Oxford morning, Henry mused as he stepped out of the hotel and headed to the law firm. He had spent most of his money on the hotel given to him by the three scientists and he had to retrieve the envelope that he placed in the care of the law firm.
Henry entered the law firm, stepping up to the desk.
“How can I help you?” asked the receptionist.
“I’m here to claim Charles Henry Beekman’s documents.”
“I don’t know any…let me check.”
Henry watched her make a call to someone in the firm, then another, and another. She was speaking to a Mr. Wakefield, then listening for some time. She looked surprised, then curious. When she set the phone down, she looked up and smiled. “Mr. Wakefield will be down in a few minutes. He will retrieve the documents.”
Henry took a seat and waited, watching people enter and leave through the small lobby. After about twenty minutes an elderly man, lean in build and coming down the stairs slowly, gracefully, that of a man confident in himself.
“Mr. Beekman?”
Henry rose to his feet. “Yes sir. You must be Mr. Wakefield.”
“That would be me. Come this way and we’ll do our business.”
Henry followed him to a small conference room and sat opposite of him. Mr. Wakefield opened a small file box; it was discolored with age and slipped an envelope out. He laid it on the table and looked across to Henry.
“I’ll be seventy-six next month and I’m the last of Wakefield family who will be a part of the firm. I’m afraid my children pursued careers in other fields, and I can’t say I blame them. When this envelope arrived for safe keeping by the firm, it would have been my great-grandfather the person your ancestor dealt with on the arrangements.”
“Ned Wakefield.”
“That’s right.”
“You look like him.”
“What?”
“I’m sorry, the envelope. I’m to give you certain information that will prove I’m the person it is to be given. May I,” said Henry, pointing to the old fashion notepad Mr. Wakefield had placed next to the file box.
“Yes, of course.” Mr. Wakefield slid the notepad across the table with a fountain pen.
Henry held the pen up, turned it within his fingers, then uncapped it looking at the gold nib. “This is a nice writing instrument.”
“It belonged to my grandfather.”
Henry bent to the notepad and started writing a list of words, then after the nineteenth one, he wrote out an equation, one developed in 1931. He slid the notepad back to Mr. Wakefield.
“I must say this is highly unusual.”
“The time frame made it necessary. Identification isn’t possible with the dead and there was no way to know who in the future would be responsible for claiming it.”
Mr. Wakefield nodded, then scanned the words and the equation. He nodded then slid the envelope across the table.
“I just need you to sign this release form and our business will be finished.”
Henry came out of the law firm and walked rapidly down the sidewalk until he came to a small park, one tucked between two buildings, and he found a bench so he could sit down. He found himself staring at the envelope. A deep breath then he tore it open. He slid out Savings Certificates and stocks he had been able to purchase with money gotten from his grandfather. He knew a few stocks were now worthless but those that had value, he expected a huge windfall. The Certificates he had already calculated were worth over two and a half million pounds. He slipped them back into the envelope, then pulled out the two journals, Charles Henry Beekman in his neat cursive script on the front of each one. The top one was dated June 1934 – December 1934. The next journal was dated January 1935 to June 1935.
Staring at the journals, he went through his plan, getting the certificates cashed out and the stocks sold to give him the money he needed, then he had to find a suitable place, preferably a location close to the materials he needed. He could buy several components but the main items he would have to build. But he had done it before, he could do it again, this time faster, better than before. Finally, he just needed a couple of months to get set up. At that point, he would call Chris.
10.
Chris comes out of the lab, thumbing through the notes from the latest meeting. He tried to get focused, get himself back into the mindset to do calculations and proposing theories, but since getting back from the island he felt lost. He kept thinking of Henry. Their moments of intimacy and the times they were just talking, talking about theories in physics and what was known in 2026.
He moved down the corridor, the students parting to let him pass because he was staring at the notes while thinking about Henry. He walked past the elevator, not realizing it until halfway to the next stairs, and he kept walking, deciding to take them instead of waiting on the elevator. He entered the stairwell and started down when his cellphone began to ring in his pocket. He fumbled with the notes then fished out his cellphone. It was an unknown number, and he started to silence it and let it go to voicemail, but something about the number was intriguing, so he slid his finger across the screen to accept the call.
“Hello.”
“Chris, I caught you. It’s Henry.”
“Henry?”
“I said I would call when I was ready, and I’m ready.”
“Ready?”
“Can you come to the UK?”
“The UK?”
Chris was off balance, trying to understand what Henry was talking about.
“Henry, what is going on?”
“I can’t talk on the phone, but I would like you to join me here.”
“For how long?”
“Til death do us part,” Henry joked. After an awkward silence, he added, “can you come over and just hear me out and see for yourself what I’m proposing.”
“I’m in the middle of term but I could fly out Friday night and—”
“Great! I’ll pick you up at the airport; text me your itinerary.”
“Okay,” Chris replied but Henry had already ended the call.
Two days later, arriving on Saturday morning at London Heathrow airport, Chris disembarked the plane and made his way through the terminal, his backpack slung over a shoulder he was using as an overnight bag. A text message from Henry told him to go to the arrival area outside the terminal. Moving through the other travelers, he wondered what he was doing. He had traveled from Boston to London for someone he barely knew. The ticket was exorbitant, being booked at the last minute, and he had no idea what to expect. Henry was a fellow scientist; someone he had had long conversations about the theories in their field and had a sexual relationship while on the island. He knew he was being irrational, but the whole situation with Henry was irrational. The notion of Henry having traveled through time from 1936 was insane, despite all the evidence that seemed to suggest Henry had done it.
Going out to the walk he moved toward the curb wondering how he would recognize Henry amongst all the traffic. A horn began to blow, and Chris looked up to see a Peugeot hatchback with Henry behind the wheel.
“Chris!”
“Henry,” said Chris, smiling despite his reservations on meeting with him. He rushed to the car, threw his backpack in back and climbed into passenger seat. As he put his seat belt on Henry pulled away from the curb, accelerating smartly.
“Should I ask how you got the car?” said Chris.
“The car I bought with money. What you don’t want to ask is how I got a driver’s license,” said Henry as he downshifted to accelerate around a line of cars.
Chris found himself holding tightly to the side of his seat or bracing against the dash or the door as Henry terrified him with aggressive driving. London was the last place in the world to be driving in such a manner, speed cameras, redlight cameras, and police all around the city, and yet Henry drove as if none of it mattered. It wasn’t until they were outside the city driving up the M11 that Chris finally relaxed enough to hold a conversation.
“What have you been doing?”
Henry smiled. “I’ll show you when we get there.”
“Why the secrecy?”
“Not so much the secrecy but more like you need to see it to believe it.”
“I was surprised you called.”
“But I said I’d call. Didn’t you want me to call?”
Henry sounded hurt.
“Yes, I wanted you to call. I’ve thought about you so often since returning from the island.”
“But we barely know each other, and everything is…”
“Fucked up,” Chris replied, chuckling.
“I wish we had more time,” uttered Henry.
“What do you mean?”
“If I asked you to go away with me, leave everything behind, would you do it?”
“Leave? But what about my career and…I need to be able to support myself. You do too!”
“What if we went somewhere that might not matter, and the culture was tolerant like none we’ve seen.”
“Now you’re doing some wishful thinking.”
“What if I can show you, I’m not?”
Chris looked over and saw Henry was serious.
“Okay, I’ve come this far, let’s get to where you are taking me so you can show me what you are going on about.”
Chris watched the passing scenery as Henry put on classical music, something Chris had heard before but didn’t know who the composer was, then Henry focused on driving them north.
When they neared Cambridge, Henry veered onto the A11 heading northeast. They drove into the rural countryside for over an hour, then turned off on a narrow lane that cut through an area of pasture and woods.
“We’re almost there,” said Henry as he navigated the narrow road at frightening speed.
Henry drove them past a few houses then turned on a dirt lane that entered a thick wood. Chris was relieved to see Henry slow down, easing the Peugeot along the uneven lane as it wound deeper into the woods. They came to small clearing with a small house directly in front of them and to their right a barn.
Chris sat up for the barn had been modified, large metal antennas projecting up from its roof. In front of the barn, a large transformer and near the main double doors, three shipping containers, one with its doors open revealing it was now empty.
“What have you done?” said Chris.
“I’ll show you later. First let’s go in and I’ll prepare us something to eat.”
Chris sat opposite Henry at the small table, dirtied plates and cups sitting on it. He had listened to Henry tell of getting the money for his little enterprise then finding the fake documents to allow him to get a driver’s license and a bank debit card. He looked at the man telling such a crazy story while feeling his desires for him. They were just as intense as they had been on the island. But Henry was crazy, it was obvious. The barn looked like it was set up for something nefarious and he worried being there would make him guilty of some crime by association; what he wasn’t sure.
“Tomorrow morning I’ll take you out to the barn. I’ll show you everything before noon.”
“Before noon?”
“Yes…you’ll see.”
“So, in the meantime we just wait?”
“I was hoping we could just relax and enjoy each other’s company like we had on the island.”
“Do you desire me, or just see me as someone to use?”
Henry looked shocked by the question. He sat back staring at Chris for what seemed an eternity in the silence. He shook his head, then spoke in a low voice. “I desire you. I…desire you more than any other man I’ve met. I was hoping you felt the same. I thought you did.”
“I did, do, but I don’t know what you’re up to and it makes me nervous.”
“I get it. I’m being too cautious in revealing everything, but can we just have tonight to renew this thing between us?”
“Okay. I’ve waited this long, one more night won’t hurt.”
Henry smiled, came to his feet holding out a hand to help Chris to his feet. He led him through the empty living room and into the small hall. The three doors before them were open, the ones to the left and right leading to small bedrooms, only the one on the right having a bed and small round table next to it. The door in front of them was a small bathroom.
Henry led Chris into the bedroom to the right. By the bed, he began to undress Chris who offered no resistance. Arms raised for the shirt to be tugged over his head, then each foot lifted to have pants and boxers slipped off. Standing naked, Chris felt a growing arousal, his cock flexing in Henry’s face. Hands braced on his thighs, then Henry captured his cock in the mouth.
“Jesus,” Chris exclaimed. To feel Henry sucking his cock once again made his heart race and cock quickly become erect. He struggled to stand still as the mouth moved on it.
Henry stood with pants settled around the ankles revealing his own erection. He moved backward to the bed and lay on his back, holding legs up.
“Chris,” Henry uttered.
Chris moved to Henry, slapped his cock across the ass, then pumped it alongside Henry’s. Henry took it in hand and put it against his tight opening.
“Fuck me,” Henry uttered.
Chris slowly penetrated the ass and sank half of his cock into it. He held still for an impossibly long time, then tugged outward until nearly slipping free, and began to fuck. He fucked slowly, relishing the feel of the tightness along his cock as he sank deeper and deeper. Then he fucked with an urgency, desperate to push himself to the point of release.
Fingers touched his stomach, a ticklish raking across the skin and he lost his rhythm, jammed cock into Henry’s depths and fucked with a physicality that showed how much he wanted him. He hammered the ass, fucked until sweating and the bed squeaked and rocked beneath them. It made him sweat and his breathing labored and his desire to pump cum into Henry’s ass overwhelming.
“Chris…do you like me?”
Hips smacked against ass, the sound of it echoing in the small room and all through the house.
“Yes.”
The bed began to tap the wall, and Henry tilted his head back and moaned gutturally.
“Can’t you stay with me?”
Chris shifted to his knees, took each leg behind the knees and pressed thighs tight to the chest as he hammered the upturned ass as hard as he could.
“I want to…” Chris let his voice trail off.
“Fuck!” Chris exclaimed after shoving into Henry’s depths, shuddering with release.
Chris never let Henry catch his breath. He moved over him quickly with such urgency it surprised Henry. He held Henry’s cock and eased his ass down on it.
“Fuck; you’re tight,” Henry exclaimed.
Chris moved on Henry, slowly until his ass loosened to the penetration, then he moved frantically, gasping for breath. His own cock slapped down on the abdomen and he sweated profusely. His body glistened in the dim light and Henry thought him beautiful and he held the ankles as the ass kept moving on his cock.
“I’m going to cum,” Henry exclaimed.
“Please,” Chris uttered.
Henry couldn’t hold back a moment longer. As the ass came down, he shoved upward and came inside Chris.
11.
Henry swung the right leaf of the double doors open and stood to the side to let Chris enter first. As soon as Chris stepped into the dark barn, the lights came on. He froze when he saw what Henry had built. A large copper sphere with massive wires attached to it. Equipment sat around the perimeter of the room and to his right a large computer monitor showed an undulating wave pattern. He saw what he had originally assumed was antenna but now knew to be lightning rods extending down through the roof and into the room where they were connected to large metal boxes, each one humming like a transformer. From each one came one of the large wires connected to the sphere.
Chris remembered the descriptions Henry gave of Dr. Deacan’s laboratory and knew this was the same. He turned to Henry.
“Dr. Deacan didn’t formulate the calculations, nor did he build that laboratory on the island. You did.”
“Yes. Dr. Deacan had been so excited about what I had proposed he agreed to help me. Unfortunately, when the lightning hit the rods, he was in the wrong place.”
“And you were in the right place?”
“By accident. It was supposed to be just a test. See if my calculations were right. Imagine my surprise to find myself in that depression then to find out the date, ninety years in the future.”
“I still don’t believe that part,” uttered Chris.
“I know it sounds outlandish, but as you saw, the sky is clouding up and in an hour a thunderstorm is to pass over us.”
“And you’re going to repeat the experiment?”
“Yes.”
“You can’t go back in time—”
“I know and have no intention of trying to go back. I’m going forward. And I want you to come with me.”
“Let’s suppose for a moment you can do this, why?”
“I want to go to a future time when being gay is not something to treat someone as less than, to bully them. I want to find a time that is not hindered by primitive notions of our humanity.”
“All this just to find a time that is tolerant?”
“Don’t we move all the time to find a place we can live our lives. I just added time to the equation.”
“This is crazy,” Chris whispered as he looked around the room again.
“If you won’t come with me…” Henry stumbled over his words, took a deep breath and continued, “then you’ll need to take the car and get away from this place. I’m afraid the sphere will be larger this time.”
“How large?” said Chris, unable to control his natural curiosity.
“Twice as large. Maybe three times as large? I’m not sure. The variables are too many—”
“Goddamn it, Henry, listen to yourself. Twice as large is bad, three times or larger, that is dangerous.”
“I have to try.”
“Why?”
“Do you know what it is like to be bullied? To be beaten up so badly you lay in a hospital bed for a month then hobble around on crutches for weeks?”
“No.”
“Because things are better, but there are still instances in this time just as bad or worse.”
“I know that but…” Chris was lost on what to say.
“Why not leave this time?”
“But I don’t think you can do it. Instead, you’ll just get yourself killed.”
“But I’ve done it once already.”
“So, you say.”
“Can’t you trust me. Just trust me on this, and come with me?”
Chris exhales heavily and walks in a circle, then he stops and looks at Henry.
“I can’t.”
“Then you need to leave,” said Henry with tears in his eyes. He tossed the car keys to Chris. “You need to leave right now.”
Chris feels exhausted and lost and just wants to sit down somewhere and let the tears fall from his frustration and from his longing to be with Henry. He looks at the keys and considers what Henry had said about the distortion being larger, and he turns and rushes out of the barn. He rushes to the car, staggering and tripping on the uneven ground, vision blurry with tears. As he reaches the car, unlocking the door, he realizes the storm is approaching. The winds are picking up, rustling the trees and blowing debris through the air. He starts the car and looks at the barn for the last time, then turns in the drive so rapidly, the rear kicks out. He races down the lane back to the road as rain begins to fall. Leaves and limbs hit the windshield, and he fumbles with the stalk to get the wipers turned on it.
At the end of the lane, he doesn’t stop, instead he slides into the road and accelerates hard, nearly losing control, then speeds down the road.
12.
Henry hears the wind then he hears the rain hitting the roof. He looks one more time at the doors wanting to see Chris rush back through them. They shake in their frame when the wind picks up but remain firmly closed. He wipes his eyes and rushes to a computer and types in a few commands. The monitor flips to a graphic image of the barn from overhead. A red dot is inside it, pulsing. Henry nods absentmindedly, then goes to the copper sphere. He lowers a hatch and looks inside the dimly lit interior. It is half the size of the overall sphere, made of glass panels to insulate it from the exterior shell. He takes ahold of the jamb to pull himself into sphere.
“Henry! Wait!”
Henry turns and sees Chris rushing from the door, not bothering to close it. He knows it doesn’t matter. Let the wind and rain blow in. All that matters is Chris is going to come with him. He steps back and motions for Chris to climb through the hatch.
Chris hesitates at the hatch, looking back at Henry.
“It’s okay, Chris. We’ll be fine.”
Chris climbs into the sphere followed by Henry, who secures the hatch. There are no special chairs with seat belts, just a flat floor area with some pillows laying on it, and they lay down next to each other and hold hands waiting for the lightning strike that will initiate the experiment.
“What if the lightning doesn’t strike the rods?” said Chris.
“It’ll strike them; they are charged to attract it.”
The storm clouds move steadily over the rural countryside. The winds twist and bend trees and strip them of some of their foliage. Lightning flashes and thunder rumbles as the front of the storm moves closer to the barn. Just before the front line of dark clouds reaches the barn, there is a lightning strike, one that cuts across the sky and connects with the lightning rods. It is almost instantaneous. The barn is vaporized and a sphere of roiling undulating light grows from its center. It expands rapidly, one hundred meters, two hundred, three hundred, then it finally stops expanding at over three hundred fifty meters in diameter. Half of it sits in a depression and half sits above the tree canopy. Then it shrinks, rapidly, until it has disappeared.
The electrical charge of the sphere dissipated the storm, and the sky begins to clear, the sun’s rays piercing the clouds and illuminating the area where the barn and house had been sitting within the woods. An area over three hundred meters in diameter is cleared and the ground looks scorched but intact.
12.
Chris opens his eyes to see Henry staring back. All he can think of is they are alive, then he sits up looking around them. They are in a deep depression, one far larger than the one on the island. They are illuminated by artificial lights positioned around the perimeter of it, so bright it blinds them to look up.
“Is this like before?” said Chris.
“Yes, and no. I had us better insulated, so we’re not having to tear our clothes off this time, and no one had put lights around the depression last time.”
They hear something above and look up to see a small craft hovering in the air. It descends and they can see it is white with a blue and yellow strip along the sides and Republique de la Vieille-Bretagne in blue letters over it.
The craft never touches down, just hovers over the bottom of the depression as a large hatch in its rear opens. Two women come out and float over until looking down at them sitting in the bottom.
“Charles Henry Beekman, you have made it right on time. And you must be Christopher Colin Duprey.”
“Yes,” Chris whispers as Henry comes to his feet and looks up to the woman who spoke.
“What year is it?”
“2142 C.E. Were you close to your calculated date?” she replies with some amusement.
“Off by a few years.”
“No one ever gets the science to work in a safe manner. It is why the world banned the experiment in 2038 after a few unfortunate accidents. You were the only scientist to get it to work.”
Henry looks up again at the rim lined with lights, then back to the two women.
“You were expecting us?”
“Yes. There were the reports in 2026 of people seeing a large sphere of light during a thunderstorm, then aerials showed an area that only a few could explain.”
“Fred Hutton and Rodger Pennington,” said Chris.
“That’s right, the two men along with a few others recognized what had happened and with your disappearance, Christopher, they were sure Henry had done the experiment again. Scientists tried to duplicate it but without any documentation how the experiment was done, it was just speculation on their part.”
“You have the records and figured it out? You were expecting me?” said Henry.
“Yes.”
“Then you know why we’re here.”
“Yes, Charles Henry Beekman. You want to live free,” said the other woman taking the first one’s hand. “And you can live as freely as you desire in this age.”
Henry smiles, then turns to Chris, holding out a hand to help him up. “We’re home.”
To get in touch with the author, send them an email.
