Story Retrograde

[Kritter]

Despite the complaints of his three-year-old body, Seth gorged himself on another pan fried pastry stuffed with spiced chicken, whipped eggs and fried onions. He couldn't remember the name for this delicious food, but his hosts were delighted with him eating so many. He smiled and sighed, recalling the day he'd almost jumped from the top of his mother's building upon learning that he was adopted. It was only by the gentle coaxing of the police - that they'd help him find his real family - that made him come to his senses, and now he was so grateful they'd helped him. Difficult as the past month had been, he'd found true happiness with the family of Uncle Puli, his 'real' mother's brother, and his five new cousins. The children were welcoming, fun-loving and sweet, and he'd almost forgotten at times he was an older man in a child's body. He'd ran and played with them in the street, learned their songs and dances, made crafts and helped his Aunt Mala cook. They'd even gone Trick or Treating on Halloween.

His sense of belonging among them was immediate and profound, and he had to wonder why his real mother had asked his adopted mother to take him instead, but it was his father, who had come to him a few days later, who answered the all the questions he had. He hadn't been surprised to see his father at their door. He expected his parents would be concerned, even though the police received their permission to bring him to Anjali's family. What did surprise him though, was that his father asked him to take a walk, something they had never done together in the past. "I understand now," his father began, "that your mother told you some things and left out others, and I need to set the record straight."

Seth felt his body tense at these words, as it foretold of more information he didn't know, and he wasn't sure he could handle it right now.

"She had some issues with telling you the truth, and I feel I owe it to you to explain. Yes, it's true, Anjali was your mother. But Seth, I'm your real father. You are my actual son."

"You? You had an affair?" Seth said, completely unable to fathom it from his mild and religious father.

"No, nothing like that. It's just, Anjali and Anil had tried to have children for ten years, but...Anil had a problem. And at some point she joked to your mother that she'd like to borrow me...since we already had two boys, and your mother loved her and wanted to help her out so she spoke to me about it and well, one thing led to another. I didn't sleep with her, it wasn't like that. I was just a donor. But it wasn't a real medical procedure back then, they didn't have invitro. They did it in the home, with a nurse and an...inserter."

"Please don't tell me it was a turkey baster," Seth said, watching his father's eyes turn away. "It was? It was a turkey baster? I was made with a turkey baster??"

"Seth," his father began gently. "I'm sorry, but you were never supposed to know these things. Your mother felt you would feel different if you knew. And when you asked, she was just too embarrassed to tell you."

"Oh, but it makes sense now," Seth said, feeling some odd relief. "It makes so much more sense that Anjali would want you to take me. I'm sorry," he said, leaning in to his father's chest, feeling bad that he'd grown so angry at his parents, especially since they'd raised him from day one.

His father wrapped an arm around his shoulder. "I'll understand if you'd like to stay with your Uncle Pulkit, but please don't cut us out of your life. Your grandmother has been beside herself with worry. You're her absolute favorite you know."

Seth hugged his father tighter and smiled. "Tell her I'll be home in a few days." It felt good to hug his father, as he hadn't often done it as an adult. It also felt good to know he was his father, and that not all of his Jewishness had been a lie. But he had a choice to make now that he'd never expected. To return to live with his parents or continue to stay with his Uncle Puli, whose family he had already grown to love.

"Sathi!" one of his cousin's called to him, pulling him back to the present. "Can you take me out for a walk please?" It was Prema, their newborn daughter, sitting on the floor and talking like the demanding business-owner she was in the future. As strange as three had been to him, he could only imagine what it must have been like for her, having just celebrated her 50th birthday a few days before to being in an infants body. At least he could embrace his childhood, she was still trying to master crawling and her bowel functions. And it was still jarring hearing a confident voice come from that tiny mouth.

The streets outside Uncle Puli's tenement home were crowded with people dressed in an odd mix of old and new fashions. While Seth pushed Prema's stroller, he tried to converse with her in intelligent adult conversation so she wouldn't feel so alone. They talked about their lives and what they might want to do over, and whether or not the collider should be stopped or allowed to continue. The 'Stop the Collider' crowd had grown much louder as the month ran on, and without social media to spread the word, they'd taken to flyers and talk show radio to spread their message and organize rallies.

"What do you think they should do?" Prema asked.

Seth contemplated both scenarios. His life had been fine, his wife and children great, but in thinking back on it now, he realized he'd found his life mundane. He'd just been going through motions and existing, doing what was expected of him by his family and community. If he had to live it over again, he imagined he'd do it differently. Live more for himself, be more adventurous and find ways to have more fun. "I think..." he started, surprised at what he was about to say. "I think I'd like them to stop it."

Prema looked up at him, her infant face all round and innocent, her tiny mouth forming thoughtful words. "You know what? Me too. Let's go to their next rally."

 

[larry_minn]

That would be a interesting question. Get to go back to teens. I believe I would do it. Hopefully not get crushed before 30 years old…

 

[Catshooter]

'Course they could fire it all up again and then everybody go back another 50 years. Might not work out too well.

 

[Kritter]

Hell was breaking loose in D.C. Even from Interstate 81, nearly an hour away, he and Jenny could still see dozens of helicopters heading in that direction. The radio news warned people to steer clear of the poorer neighborhoods in some of the bigger cities as crime exploded at an unparalleled pace.

Jenny was in full pout. She rubbed her hands together nervously, trying to ward off the morning cold as they made their way back to New Jersey. "Why can't people just be nice?" she complained.

Joe gestured towards the radio, where they were interviewing Jesse Jackson.

"The people in these neighborhoods spent fifty years fighting poverty and racism. Most of them worked hard to get educations, grow their communities, businesses, and careers, and now we have a world full of dead old white men as their employers not giving them their old jobs, denying them their earned future positions even with their proficiency certification, and the government is telling them 'don't worry, just keep doing your 1970s jobs as shoe shine boys, bell hops and dishwashers.' No. That's not working. These people are rightfully angry, and until you start treating them as equal again, these riots are gonna keep happening. I'd be mad too! Wouldn't you be mad?"

Joe chewed his lip as he contemplated the situation. He could remember in his childhood, the lunch counters with the 'no coloreds' signs and the way his mother locked the car doors when they passed through certain parts of town, but that had been so far in the past he'd forgotten it had ever been a thing. He knew people fought for those changes, but he'd never given any of it much thought. He only knew in 2022, it wasn't like that at all. And to suddenly be set back all of that progress had to be maddening. If he had to be honest, thinking back over time, it seemed that riots always did spark faster action. But the idea of having to go through all that again sucked.

He frowned at Jenny, who returned his melancholy with an attempt at a reassuring smile. She was, at least, still resilient, even though he knew she'd been bored the last few weeks. Her excitement with the open road ended by the time they were halfway done with their second round trip, and she found she couldn't read or even do crosswords while they drove because it made her feel motion sick. While he liked listening to rock and roll, she would turn the station to country. He liked listening to sporting events and news radio, and she compared both to torture. She picked up a pack of cigarettes in Virginia because they were only a quarter, and by the time they made the return trip they were both already buying cartons.

Everything he thought he'd do better was growing harder by the day. All his old addictions, his desires and frustrations, everything he was was still inside him. Part of who he'd always been. And making those changes now wasn't any easier then making them in his old age. He'd eaten a box of Ho-Hos for lunch because Jenny didn't feel like cooking, and their vows to eat right and be spendthrifts were both sunk in the ease of fast food drive-throughs and diners. He started drinking every night to stave off his depression over his complete failure of will. And he started secretly blaming Jenny for all of it, a feeling he suddenly remembered he'd had before - when he'd left her the first time.

"What if we're stuck in a time loop?" Jenny asked out of the blue, making Joe shiver at the unintended way her words fit with what he was thinking. "What if they started the collider and we went back to the future to right when that collider sent us here? We'd be doing this forever. Maybe we already are? Maybe nothing really does matter."

"I think the scientists consider that," he answered, turning his head to look out the window as three more military helicopters flew loudly past them, towards D.C. He wanted right then to tell her, he'd been wrong about what went wrong. She wasn't right for him. She never was. He'd loved her beauty and her smile and she'd been fun, but he understood himself and his needs better now, and she wasn't the one. It had hit him like a ton of bricks. He realized he'd spent his entire life feeling bad about a choice he'd made, and here he was about to make it again, because it hadn't been the wrong choice. He'd just been too cowardly to tell her to her face. He'd gone about it the wrong way. But not this time. This time he'd only wait until they were back in New Jersey, because he didn't want the trip to be more miserable then it was.

Joe ran through a gamut of emotions after leaving her on the curb in Bayonne. Free, happy, relieved, optimistic, feelings he couldn't really understand since he'd been single most of his adult life and had never felt that way before, but he sensed he had direction now, and was confident in his self-reliance. Just getting out of his home town and away from his old friends was what he'd needed. He pulled away as she screamed and cursed his name, stopping only to open his window and toss the beer, cigarettes and Ho-Hos out there with her.

His smile hurt his cheeks as he pulled back on the open road, and his next load was heading to Denver, a place he'd always wanted to go.

 

[moldy]

I've spent way too much time contemplating how I would change the past if I could. I do realize, I couldn't make it perfect or probably even better, I'd just make different mistakes or choices.

 

[Kritter]

Thanksgiving was difficult. Rosy sat alone at his table in the lunch room, keeping his head down, balancing his wavering feelings between bursts of laughter from one table and the sounds of sobs at others. The men missed their families, both present and future. It was never easy to be away from home during the holidays, but now it was especially hard, and the only ones who seemed happy were the people who hated their 2022 lives. To them, this fresh start was a miracle, and Rosy was sure every one of them would stop the collider if they could. Not him though, and not for millions like him. For them, he'd make sure it happened.

Before him, there was a plate of army-issued turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, and a slice of apple pie with ice cream. Around him to each side, his family sat in his mind. Star would be to his left, her short curly bob parted on the side and swept up with a sparkling hair comb, his girls, Danielle, Lena and Jasmine and their husbands would be spread around the table, the older grandchildren at the children's table, the twins in a highchair near their mom. He would have already brought in the box from the garage that held their Christmas tree and ornaments, and after they finished their meal that day, they would gather in the living room to decorate it. He smiled at the memory, took a bite of pie, then raised his eyebrows, surprised it tasted good.

From his seat, he could see part of a makeshift reception area where visitors were greeted and escorted around the grounds. He liked to try and identify some of the big dogs, the scientists, engineers and theoretical physicists that had swarmed the facility the month before, but faces didn't always match young bodies. Stephen Hawking was easy, as he was already in a chair, and Michio Kaku's, Avi Loeb's and Roger Penrose's faces were recognizable to him because he'd watched a lot of their videos, but he was most excited to identify Peter Higgs, a man he believed might best understand what might have occurred with the future collider. Right now though, he saw out there a young black teen with an afro, and try as he might, he couldn't think who the boy could be, because even in 2022, black physicists were in short supply.

He finished his pie, scrapping the last bit from the plate, before rushing to his room to grab his doctored ID tag, then stepped into the cold desert night and trotted across to the newly opened building the science folk now all hung out in, a fortified two-story building the army officially called the 'Academic Hall.' Despite it having been built in record time, the building was nicely furnished and well-equipped, and modern enough you could forget you'd lived through a time shift while inside. He'd visited that building near daily, flashing his badge enough times that most of the guards there just waved him through. He'd told them he was a physics professor, there to help translate what the scientists said into laymen's terms for the army brass, and not a single person had questioned him up to that point.

Deeper into the facility was a lounge where he'd sat and listened to the physicists talk and discuss everything that had been learned since they'd died, if they were dead, and he relished hearing them form new theories around new information. They were brilliant men to him, and despite the army not allowing any visitors under the age of 5, they even had a 4-year-old Brian Cox in the room. Attached to the lounge was a smoking room, as many of these men enjoyed a pipe and a brandy while they talked. Rosy liked sitting near that room, as the smell of cigarettes was still pleasing to him, despite the army's 'Retroactive Reversal Ban' on them. He stood when he saw the black teenager again, and angled himself closer to observe. The young man greeted several scientists warmly, before turning directly towards him. He approached Rosy with a smile. "I don't think we've met," the young man said. "I'm Neil."

"Ooooh!" Rosy bit his fist to keep himself from shouting, his absolute authentic joy and excitement at meeting this man shining through in abundance. "You're Neil deGrasse Tyson! I've always been such a big fan."

"Thanks," he said almost dismissively. "And you are?"

"Uh," Rosy lifted his doctored tag. "I'm Roosevelt Morris. I'm a physics professor at Columbia University." He tried to stop his words before they left his mouth, but his brain worked at his old man's age. He'd chosen Columbia because in his mind, none of these men would have gone there, but Neil, he now remembered, had gone there before Harvard, and he could see the young man narrow his eyes. "Okay actually," he said, lowering his voice, "I'm a high school physics teacher from Jersey City," he continued, sounding earnest. "But I've studied quantum mechanics my whole life."

Neil smiled, glanced down at the floor in contemplation, then reached out to give Rosy's hand a shake. "Well it was great seeing you again, Professor Morris," he said, turning away, raising his voice so others in the room overheard him. "Tell our friends back at Columbia that I said 'Hi.'"

"Will do," Rosy said, stepping back out of the spotlight as Neil deGrasse Tyson walked off. Rosy's eyes watered, emotions welling up from deep inside of him he didn't even know he had. Feeling legitimized amongst all those sensational men felt overwhelmingly good. He had studied the quantum world his whole life, and he'd kept up on it on daily via the internet and magazines. Both the scientific and spiritual sides, from peer-reviewed articles in accredited journals to YouTube pseudoscience. And he felt he understood it better then most.

Confident he could now stand on the outskirts of their conversations, he leaned in closer to listen to Peter Higgs talk. "I imagined whenever a boson was detected, its singlet could enter dimensions and move through time, but I thought it might be useful to send messages into the future, not people," he chuckled, before continuing. "But what if the collider detected a new particle, one we've never imagined, and that particle's singlet absorbed all our collective consciousness, and carried our minds through time with it. Because nothing really went backwards in time. No one de-aged, no buildings deconstructed. The only thing we really brought back to 1972 was our collective conscious."

"Oh my God," Rosy whispered under his breath. The thought of this new Higgs theory was blowing his mind, because he had thought of it himself. He pursed his lips, wanting to expand on the man's thoughts, but not feeling he was free to do so. Instead, he listened with frustration as the majority of the room wrote off his idea, and then went off in another direction. 'I'll go talk to him later,' Rosy thought, heading for the bar, hoping to soothe himself with a drink for the time being.

 

[Catshooter]

Nice work girl. I'm really digging this story!

 

[Kritter]

Daniel Lombardi was standing on a bridge for the second time in his multiple lives. Below him, the blackened abyss that whispered his name, the soft sound of water moving, the occasional gust of wind that tried to steal the air out of his lungs. The air smelled fresh and salty. He grasped the cool railing, climbed atop it and balanced, closed his eyes, felt gravity sway his body, and he was falling. A jolt of desperate adrenaline coursed through his body, his arms and legs flailing wildly. This wasn't what he wanted. Falling in darkness. He screamed, but his scream sounded strange and strangled.

"Daniel," a woman's voice shouted. "Daniel!" He felt his body being shaken and opened his eyes.

"Wake up, my dear. You were having a bad dream," the woman said.

Daniel's pulse was racing, his breath came in labored huffs. He squinted, rubbing his eyes, reorienting himself with his surroundings. He was in the high school cafeteria, which had been set up as a temporary shelter to help rehome people who had become transient due to the Reversal. The woman, Sister Mary, was a nun from the local church. She was an older woman who had died in 1975. He considered her a saint. He took in a single, deep breath to center himself.

"Sister," he said weakly. "I dreamt I was falling."

"Well you're safe now," she said, a gentle, reassuring smile spread across her otherwise austere face. Something about her tone, her calm nature, was comforting to him. He wished he had known Sister Mary in his former life. She might have enlightened him sooner. It struck him how a single person entering a single life, saying a single word or showing a single kindness could change everything about someone's life. He'd never been shown compassion by his mother. She was cynical and angry, her outward smile and pleasantness just a carefully created mask, and he'd grown up just like her. But if she'd been Sister Mary...

"It's too bad you're a nun," he'd once said to her. "You'd make a good mom."

Sister Mary had smiled then too, displaying teeth that spoke of a way too many cups of coffee. "It's too bad you're gay," she said. "You'd make a good dad."

Daniel chuckled and shook his head. "I would not make a good dad. What would even make you say that?"

"The way you smile and interact with the others here, the way you've taught them dances and songs and musical instruments. You taught them to enrich themselves, given them confidence, and they're all the better for it."

"But that's not the real me," he said honestly. "That showman act is just a coping mechanism."

The nun leaned in and spoke softly, as if sharing a secret. "That is the real you. The 'other' you is the coping mechanism."

Daniel remembered those words for weeks after she spoke them, revisiting them every time he felt annoyed with people or angry at the world. Cynicism had always been his way of dealing with bad feelings because it was the only outlet he knew, the only reaction his mother had shown him. A scathing wisecrack under the breath and a walk-off with an air of superiority, even to people who didn't deserve it. He'd used it when he first met the people in the shelter he now resided in, equating them to idiots and street trash, so angry that he had to be there. He'd felt useless and unwanted and he took it out on innocent strangers, and it was a nun with a psychology degree, of all people, who made him see his cynicism for what it was. Defensive deflection. Blaming others for his problems. The word 'narcissistic' was even tossed in his direction, which he vehemently wrote off as part of his act, his persona, but now realized was part of his act because 'acting self-important' came natural to him.

Despite his anger and cynicism, Sister Mary had opened her arms to him from the very first day, when he was delivered to the shelter by a pizza delivery boy, along with three free pizzas the boy's employer insisted go with him. The pizza was soggy, the shelter depressing, and Sister Mary was a Catholic Nun, and therefore, to Daniel, the enemy. He'd walked in with an attitude and she'd destroyed it in just two days, by talking with him, listening and giving him what he needed, a sense of purpose, an audience and a chance at accolades. Before he knew what happened, she had put him in charge of creating a fundraising show using the school shelter's residents, one she intended to be seen by the whole city.

And it seemed possible. They had an auditorium and stage, they had the school's instruments, they had a sound system and lights, a shop to build sets, a Home Ec room for costumes. He could help people like himself who were penniless at the moment to have a few dollars in their pockets and put on the performance in front of a city that desperately needed new entertainment. She gave him everything he needed to succeed in this endeavor, demanding the show be all new in every aspect. He had to write the songs, compose the music, choreograph the dance steps, design the sets and costumes, and within ten minutes of sitting at a desk with a piece of paper and a pencil, he became lost in a vision of a Christmas spectacular that he slowly toned back to be family friendly.

He wrote the parts around each interested residents' strengths and weaknesses, then called upon other shelter schools in the area to join in. A future seamstress joined his team, a violinist joined, a woman who knew tap, a displaced older man with a beautiful voice, it all fell together bit by bit. And every night, Sister Mary would ask him to pray with her with not a word of condemnation. "Lord Jesus, watch over Daniel and his show, bring him peace, hope, love and success, and help him overcome every obstacle." By the second week, when he dutifully prayed with her, he felt a strange tingling sensation tied to his words. Like the words were alive and were meaningful and they were going somewhere and being received, and he was grateful that it seemed to help. He also began to experience more feeling in his bad arm and leg, to the point where he was walking with a cane over his wheelchair. Two months ago he'd come to the shelter in a moment of deep despair, a soaking wet, bitter, broken old man in a twelve-year-old boy's body, and now he felt like he could fly, like a boy full of ideas for shows whose life was just beginning.

And tonight, when his amazing Christmas Show, "Our Gay Apparel" opened for the first time, he was hoping to bring the world as much love as Sister Mary had shown to him.

 

[Kritter]

The world had changed so much in just a few months that already, no one knew what to expect. Airplanes that crashed in December of '72 were fixed before they ever took off, NASA didn't bother sending Apollo 17 on its scheduled mission to the moon, football games scores were completely different, the US had given up on Vietnam. Seth found it interesting that about the only thing they could still be sure of was geological disasters. The Managua earthquake still struck on the same date and time, although the area was evacuated beforehand, saving thousands of lives. But weather was following a different pattern, due to cooling and warming trends brought on by 2022's regulatory laws on businesses and industry and probably by people's changing lifestyles. It was a change that especially interested Edward Lorenz, who proposed the Butterfly Effect fifty years ago, only to have it almost retroactively confirmed on nearly the very same date.

Seth loved to talk about the changing world as he lay on his back on his bed, talking to his one-year-old wife on the phone, the cord nearly pulled straight as it stretched from the kitchen. She'd been going through her own bouts of identity crisis and depression, and it helped they could still talk like they did in the future. He'd been nervous when he told her about his half-Indian heritage.

"You know what's really funny?" he had told her. "My brothers always insisted that I was adopted, and I always thought it was their way of joking with me."

"Well, as long as you stay Jewish, I don't care. But you'd better not start asking for curry in your latkes," she laughed, "or then we'll have problems."

He'd laughed along with her, but inside, he felt conflicted, as he'd found an interest in Hinduism. Not so much their mythology or deities even, but in karma and reincarnation. His grandmother's accounting of heaven made him question everything lately, but he surely wasn't going to tell his wife he'd been exploring Christianity as well. It brought to mind the interesting conversations he once had with Rosy Morris. Rosy would talk about God as if he was a dimensional entity, a concept he found easier to digest then 'an invisible man in the sky.' Jesus, Rosy had told him, was just that entity spawning himself on earth in human form to show us how he wanted things done. And it almost made some sense.

"Dick Clark is on," his wife said excitedly, drawing him back to the present. "Go watch the TV. He's got Roberto Clemente with him. This is crazy!"

Seth recalled the long philosophical discussion he had with his brothers, how the world could further change just by having people who were saved from death around. It was weird, and it took some adjustments. He slid off his bed and walked into the living room still holding the phone receiver. "Oh yeah, I see him."

"I died tonight in 1972, but God's given me this new timeline to remind you all just how precious life is. You can be here today and gone tomorrow, so embrace every minute you're given. Be kind, do good, help others, spread love!" Roberto continued talking as the camera panned over the incredible crowd which had gathered in Times Square to ring in the New Year. He was glad the city left the old way intact, allowing people to crowd the area, not penning them in like livestock. The TV then cut to a promo for the news.

"Tonight," the promo announced, "The twelve-year-old LGBTQ creator behind the musical sensation that has taken Broadway by storm, and the amazing Nun who helped take him from a Pasadena homeless shelter to overnight superstar!"

"How come there aren't any nuns anymore?" his brother asked.

"In 2022? There are," his mother answered. "They just don't wear habits anymore, so they're not as visible."

"I wanna go out there," Seth said, looking longingly out the window. "I never went to Times Square for New Years. We've always just watched it on TV. I wanna go out there. I'm going," he abruptly announced, hanging up the phone and walking with determination towards the coat closet.

"You can't go. You're three," his mother said, watching him try to pull his coat down from a hanger. "Seth, it's three miles away. The ball drop is in thirty minutes. Even if you found a cab, the traffic around there is backed up for miles. You won't make it."

Seth stopped, realizing his mother was right, but still he had a strong and incredible yearning to be in the middle of that crowd. To experience the excitement first hand. He's been dutiful and mild his entire life, but something inside him had changed. He didn't want to be that person anymore, and if he didn't push the envelope now...

"Take me on your bike," he turned to his father and pleaded in desperation. "We can make it if you ride really fast."

Seth's father glanced over at Seth's mother, and she shrugged.

--

The city was freezing. Seth's coat, scarf and mittens did nothing to save his skin from the blistering cold. He buried his face in his father's back as the man peddled furiously down 10th Avenue, darting between taxis, buses and limousines, dodging pedestrians. Besides the smell of diesel exhaust, Seth could get a whiff of hot dogs and roasting chestnuts and hear the street vendors shout, a sound which made him feel alive. He was doing it. He was going. They turned on 47th Street and reached the corner of Broadway, and were met by the backend of the crowd. Seth's father tried to force his way further along when the noise level of the crowd rose considerably.

"Sixty seconds," his father said. He unstrapped Seth from the carrier seat and hoisted him onto his shoulders, lifting him high enough above the crowd that Seth could easily make out the lit up ball as it slowly made its way down to the pole. Seth raised his hands above him and shouted in joy, counting down with the rest of the crowd as they reached the last ten seconds. The noise level was beyond belief. He continued to shout each number down to one, then bent over and kissed his father's head, then raised his hands up again, whopping and screaming "Happy New Year," tears pouring down his face, overwhelmed by pure joy. And his father was dancing under him, bouncing him around, shouting as well. He tilted his head upwards, sharing Seth's wide smile.

"Oh, look," his father waved towards a vendor who was selling disposable cameras to the crowd at four times their normal cost. "I'll take one, and can you take a picture of my son and I?" The vendor happily obliged, taking three photos of them in different poses, two with the 1973 ball in the distance behind them and one in front of a theater sign. Two weeks later, when they got the pictures back from the developer, Seth pinned the pictures to his wall, then took one of them down again and gaped at it. The picture cut off the name of the show, but he could clearly see the next line, which said "Starring Daniel Lombardi."

 

[Kritter]

Denver was on Joe Kelly's mind as he drove down I70, that and his break up with Jenny and his thoughts on the future, both old and new, and whether he would be able to break free from the depression that kept threating to undermine his desire to do better. He'd been frustrated with himself, struggling against drinking and smoking and overeating all at the same time, and failing over and over, despite going to bed each night assuring himself tomorrow he'd make it work. About the only thing he felt good about was Denver, because for some reason, he pictured its mountains as a place of peace and renewal. He'd never been that far west before. In fact, in his previous life he'd never left New Jersey. So Denver was on his mind that day as he drove through the middle of St. Louis.

There were police cars and helicopters around every major city, so he hadn't thought much about them. And he'd been driving with the radio off, so there was nothing else to warn him. He just drove into stop and start traffic, at some point noticed a road block up ahead that was letting cars through one at a time. His mind registered a line of men in olive green and he assumed it was the military, but as three armed men ran towards him on foot, he noted they had balaclava masks and hand guns. In a second, they pulled him from his cab, and two of them took off with his 18-wheeler, leaving him on his ass in the middle of the interstate. He got up and walked to the side of the road, then watched as other gangs of well-armed men hi-jacked all the other big rigs that drove by.

He had imagined in his day dreams, moments like these, where he'd fight like John Wick, grab a gun from one man and shot another, while using the third as a shield, but here, he and the other drivers could only stand by and watch, the sheer number of these thieves with guns outnumbering them by the hundreds. Joe hung his head, hating the feeling of not being able to do anything while the gang members laughed and taunted them.

"What happens now?" Joe whispered under his breath, not wanting to leave the interstate as he wasn't sure the streets were any better.

"Walk up this road a bit, then try and hitch a ride. Then call your company and tell them what happened. They'll put you up until they have another truck come by to get you," a more-seasoned long hauler answered.

Joe lowered his sunglasses, pulled his hood up over his head, and walked head down past the barricade to where the traffic started to move again, and then hoofed it another mile before putting out his thumb, glad he at least still had his wallet. Everything else he owned though, his clothes and his belongings, were stolen along with his rig. He noticed as he walked over the overpass, he could see and smell smoke from fires in the distance. His senses heightened, his ears picking out the sound of smashing glass, the squealing of car tires, the blare of car alarms, the rat-a-tat of gunfire. He tried to calm his nerves, by deciding he'd really go and buy a gun and learn how to do John Wick stuff.

Finally a car pulled over. It was an ex-cop that took mercy on him, giving him a ride to a truck stop just outside of town. "St. Louis is lost, it's like a war zone, it's pure anarchy," the ex-cop told him, "and Kansas City's no better. All of Missouri's gone to shit and the military can barely contain it. There's gunfights in the streets now. Reagan gonna end up firebombing this whole state if he has to, just watch him."

Truck drivers in the diner at the rest stop were livid, conversations split between bringing their own armies of armed citizens to fight the gangs and anger that the government wasn't doing more. Joe called his work, expecting to be berated, but they were more then accommodating, instructing him to take a cab to the Greyhound station where he could get a bus to Springfield, where a fellow driver would pick him up. Joe did as instructed, but the driver in Springfield never showed.

His employer put him up in a Holiday Inn. Joe spent two days mulling about the town, which was quiet and calm by Missouri standards. He went to a Woolworths, ate at a Whataburger, then went to the local theater to watch The Poseidon Adventure, which had just been released despite everyone having seen it. And it was in that theater, through that weird set of circumstances, that he meet the perfect woman. They were the only two people in there. She'd leaned over the back of her seat to study him before the movie started.

"You're alone?" she said, more in statement then question. "Me too."

Joe watched her as she stood and moved up a few rows to sit in the seat right in front of him. He would have protested but he found her cute, with a rounded face, large brown eyes and a mop of curly dark hair. She turned, leaning her chin on her arm on the back of her seat. "I'm Jenny," she said, extending a hand.

"Oh no," Joe said, rolling his eyes. "Not another Jenny."

"You already know a Jenny? That's alright. There's lots of Jennys. There's a Jenny in Love Story, in Forrest Gump," she continued. "And there's Jenny Craig, Jenny McCarthy..."

"Yeah, way too many Jennys," Joe said bitterly.

"Well, I'd change it," the woman said. "But only if I could be a Phoebe. Or a Piper. In the meantime, I can be plain Jen. You must be a Libra."

Joe squinted at her, feeling slightly impressed. "I am."

"Yeah, I can tell by your aura," she lifted her other hand to wave at the air around him. "Libras are always so sad. I could smudge you if you'd like."

"What?" Joe asked.

"Smudge you. You know, light a bundle of sacred herbs, it chases your demons away. Cleanses your soul. Makes a world of difference for Libras." Her voice was gentle, soft and sweet, with a slightly raspy undertone. It was a voice that made Joe feel relaxed around her.

He took in a deep breath and let it out, feeling deeply conflicted. On one hand, he didn't believe in crazy stuff, and this woman was a stranger, but on the other hand, he did feel cursed, and it might not hurt to try it. He remembered Rosy once telling him about the placebo effect and how people's belief in things made them work. "What would I have to do?" he asked carefully.

Plain Jen's face brightened. "Come to my place after the movie. I'll show you. I live right down the street. Carol Lynley is my girl crush," she said, looking back at the movie screen. "Isn't it weird Fallon Carrington is in this." She turned back to him once again. "Please tell me you watched Dynasty."

Joe shook his head.

"Good," she said. "It was a trick question. It was the stupidest show ever. If they redo it in the future, don't watch it."

 

[Kritter]

Computers the size of large refrigerators lined the walls in the Academic Hall's secret underground lab. It wasn't really secret, but Rosy liked to think it was, since it required them to navigate a labyrinth of locked doors, stairwells and hallways to find it. Upon entering, there was a metallic odor, like someone had put oregano on top of burning electrical wires, but he could see nothing that would outwardly cause it. No bench technicians soldering circuit boards or smoking mechanical apparatus. It was just the project, already overloading the system by demanding enormous amounts of power.

He followed a party of eight people, including the middle-aged Peter Higgs and two scientists from CERN, both of whom looked twelve years old, as they passed through that lab and into another hallway, which gently sloped downhill. Rosy realized, at some point, that the distance they'd walked in this underground area far exceeded the building above them. It had to have been connected underground after the hall was built, as he'd watched its construction from almost day one, making him wonder if 'secret' wasn't actually the right word. Another smell reached his nostrils as they entered the next room. Exceedingly fresh air. "That's ozone," Higgs announced. "From the plasma."

Higgs had mused at length about how much they now relied on their own brains for technological and scientific advancements, and how he had transcriptionists taking notes madly as he'd said aloud every single thing he could remember about all of his research and discoveries, his colleagues filling in where they could. Between them all, they'd still found gaps - little equations, charts, programs and notes - that no one in particular remembered. But Higgs still believed they could use a smaller collider if they used a plasma-wakefield, a newer technique that the men with him now remembered and recounted quite well.

Rosy still found himself mesmerized whenever these men spoke. He'd befriended Higgs after a casual conversation on what could fix this problem, after they finally got to meet inside the academic hall. He'd been listening in on a CERN scientist's retelling of what happened on the day of the Reversal. The man, Mike Lamont, said right after they started up the beams in the collider that day, he immediately got a strange feeling. "I felt a tingling up my spine that spread into my arms and head, and I got goosebumps," he said, rubbing his hand along his forearm. "I could feel my hairs stand on end, and it felt as if I got lighter, like gravity was affected. I ran to the screen to see the results, and the second I comprehended there had been a new particle in there, I was encompassed by a bright globe of white light. For a second, it reminded me of a birthday party I'd had, where my mother had put a bunch of sparklers on the cake, and then suddenly I was standing there, at that party, and the reversal had taken place."

"So it was you," Rosy had said. "The new particle created a singlet, and it attached to your consciousness because you were the first conscious mind to observe it, and somehow, all consciousness must be connected, so when it took you to that moment in time in your thoughts, we all came with it."

"Then the solution is simple," Higgs said. "We create the particle again, and have an observer ready to remember some point fifty years the future."

"Simple," the man from CERN laughed. "Except for the part where we still need technology that just doesn't exist yet."

Higgs waved them all closer and lowered his voice. "They'll have it ready. They had more technology there at that base then any of us expected." He gestured towards Area 51. "I suspect, given the amount of manpower they've thrown at this job, we could be only months away."

A military science officer who'd been standing in their outskirts now stepped up, cautioning them with a serious face. "As I'm sure you all know, we must insist that none of this information leave this room. If people know their time here is pointless, or if they believe they're about to lose some happy new life, they'll try to stop or sabotage us. We simply can't risk it. The army will make a special guarded area for the group of you to stay in now until this project is complete."

"We're being quarantined?" Rosy asked.

"You're being protected," the officer responded.

"Of course," Higgs capitulated. "We all understand. The outside world must never suspect we're close to ending this timeline."

Rosy lowered his head, lost in a sense of melancholy. He'd never get to speak to Star again in this altered reality, and he missed her. New Years had just passed, and with it, his knowledge that she'd celebrate her upcoming birthday without him. He liked Mike Lamont's memory of a birthday cake with sparklers. If he could ever get back to the future, he'd put a million sparklers on Star's birthday cake, just to see their grandkid's eyes grow large and round, the sparkling light reflected on their pupils. And he'd give Star the gift she'd always wanted, his official retirement, so they could spend their twilight years traveling the world together. It had been drilled in his head to be a good provider for his family, but he'd accomplished that, and it was time to let that go and live what life they had left. He hoped that somehow he'd remember at least that much after they reversed the reversal.

But for now, he was in an underground lab, unsure of what was even happening as he stood in front of long glowing tube of plasma, ready to help with its testing.

 

[Kritter]

Sitting in front of a television camera was new to Daniel Lombardi. He'd only been on camera once, during an interview for a YouTube channel about cruise ship workers, but this was an NBC studio that broadcast to the country, an entirely different affair. He found it interesting, the way these 1973 stations were trying to emulate 2022 productions and even more interesting the line they were trying to walk between the interests of their 'undead' audience and the 20's more liberal adults. In 2022, he'd have checked all the right boxes - Troubled Gay, Disabled, Homeless kid - makes good on Broadway. But now, with all of the 70's adults alive and well, the news tried to balance his success with reports he and his show were being attacked by Jerry Falwell and his 'Moral Majority.' And Daniel did not want, nor feel capable, of being the voice of 2022's 'wokeness.'

The interviewer entered and sat to his side. She was a blonde-haired woman wearing a yellow dress under a black suit jacket. Daniel decided she looked like a bee just as the light on the camera in front of him went on.

"Your show is fabulous, I caught it last week and we loved it," the woman said. "How do you answer critics who feel gay characters shouldn't be featured in a Christmas musical?"

Daniel shrugged. "This wouldn't even be an issue in 2022. I don't know why we have to make it one now, but, as Sister Mary says, 'We're all God's children, and spreading love is the most important commandment and...."

"Sister Mary is very important to you, I know," the interviewer interrupted. "Did you know the church is trying to ex-communicate her now?"

"What?" Daniel said, confused by the news. "Why would they...." his voice trailed off, a lump growing in his throat. He knew she'd been standing up for him since their show first premiered at the Pasadena high school he called home. The audience had loved the show, the newspapers reviews were raving, but the local religious organizations balked at its 'racy' content. The 'racy' part being a scene where a pair of married male elves held hands and danced around a tree while they decorated it, which had seemed incredibly mild to him. The funny thing was, the controversy was what drove the show's popularity because 'No publicity is bad publicity!' The demand for tickets grew so much, they moved the show to the Los Angeles Performing Arts Center, then to the Pantages Theater, and finally on to Broadway where it sold out its eight week run. Even Elton John attended a performance, and came back stage afterwards to personally shake his hand. Sister Mary's willingness to support the show had raised millions for the church run shelters all over the country, not that they cared about that.

"I think that's ridiculous," Daniel finally responded, unable to hide his sadness. "But if it stops people from condemning her, it's just as well. She deserves only praise for everything she's done. She's a saint," he said with conviction.

The interviewer smiled in a gentle understanding manner, afraid to take the discussion further in any direction. "So what's in the future for you?" she asked.

"I'm working on a new show," he answered, already able to picture it in its entirety, start to finish. He had no idea he'd be so talented at creating musical theater, and he'd have never known if Sister Mary hadn't given him a kick in that direction. What was crazier was she wanted them to take this next show to Vegas, as she believed she'd be the most useful there, and he believed it too.

"Daniel," his manager called him over after his interview ended. "There's a child at the studio here who says he knows you. Well, not a child, he's probably in his 50s, but he said to tell you he's the Indian Jew?"

Daniel broke into a smile, glad to have a diversion from the serious nature of the TV news. "That's Seth. He's an old friend. Where's he at? I wanna go see him."

His manager pointed towards his dressing room.

Daniel opened the door, expecting the tall staid accountant he liked to taunt whenever he collected his monthly paycheck, his understanding of 'child' faltering a moment as he encountered the three-year-old boy. "Oh wow, you're really little," he laughed.

"Yeah, unfortunately. I'm also really Indian. It turns out you were right!" Seth said, reaching out to shake Daniel's hand as he always did at work. "Well, half-Indian."

"Aha! So your mother did have an affair."

Seth put up his hand. "No. But it's a story better left untold. So how are you? This is amazing! I made my parents take me to your show. I had no idea you sang and danced so well!"

"You should go on your own company's cruises sometime," Daniel chided him. "You know, have fun, enjoy yourself," he punctuated the words, suggesting the man never sought entertainment.

"That's true of the old me," Seth said. "I lived my life too carefully, too neatly. But not anymore. In fact, I heard you're going to Vegas, and I want to propose you take me with you. I've never been there. I want to go. I want to gamble and drink and dance with a showgirl! I could be your accountant, does the show need an accountant?"

Daniel opened his mouth to protest, then shut it, contemplating Seth's request in earnest. He was about to say he couldn't be a baby-sitter, when he recalled Lola's similar condescension towards him for appearing to her as a child. He wasn't talking to a three-year-old, despite all appearances, and Seth, an astute, well-educated man, had been one of the few who could go toe-to-toe with him on all things trivial knowledge. The man was on the same level as him. He knew he could count on him to know what he was talking about. And in truth, he hated dealing with numbers, and Seth seemed to actually like it.

"Are your parents okay with that?" he asked cautiously, not sure if the question was appropriate or not.

"Yes, not that it matters," Seth said, growing excited that Daniel seemed game. "And look, you won't have to do anything for me. I'm completely capable of taking care of myself, even though I can't drive, I can call a cab to get around, I'm not helpless. I'm totally self-sufficient. And I won't actually drink....or dance with a show girl. I just need to get out and see the world."

Daniel's lips tightened to a thin straight line and he shrugged. "Then I don't see why not."

 

[Kritter]

Daniel was different. Seth could see it from the moment he'd started talking with him at the television studio. He'd dropped his over-exaggerated hand movements, his eccentric mid-atlantic accent, even his air of superiority had been knocked back a bit. He was, in Seth's eyes, sort of casual and relaxed, an authentic state he'd never seen him in before. It was nice, if strange. He wondered if he too had changed very much to other people's eyes, although he couldn't imagine he had. He'd never put on airs or tried to be someone he wasn't. If anything, maybe now he was, in trying to be more outgoing and adventurous, a state he desired but that wasn't in his nature.

He hesitated as he packed his bags, hearing the sound of his family laughing while playing a board game together. Pursuing dreams meant leaving other things behind. Things he found important, like comfort and family. It was a big step to just jet off across the country, and yet, he knew, if he wanted to be adventurous, the 'adventure' part took a bit of throwing caution to the wind. He took a deep breath and clasped his suitcase closed, then leaned his hands against it, remembering how he loved the feel and smell of the hard burgundy vinyl. It was a smell he associated with the vacations of his youth. He'd even found an old Disneyland map inside of one of the pieces of luggage.

"So you're really going?" His grandmother appeared at the door to his room, a frown on her troubled face.

"I need to, grandma. I want to travel a little bit."

"It's not enough you've been to Israel how many times?" she inquired.

"No, it's not enough, and those were vacations. I want to travel without an itinerary. Just explore and take life as it comes and see what each day brings."

She took a step into the room and picked up an old stuffed bear from his dresser. "That doesn't sound like you," she said, not looking up as she fixed the ribbon on its neck.

Seth gave a lopsided shrug, unable to put his desires into words any better then he had. He wanted to be more then what he was. He wanted to be cool and look cool and do cool things. He realized, from his own inner thoughts, that he'd always felt that way. His parents raised him to be who they wanted him to be, the nerdy spelling bee champ, the debate team captain, the kid who tried out for collage Jeopardy!, while he spent his youth fantasizing about being Mad Max or Indiana Jones. He felt a sudden pity for three-year-old self, that he couldn't really change his outside to be what his inside wanted. Not yet. Not for another fifteen years or so, when he could grow facial hair and work out in a gym. But that seemed so far away.

He sat down on top of his suitcase and covered his head with his hands. "Maybe this is stupid," he said in a frustrated admission. "But I just feel like I'm never me."

His grandmother moved to his bed, leaned one elbow upon it, and lowered herself slowly to the floor, something Seth had never seen her do before. He almost panicked that she might not be able to get back up, as fragile and unsteady as she was. She reached out to brush the hair from his forehead.

"I wanted to be Katherine Hepburn," she said with a gentle smile. "When I was a young adult, I envied her so. She was bold and adventurous. She wore pants. She smoked cigarettes. She was so exciting and full of life. And I was a wife and a mother and I never left the house, except for synagogue or vacations. I used to dream of being like her, of being headstrong and having adventures. But I didn't have the means or ability to escape my circumstances. You...you could have done those things any time you wanted to. I'm just wondering why now?"

"Because the Reversal was like a wake up call," he admitted. "I always wanted to do things but there was family and work and I had obligations and time just got away from me. But with a fresh start, I can change it right from the beginning."

"And your wife?" his grandmother questioned.

He lowered his head. "She feels that way too. In fact the more I spoke to her and our friends, it seems like everyone feels that way."

His grandmother smiled. "So now we'll have a world full of adventurers. Broke, maybe, but happy?"

"Well I won't be broke. I still have a job. Hey, Grandma, you know how to drive right? You should come with me," he said suddenly. "It would be a lot easier if I had an adult with me. I could pay you, and you could have your adventures while you help me get around."

"Oh I can't just leave like that," she started to wave away the thought. "I mean it would be fun but...who would help your mother?"

"Grandma, she's rich. She can hire someone. Look at me," Seth said, taking her hands in his, waiting till she looked dead into his eyes. "You only have a few years left on this earth. What would Kate Hepburn do?"

 

[Kritter]

Joe Kelly sat on the porch of a small log cabin, a steaming hot mug of coffee in his hands. The air was sweet with the smell of cooking bacon along with the earthy undertones of nature starting to thaw after a light snowfall. To his east, the sun was rising, but he could only tell because the thick fog was growing lighter. He could hear crows and geese converse from the trees somewhere in the valley below him. He closed his eyes to meditate, to let his mind clear and his inner spirit grow and spread out to mingle with the ether around him, just as Plain Jen had taught him. At first, he had found the notion silly, but once he really allowed himself to reach that state of relaxation, he started to feel he really was connecting with some vast source of cosmic energy. Jen said this was his 'third eye' opening, but he related it more to the force from Star Wars or being in The Matrix.

Jen handed him a plate of food and sat down beside him. Her breakfasts were always balanced. Meat, and then eggs with onion, spinach and peppers and oatmeal or an oat bran muffin. The cabin was one of a few dozen cabins owned by her father in the Ozarks, and when the man offered him a job helping to maintain his resort, Joe didn't have to think twice. It was a dream job, in a dream location, although it surprised him to think of Missouri that way. To New Jersey natives, the Ozarks were as backwoods as could be, filled with meth heads and illiterate inbred people who drove pick up trucks with gunracks. And perhaps in 2022 that was true, but here in 1973 they were warm, kind and welcoming people who believed in trusting your neighbors. About the only thing that was true was they lived at a much slower pace.

Joe tried to imagine what his life might have been like had he been born in that area to start with, working in nature, far from the cities and suburbs with all their hustle, noise and pollution. He was an hours drive easy from the nearest stores, diners and bars, so he couldn't feed his addictions even if he wanted to. Here there was only peace and quiet, and a barely audible radio station playing Top 40 out of Branson. He felt it had to be fate that he was here, that he found Jen in a movie theater. He smiled, remembering how she'd taken him home that night and how she'd been at his side ever since. The fate part was even more interesting, knowing she had only come up to Springfield for the weekend to move out of her apartment, as things had never worked out of her in there in her old life, and she wanted to cut her losses and move back with her parents. It didn't take much for her to talk him into quitting his job and coming with her.

Plain Jen was the complete opposite of tall, blonde Jenny. She was a few years older then Joe, short and chubby and demure, if that seemed possible, since they'd ended up in bed together the first night they'd met. She was both free-spirited and grounded, artistic and handy. She refused to be caged into a woman's role, and yet she did so because she wanted to. She liked taking care of him, cooking for him, enlightening him, watching him grow. And he fixed gates, roofs, plumbing and electrical, and cut down trees and chopped wood, and felt manly and useful and happy beyond words.

But whenever he talked about their future together, he'd see sadness behind her smile.

"Joe," she started, turning to him that morning, tears building in her eyes. "There's something I need to tell you."

"Baby what is it?" he asked with concern, reaching a hand out to wipe the tear from her cheek.

"I didn't really know how to bring this up, but it's been weighing on me so...here it goes." She took a deep breath. "I died in 1982. I had breast cancer and it spread really fast."

"Well, get them cut off," Joe gave his desperate and immediate response. "We'll go find a doctor, they can do that now preventably, right? Just get them cut off and we'll be fine."

Jen smiled, tears now pouring down her face. "Yes," she said, "I'm already on a waiting list. I just didn't want to not tell you, incase you felt funny or conflicted about it."

Joe started crying himself, smiling and laughing with a crazy mix of strong emotions. "Don't you ever think like that. I will love you even if they cut off all your parts and you're left just a brain in a jar."

Jen's face brightened, delighted at his nonsensical attempt to explain his devotion. "My surgery is still another year off, they're booked solid as you can imagine. I'm not the only woman trying to save my life."

Joe took a sip of his coffee and started on his breakfast, trying to imagine how stressed she must be, knowing what her future held. He felt confident he could help her through it, but as the radio beside them played its last song, the news came on. There were riots and unrest, food and labor shortages, crime and theft, backlogs at the court houses, prisons growing crowded but corrections officers in short supply so they were letting convicts out early, how could he protect her from that? He wished he could have this past but with the original future. A happy start and a happy finish. Although out here in the backwoods, so far from civilization, perhaps it was still possible. There were plenty of homesteaders in the area, it wasn't out of the question that they could start a farm and get some cows, chickens and pigs.

That afternoon, Jen lit some candles in colored glass holders while Joe cooked them steak and potatoes, and they curled up by the fireplace to listen to the Super Bowl via radio, blown away by O.J. Simpson's new rushing record, after Buffalo, worried about dealing with his reputation, had traded him to Miami. Jen snuggled in closer to him, pulling the blanket up to their shoulders. He felt pleasantly drowsy in the cabin's warmth while a winter storm howled outside, his thoughts drifting to his parents back home. He'd spoken with his mother just a few days prior when he drove to the nearest gas station, she sounded worried about the crime waves and wondered if they should try to sell their home and move out to where he was. He'd reassured her then that martial law was coming and to just sit tight, and now he boggled at the thought that he'd found martial law reassuring, as supporting the military and government had never been his nature in the past. And he wasn't even sure that he trusted them now, but it was that or live with anarchy, which he was discovering was much much worse.

 

[Kritter]

Consciousness was all connected. Rosy was trying to remember where he first heard 'The Law of One,' then recalled it was some nutter who claimed to channel 'Ra,' which was an alien or planet or something. And yet, they hadn't been wrong, at least on that part. He liked to think himself open-minded, but he had his limits and biases as to what was truth and what was crazy, and while 'us all being part of one entity' seemed plausible, somehow, channeling did not.

He contemplated a lot of things while holed up in the underground of the academic building. He thought of his children, and his friends and his coworkers on the docks. In particular, he thought of Seth, the Liberty Cruise Line's accountant, because he was the only one of them all who ever asked him about his life and took a real interest in all he'd done. Joe Kelly, on the other hand, always seemed uninterested and bland, just a perpetually hung-over Irishman lost in his own depression. And Daniel was Daniel, the caustic showman, all flamboyance and scathing wit. He tried to imagine Daniel being a gay teen in the 70s and frowned on his behalf.

Most of all, though, he thought of Star. Since discovering we're all connected, he found himself reaching out with his mind, trying to communicate with her, to send her his love. He tried to reach out mentally to the Maharishi too, since the man was so close by. When Higgs and the CERN scientists started discussing the choice of particle 'observer' seriously, he'd suggested the Maharishi Bagdi, as he knew that man to be most capable of navigating dimensions and time, and was pleased when the scientists agreed to meet him. It was an important decision they had to make, because the observer had to have a clear picture of the future in their mind, and not just any future, but one that happens just minutes after the original singlet departed their old timeline. Rosy found himself trying to imagine what that future would have been. He'd been running into Seth's office and he knew that foyer by heart. The Liberty Cruise Line's distinct blue carpet, the beige of their walls, the large fishtank in the corner, Seth's always clean and organized desk. And he could imagine Seth locking widened eyes with him and saying "What was that??" as he believed Rosy would know.

"Hey brother," one of the guards who came to deliver their evening meal interrupted his thoughts. The man waved him closer and lowered his voice. "They getting close to running this thing?"

"Soon," Rosy had said, immediately regretting his response as the guard narrowed his eyes.

"Are they gonna give us any warning first?" the guard asked, taking him by the arm and walking him further away from the others.

"Probably not," Rosy answered honestly.

The guard's lower lip trembled and curled into a pout, his voice wavering slightly. "Don't you think people deserve to know? So they can say goodbye to their dead relatives and their loved ones, people they might not get to see again?"

"They won't remember any of this, so it doesn't really matter," Rosy gave his cold but truthful response.

"But how do you know?" the man questioned, his voice raising slightly, his grip on Rosy's arm tightening.

"No one really knows," Rosy said calmly. "But the last thing we want to do is have our loved ones spend their last days here in fear and panic. This is actually the kindest way. Right?"

The guard stared at him a moment in contemplation before easing his hold. "I guess so," he said, his eyes scanning nervously across all the lab apparatus. "But can you tell me beforehand?"

"Sure," Rosy lied with a reassuring smile. "I'll let you know."

He thought of reporting the guard that night, but decided to let it go, because he understood the military staff's unease. People still thought the collider was years away, but Area 51 had more power run to it then anyone would ever know, and the plasma wakefield acceleration had worked as hoped. After they ran their final test in the morning, the shortened collider would be a 'Go.' And then, within a few days, the Maharishi Bagdi would steer them all through the void and back to the future.

 

[Kritter]

Vegas sparkled, setting a perfect stage for its visitors' untamed revelry. Exhilarated by its atmosphere, Daniel stepped out of his cab with goosebumps forming on his arms. Seth, barely taller then his luggage, strutted past him and into the casino like a boss, his grandmother's credit card in his hand, his smiling grandmother trailing behind him, her face aglow in the neon lights that circled the building's entrance. The world around them was falling apart, but here, in this crazy town, there was a tsunami of people who just didn't care. They believed this all would end soon, and they were throwing money in the air like there was no tomorrow. Daniel watched Seth disappear into the casino while he waited at the check-in desk, upset that Sister Mary wouldn't be arriving for another hour.

He found it ironic that in his gay lifetime, the only woman he had ever loved turned out to be an old catholic nun, but he really did love her in the nonromantic sense of the word. When he threw away his crutches, she was his crutch, keeping him on his feet and moving forward. He'd been working on his new musical night and day, and the Golden Nugget had already committed to running his rehearsals in one of their closed ballrooms. Their suites were also complimentary, because fast new entertainment was king, and Daniel had the 'fast' and 'new' part down in musical theater.

Flying from New York to Nevada had been an eye-opening experience to him. They had left early that morning, with Sister Mary taking a later flight so Seth's grandmother could have her seat. The take-off had been breath-taking, the sun shining like hot lava through the dark bands of clouds with the smooth glassy blue of the ocean in the distance. New York had been relatively tranquil compared to some cities, perhaps because New Yorkers in general were hardier people, not as easily given to panic. But Daniel could clearly see fires raging in other metropolitan areas, traffic back-ups and barricaded roadways, and police and fire vehicles in large clusters of flashing red. It filled him with uncertainty, what the world held in its future, a reset back to normalcy or a few decades of trying to remember and fix what normalcy was. He was surprised to find himself fine with either option, but then, he was in the fortunate position of being well taken care of this time around.

He took the time to ponder Seth's grandmother on the last leg of their trip. The woman had been an unexpected addition, but her excitement and vigor had been infectious. The fact that she instantly accepted him for who he was also helped in his acquiescence, but he was more then a little annoyed with Seth for not asking him or even discussing her coming before their arrival. Seth, to him, seemed different, and not in a good way. It was like he was playing a role in a movie, trying to act like some Hollywood bigwig, being over-animated and talking loudly and looking down his nose at strangers. It struck Daniel that Seth was somewhat emulating him, or the old him, before the reversal, but he wasn't doing nearly as good a job at it as Daniel used to do.

Daniel jolted from his memory of the trip as the lights in the hotel casino suddenly went out. In fact, with a quick moment of observation, he determined the whole of Las Vegas had been plunged into darkness. The reaction from the casino floor was immediate and ridiculous, as the collective hum of people commenting rose to a fever pitch and some women started screaming in the stupid way they did. The darkness seemed even deeper then blackouts he'd experienced before, since Vegas was so bright to start with. While chaos ensued around him, he wandered out the front door and into the street, wondering if he could see the stars in the sky. Instead, he saw a ghostly yellowish glow growing on the horizon. For a second, he felt panic, wondering if this was the reversal reversing, but the glow quickly faded and disappeared, leaving, for a moment, the stars he had hoped to see. Daniel put a shaking hand over his heart, trying to tell himself it was just a transformer, but he had a bad feeling about it. "It failed," he thought, frowning. "They just tried somehow and it failed."

From somewhere in the distance he heard the sound of an explosion, and he felt a tiny vibration in its wake. Daniel felt suddenly small in the world, the sky so large and full and the planet so round and small in the universe. He staggered backwards, out of the street, and grabbed on to the taxi stand sign to steady himself. Then he felt the sensation of a hand on his shoulder, and a calm female voice in his ear whispered 'Hang on.'

"Sister," he questioned, looking behind himself, expecting to see her tranquil face, but instead he saw an ocean of people pouring out the hotel doors.

"Someone saw a glow in the sky," one man was saying.

"It's the reversal, they're trying to do it!" another gasped before uttering unintelligible squeals of panic.

"The lady on the radio said a plane crash caused it," one cabbie shouted to another.

"No, it crashed because of the outage," the other shouted back.

Daniel captured bits and pieces of words and yet, combined with what he'd seen and heard himself, they read in his mind like a sentence. Either they tried a reversal and it didn't work, or a huge transformer blew. It knocked out power to the city and then, the plane, that he now believed Sister Mary was on, crashed in a loud explosion. Daniel took a few steps towards the street again, staring at the sky, and then, like half the other crazed people around him, he fell to his knees and wailed.

 

[Kritter]

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
(Sorry for the delay, but I'm back and we're fast approaching the finale! Hope you all had a storybook Christmas and a Happy New Year!)
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


Seth had never felt so good in his life as he did the day he walked in to the Golden Nugget, ready to cut loose with his usually tightly-budgeted money. His grandmother looked over the floor before selecting a seat at a quarter slot machine. Seth meant to join her, but his eyes were drawn away by the Blackjack tables, where men in tailored suits were being served drinks by high-heeled women wearing gold sequined bras and hot pants. The scene was pure James Bond to him, and drew him over like a magnet. The 70s was still rife in the exploitation of women, and these women didn't seem to mind. And of course not. They were 70+ years old in their old lives. Being young, thin and beautiful again was undoubtedly exciting. Seth's eye was drawn to an Indian cocktail waitress, feeling the strong urge to flirt, and then his small hands drew into little fists, annoyed that he was nothing but an infant in this world.

Sitting, he smoothed his fingers over the golden felt of the table, and piled his chips up in front of him. The cards were hot, and he felt amazing acting the part of a shark who knew what he was doing. He was sure he'd watched enough Card Stars on TV, but in truth he'd only played blackjack a handful of times on a free game site on the internet. But he loved the feeling of the chips and the sound they made being stacked and restacked. He had only played ten hands before the casino was plunged into darkness.

Seth grew instantly annoyed. Now he had to leave the table to go look for his grandmother amongst a stampede of panicked people. He imagined her trembling against a wall, clutching her purse to her chest while she watched people run by in terror, but as he approached the slot machines, she was still sitting there, smiling. "This really is an amazing adventure!" she said, blotting her face with a handkerchief before adjusting her hair with her hands. "I've never seen such mishegoss!"

"I guess we wait," Seth said, checking his annoyance to take the stool beside her, staring silently at the moving blur of human shadows in the darkness. The scene was so alien to him it seemed almost surreal. Like a horror version of the child's game of telephone, information started trickling back to them. There was something in the sky, the reversal had failed, they were stuck here forever, and all the people who just gambled away their lives in the belief they'd return to the future were about to start jumping out of windows.

"A light in the sky could be anything," Seth said reassuringly to his grandmother. "And even if they did try and fail, that doesn't mean they can't try again." He realized he was actually reassuring himself, as the idea of being stuck in 1973 gave him a painful jolt of sadness. He didn't really want this to be his life forever. He only wanted to have an adventure before his return to reality. It would be awful if they all really had to move forward from this point. Twenty minutes later, when the dim lights of a backup system came on, and employees ushered them towards the lobby, assuring them the problem was being looked at. Seth still had trouble seeing, between the low light and his height, which put him thigh level to most of the people around him.

"Seth!" Daniel's voice boomed in his direction. "Seth!" He sounded distraught, and when he locked eyes with Seth he literally ran in his friends direction, lifting the three-year-old off the floor and practically falling against a wall as he sobbed on his shoulder. "Sister Mary is dead. Her plane crashed. I heard her, she spoke to me, she said 'hang on.'"

"God," Seth gasped, acutely aware it was his grandmother's presence that cause the nun to take the later flight. "I'm so sorry."

"Seth, I need your help," he continued. "I ran into a man outside, a soldier from the base, who was shouting that they were only just testing the collider. That they plan on running it sometime later this week. He was looking for people to help him stop it. We have to make sure they don't!"

"So the light was only a test," Seth said, glancing at his grandmother, before looking back at Daniel with concern. "That's fine, I don't disagree with you, but you know a new reversal won't bring Sister Mary back."

"No, it has to," Daniel cried, not thinking straight. "She still had two years left. This man, the soldier, says they're at area 51. He's trying to get an army up. We have to go there. Now!"

Seth turned to his grandmother, who lifted her hands out with a lopsided shrug and puckered lips as if to say 'why not.

"I'll go rent us a car," Seth said, feeling the thrill of adventure race in his heart again.

 

[feralferret]

Kritter,
Glad to see yo made it through the holidays.

Thanks for the new chapter.

 

[Kritter]

Joe Kelly was driving a big rig across the desert at full speed, dust parting around him like the red sea. His rig hauled ass like some hungry animal, the engine growling as his foot pressed the pedal to the floor. He felt the predator, armed and determined, driving as part of a great moving wall along with the thousands of other rigs there beside him, to stop these foolish scientists and their collider once and for all. It was that or let them destroy both worlds, a theory that now circulated heavily among his fellow truckers. They would stop them or die trying, because if the scientists succeeded then it was true, none of this really mattered. He glanced over at Plain Jen, clad in a leather jacket, her hands on either end of an AR-15 which laid across her lap. She smirked back, her usually bright eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses. Somewhere out there, her father was armed and driving a truck as well, as Missouri's farm and mountain people had turned out in droves when the call to assist went out.

The message had been spread by CB Radio and Shortwave, by advocates on the AM radio stations and by fliers and word of mouth at truck stops, and the government didn't even try to shut them down. While listening to Jen's father talk to the blue collar workers in the Ozarks, Joe had, at first, felt conflicted, as these people didn't just want to stop the collider, they wanted to continue to take the law into their own hands and end the violence in the cities by force. They were being called to war, and they were all for it and with a ferocity Joe hadn't expected. But when contemplating it later, he realized, they really believed it was all or nothing. If they saved this timeline, they would claim this timeline, and not let it become the one that was ruined by government corruption and corporate greed. Jen's father presented some men to them who swore they had allies in the military. They said plenty of information was being leaked, enough for them to know exactly how to shut down the power to the collider and what its underground coordinates were.

News of the Las Vegas outage pressed their all-out-attack into action, and trucks, jeeps, tanks, transports and weaponry were commandeered from the many smaller bases the government had closed when they ran out of people to staff them. Joe even saw bazookas being shouldered on to some of the jeeps. They had driven all night and all day to arrive, passing Las Vegas and traveling up 95, following a group of renegade soldiers that were supposed to lead them right to the collider's makeshift base on the Yucca Flats.

Joe felt no fear for the coming assault, as the thought of going back to his old life was a much worse death sentence. He'd never known peace and happiness like he had living in the Ozarks with Jen, and he never would have even known he could be that happy had he not had a new chance at life. If he returned, if he forgot, he be dooming himself to a shadow world washed out in the drab amber color of beer. So when the rockets and guns around him started exchanging bodies for souls, he forged on, smashing through fences and checkpoint gates, swerving around blast holes and the burning hulls of trucks that had been hit. He heard helicopters above him, saw bullets pierce his engine and cracks form in his windshield. Jen covered her head and lowered it to avoid the shattering glass, but she didn't scream or cry out. Instead, she sat back up, used her boots to kick out the remaining glass, then pulled herself up to sit on the dash with her body outside where the windshield once was, her gun in her hand pointed up at the sky, shooting wildly into the air.

There was an electricity in the air that Joe couldn't describe. Not the collider, not a real current, but a force, as if war had came alive and was feeding off the chaos. It slowed time, made him hyperaware of himself and everything around him. He could see not only the military, but a line of civilian opposers, people who wanted the reversal undone, people who actually cheered for the collider, even though it would return them to their old sorry futures. Fools, he decided, before rethinking that thought. Of course they'd want their families back. They were all just fighting for their futures.

Jen suddenly shouted, claiming she hit a helicopter. Joe watched in the rearview as it exploded behind them. The army blockaded the narrowest of the desert pass with trucks and tanks of their own, and from there, they battled unmoving.

"Hey," one of the renegade soldiers shouted to him. "Grab some of the other trucks and follow."

With sand and smoke rising in a curtain around them, they moved, one group in one direction, one group in the other, to attempt to flank the pass and breach the inner base by moving around the mountains. Halfway around, the soldier motioned to him, pointing to a dirt path that disappeared somewhere in the rocky cliffs above. Joe nodded, abandoning his truck. He started on foot with Jen at his heals, clawing his way up one steep hill after another, fighting tangles of cactus, brush and sharp rocks, sweat pouring down his forehead and stinging his eyes until he could barely see. Finally they caught sight of the inner base.

"What can we even do alone?" Jen asked through deep gasping breathes as she swung her gun off her back and back into her hands.

"I don't know," Joe said honestly. "But if there's a way to stop it, I'll find it. I'm not losing you." His voice faded as he turned to her. "I'm not."

She leaned up on her toes and kissed him passionately, then turned her eyes on the buildings below.

 

[feralferret]

Wow!

 

[Catshooter]

I believe the technical term for this is "the shit has hit the fan".

 

[Kritter]

Rosy stood in a corner, hidden away from the General whose verbal onslaught assaulted his fellow lab occupants. The senior office tried to restrain himself, his shouts and barks coming in measured crescendos, his hands flailing, spittle flying from his lips, his face crimson, veins popping. He was, to put it mildly, furious with the outage, and their lack of warning that it might occur.

"I have now got a city full of panicking people wanting to know what's going on here and I don't know how much longer we can hold them off. We are not looking for armed conflicts here, do you understand. You gentlemen have days at best to get this thing off the ground or there's not going to be a Yucca Flats base anymore. Half my own soldiers aren't happy with this thing. This situation is volatile, and it's only going to get worse. So unless you want a country full of fanatics with pitchforks at your door..."

The young Peter Higgs shrugged, doing little to placate the fuming man. "Nothing about what we're doing here is a certainty. We're using rigged parts and shortcuts and untested theories with poorly thrown together code, and it's possible that in order for this to work, every person in this room must believe, whole-heartedly, that we will recreate the new particle and one person will bind to its singlet and guide it back to the future. So, once we clean up the disaster that this power surge created, we'll proceed. Three days, maybe four. Until then, try getting the media to call these nervous people outside crazy conspiracy theorists and buy us a little more time."

"That's not going to work like you think," the General said, belittling them with his voice. "We have information leaks all over this base. Too many people know exactly what's going on. I'll move what loyal soldiers we have to the power points, and we have some reinforcements coming in from the cities, but just in case...." He waved to a handful of armed soldiers who now piled into their bunker along with crates of ammo and food. "All I can say is good luck."

Rosy silently left the lab and felt his way down a dark hall to the small office that had been his makeshift room for over a month now. He closed the door, removed his shoes and laid down on his cot, knowing there was little he could do to help except to close his eyes and meditate on imagining a perfectly working system. Manifesting, the Maharishi Bagdi called it. Observing. Collapsing. He tried to remember all the pseudoscience rules and laws of quantum physics, but he couldn't. Sometimes he believed he could see the billions of vibrating particles that made up the reality in his field of vision, so at least the concept didn't feel foreign to him. But was it all just strange natural laws, or a product of creation. He desperately wanted to believe that God was somewhere in this mix.

For three days, he stayed alone in his room, meditating and praying, convinced that he was here for a reason, that God put him in this bunker, that he was led to this moment. He chose to fast and drink only water. He wanted his body and mind to be pure if God called upon him to help.

------------------

A sizable crowd had gathered in the 'Stop The Collider' camp. Daniel pursed his lips, let out a deep sigh, and turned to Seth with troubled eyes. There was too many people there for them to fight, and he had no real idea where the 'Pro collider' folks might be, if they even existed. He exited the passenger seat of their rented Ford Thunderbird and walked around to the driver's side.

Seth stood on the back seat and leaned out the window. "Look, I'm small," he whispered. "Give me a knife. I can walk around and slash most of these tires and they won't even notice me."

"Where am I gonna find a knife?" Daniel questioned with annoyance.

"Well, what else can we do?" Seth asked, taking in the unfathomable amount of big rigs, jeeps and motorcycles that had converged at a Memorial Highway rest stop in Amargosa Valley. There were thousands of trucks. The freeway was backed up for miles, and more were still coming they heard. For a minute, the sheer size of protesters made him question his own mind. If people were really happier with this bastardized timeline, perhaps he had no right to try and force them back to the future, but he felt people who wanted it should have their rightful lives back. And if Carl Sagan was right, these people would either live on in their own timeline or return and forget, in which case it wouldn't really matter.

"We'll follow them in," Seth's grandmother said. "Stay at a safe distance and sabotage what we can from behind."

"We can't just take a Thunderbird off-roading," Daniel said.

"Why not?" she asked. "If it's all or nothing and none of this matters?"

Daniel hesitated a moment, then glanced back at Seth, who shrugged.

"Look," Seth's grandmother said excitedly, jumping up from the driver's seat. "They're handing out weapons!"

 

[Kritter]

Rosy was having a dream. He was on the docks, walking around the pallets and crates, above him a great crane lifted a vast metal container onto a ship. As it crossed above his head, it blotted out the sun, and he felt cold within that darkness. There was a sense that he didn't belong there, on that dock, in the dark, but he saw no light in any direction.

There was a knock on his door.

"Mr. Morris," one of the scientists called to him. "We're starting now, if you want to come watch."

Rosy lifted his head, the strange dream still in his thoughts. He didn't belong there, with these scientists, in this crazy lab below the earth. He had injected himself into this world, lead by curiosity and an inflated ego that believed he could be of help. But he'd done nothing to merit his presence. He was almost glad he wouldn't remember this soiree into the past because he would have been embarrassed of his lack of usefulness. Although, part of him felt sad about losing memory of this time. He wished he could send himself a message in the future, reminding himself to retire, to spend more time with his wife and to value time over money. The worst part of being there in the lab, though, was he knew the exact time, and he couldn't help but feel fear, a existential dread that had clung to his back like a heavy coat that whole week.

"Hurry it up gentlemen," the officer in charge was urging. "We've got an army-load of truckers and psychopaths bearing down on this base."

"Is there really that many?" Higgs asked, looking up from a notebook filled with his final estimations.

"Unfortunately yes, and we won't be able to hold them off for long, because we can't start dropping bombs on them without risking damaging the collider."

"I wouldn't want you to drop bombs on them at all," Higgs muttered, before turning to the control board. "Well," he said, giving his back a final stretch. "I guess now will have to do. Let's get started."

Rosy watched while the scientists started warming up the system. Somewhere, in a linear tube, protons traveled through electromagnetic fields, growing faster and faster. Sitting alone by the door, the Maharishi Bagdi was in deep meditation, his quiet chants never wavering. Rosy had listened to the CERN scientist advise him what being in an altered dimension felt like. "I remember feeling disembodied," the man had said. "And I definitely felt like I was moving, although through what I couldn't tell you. I also felt safe, if that makes sense. Like I was okay with everything going on."

"That is when you were freed from being 'self,'" the Maharishi said. "You momentarily merged with the all, the universal consciousness, the infinite and eternal field of awareness."

"Yeah, well, whatever it was, it was nice," the scientist had said.

From somewhere outside the door, the sound of gunfire and shouts erupted. The soldiers inside with them all turned to the door at once, some standing quietly, others lifting their rifles. They glanced at each other nervously.

"How much longer, Professor?" one of the soldiers asked.

"An hour at least," Higgs responded. "But that's just to get it running at full speed. Then we have to hope we create the particle again. We'd been up ten hours the day it was made."

---------------

Daniel had never felt such a rush of emotions in his life. Three days ago he was mourning Sister Mary's death, and now he was riding through the desert, sitting half out the window of a Ford Thunderbird with a gun in his hand, trying to assure she'd live on in her original timeline. Seth leaned out his window too, waving a white t-shirt he'd tied to a stick, trying to make them look less like a target. When the first real gunfire sounded around them, he dove back down behind the seats. "I don't really wanna die," he shouted, covering his head with this arms.

"You'll be fine, darling," his grandmother said. "I'm driving behind big trucks. It will hit them before us."

"I don't think that'll matter," Seth cried out.

The vehicles surged forwards like an unstoppable wave, breaking through fences and checkpoints and blasting past lines and lines of tanks and guards that were there trying to stop their assault. They just had superior numbers. The army was present, but barely, since most of their forces had been dispatched into the cities to try and keep the peace.

"This doesn't look good," Daniel frowned, debating trying to shoot out tires, but he'd never held a gun in his life.

"Here, you drive," Seth's grandmother said, pulling at his leg. "I'll shoot."

"You don't know how to use a gun," Seth cried out.

"The hell I don't," the old woman said. "I'm from Grodno, the old country, we all learned how to shoot in our youth."

The Thunderbird wove between the lines of trucks and slowed to a stop, allowing the elderly woman and the teen-aged boy to change spots. Daniel was tall enough to drive comfortably, and Seth's grandma flipped the rifle into her hands, looked it over a minute, got into the passenger seat and then nodded for him to go.

Seth now peered over the back of the bench seat. "There's some trucks heading away from the others. They're heading towards that power station," he noted, pointing.

"Then that's where we go," his grandmother said, lifting her fragile body onto the door frame and shouldering the rifle.

 

[teedee]

You have a VERY inventive mind. Thank you!

 

[Kritter]

Joe slowed his steps as he edged down the last hill, moving towards the heavily guarded base, acutely aware that if he died now and the protestors succeeded, he would actually be dead. He lowered himself to his haunches behind a fan of green brush and waved for Jen to join him.

"Why are we waiting?" she whispered, taking a knee at his side. "Joe, if that thing runs I'm dead."

"I know, just..." he put his hand up, acting on caution. He waited, praying to see other truckers and rebels roll up over the hills.

"Which building is it?" she questioned, squinting towards the multiple dwellings that had been built to accompany the collider.

"I think it's that one," he pointed at the Academic Building, noting it had the largest concentration of soldiers.

Finally, a surge of anti-collider protestors began pouring down the hills from all sides. Joe could see their tiny forms, some charging down while others stopped to give cover. It seemed as though the standoff battle at the gates had been won, as the trucks started rolling in as well. "Let's go," Jen said, tugging at his shoulder.

He stared at her a moment, amazed at her brave nature. Her chest rose and fell heavy with adrenaline, but she wasn't afraid. Just extremely focused and determined. In truth, Joe didn't want to kill anyone, and he wasn't comfortable with aiming, but he stood then, and charged with her, firing the gun and leaving his fate in the universe's hands. It had taken him this far, he knew, reuniting him with his old Jenny so he could see she wasn't right for him, then giving him a job that took him out to the west and dumping him in Missouri, being redirected to Springfield and the other driver not showing, and the fact that he'd gone to the movies that night when he never went to the movies. Finding a woman who motivated him to grow stronger instead of enabling his bad habits. It had to be fate. Somehow, fate seemed to be helping him at every turn.

They ran up and ducked behind a water truck, using it as cover while they continued to fire. Bullets screamed past them, punctured the truck body, ricocheted off the ground around them. More and more trucks piled onto the base, and soon the soldiers at the door began to scatter. Most of them ran, but some of them turned to join the protestors, because the thought of 'unexisting' was terrifying to them. Hell, it was terrifying to him, even with trying to understand the science.

The anti-collider protestors now flooded the front of the building as its doors sat undefended.

--------------------------------------

The Thunderbird bounced across the pockmarked desert landscape, losing one of its hubcaps over one particularly large hole. Unavoidable patches of cactus scrapped its undercarriage, clawed at its tires and doors, but Seth's grandmother sat firm out the window, holding on to the roof rack, Seth thought. Three big rigs and a jeep had broken off from the line of protestors and were making a beeline for one of the power towers that now loomed in the distance. To Seth, this seemed like ridiculous odds, but neither she nor Daniel waivered.

The power tower was enormous, with four legs on the ground and its metal arms stretching out like some great crucifix, and while there had to be dozens of them all within the radius of the base, this one appeared to be undefended.

"I'm gonna try and shoot out the tires on the jeep," Grandma shouted, "When I start shooting, pull away from them fast, so they don't have time to shoot back!"

"This is insane," Seth muttered, his hands still firmly fixed on his makeshift white flag. He stood up on the backseat and twisted his small body to look out the back window, now noticing more vehicles approaching, about ten of them in total, and they were gaining on them fast. "We're so dead," he whispered to himself, wishing he'd never decided adventure was more interesting then everyday life. About the only thing he hoped would save him was the fact that he looked like a little child. "Grandma," he called, about to inform her more cars where coming, when the sound of her shots rang through the air.

"I got 'em," she whooped, "I got..." she started, then stopped, as the crippled jeep's occupants started shooting back. "Keep driving away from them," she yelled, sliding back into the passenger seat to take shots out the window. With that, the trucks and cars behind them caught up.

Seth was about to dive onto the floorboards again, when he noticed those cars were also firing at the rigs ahead of them. "What?" he whispered, cautiously peering out the window.

"They're with us!" Daniel shouted in excitement and surprise. "It's them! It's the pro-collider people!"

"Oh thank god," Seth said, now leaning out his window, waving and shouting. Then he gasped, as his grandmother slumped over in her seat. "Grandma?" he cried out.

"I think she was hit," Daniel said as he pulled up to the tower, joining the pro-collider folks who had stopped the big rigs from arriving. He immediately turned to Seth's grandmother, who had blood seeping slowly through the fabric of her shirt on her upper right arm. "Stay here," he instructed, "I'll help when I can." He exited the car, leaving Seth to realize more protestors were coming still.

The pro-collider folks circled up their vehicles, preparing to defend the tower behind them. Daniel joined a few others in climbing up the towers bars, trying to get good position high above them. Halfway up, he smiled, momentarily amazed at how well his body could climb, considering just a few months ago he couldn't move his left side at all. While his left side still felt weak, he had agility back and stamina, and he was so high up he felt invincible.

He wished, somehow, he could remember this timeline, because despite its rough start, he had learned humility and compassion and how to love in a whole new way, and he didn't want to forget it. He remembered Sister Mary telling him about Jesus, and how this man gave up his life so others could live, and here, in this moment, he understood that kind of love.

The protestors pulled below them, determined to interrupt the power. Gunfire erupted, loud and fast, and Daniel balanced himself against one of the steel bars and shouldered the rifle. He knew nothing about guns, had never held one or even considered it, but he'd seen enough cop dramas on tv to know you held it against your shoulder and lined your eye up with some cross hairs at the end. He pointed it down towards the protestors below and pulled the trigger.

For a second, he was confused, as he felt his chest propelled backwards. He grabbed for the nearest bar as he fell, managing to catch it with his hand as gravity pulled him downwards. But it was his weak side, and his hand was slipping. "Hold on," he heard Sister Mary whisper to him. He dangled there, trying to catch at anything with his right hand. It was hard holding on. He was swinging and his body was heavy. His fingers and arm felt on fire. He tossed his rifle down and watched it fall for five seconds. And suddenly he was falling. A jolt of desperate adrenaline coursed through his body, his arms and legs flailing wildly. He gasped in terror. It was exactly like his dream. Except it wasn't a dream at all.

--------------------------------------------------

(*Finale coming soon!!)

 

[Griz3752]

Been a bit of a ride getting here....thinking the "finale" will be the E ticket event.....

 

[Kritter]

Chaos was erupting in the building above them, and Rosy could hear it getting closer. The soldiers in the lab waved them all towards the back of the room. One suggested they enter the hallway with their makeshift rooms, but the scientists balked at this idea. If the particle was recreated, the Maharishi had to be there to observe it. Rosy edged nearer to the hallway himself, then paused, rethinking his retreat. In his mind, he was an old man, but in this timeline, he was still a trained soldier, strong and able to fight and help defend the lab. He took a deep breath, pulled back his shoulders and puffed out his chest, psyching himself up for this battle. The collider was loud even from a distance, its magnets guiding particles in a tight circle, its machinery drawing monumental amounts of power. For an hour, they'd heard guns, shouts and screams, but now, the hall that led to the lab grew quiet. And then there was the sound of keys in the lock, and the steel door started to open.

------------------------------------

Seth held his grandmother in his small arms, crying in fear and anguish as he kept pressure on her arm. She was cold and going into shock and he had no blanket to put over her. Her old brown eyes lifted towards him and crinkled as she smiled. "It went into my chest," she said, lifting her arm slightly to show the wound in her side. "But don't worry. I felt free and I had fun. And now I get to go back to heaven and do it again. Thank you for taking me with you," she whispered, her breaths growing labored. "I love you."

"Grandma," Seth choked out, wanting her to remain with him, not wanting her to die, but knowing when the collider ran, that was still going to be the case. Her eyes were closing and he grabbed her hand. "I love you too," he said. He laid low now on the front seat of the car, shaking uncontrollably, hearing the gun battle rage around him. He'd seen Daniel fall, but he hadn't seen him land, and he had no weapon or way to defend himself. He peered up just long enough to observe the protestors killing the last of the defenders. Then they started to run chains from the big rigs to one of the tower legs, wanting to pull the tower down. Seth lowered his head again, and let go of his grandmother's hand. They only had two trucks, but they also had chain saws, and he had no doubt that given some time, they probably could succeed. He lifted his head again, now locating Daniel's body on the ground, the rifle not far from his hands.

"Well, you wanted to be an action hero," he said to himself, opening the car door and sliding out to crouch by the Thunderbird's front tire.

-------------------------

From the end of the hallway, Joe could see the light inside the lab as the door opened. He pulled Jen aside and kissed her one last time, before begging her to remain outside during this final battle. "I didn't come this far to have you die on me," he said, "We're gonna win this, I promise." She reluctantly yielded, remaining at the entrance, her gun still at the ready just in case, as more protestors ran past her. Joe was proud of the force they had mustered just by radio and word of mouth, remembering how hard it was to get people to care about anything in his old timeline. And they wouldn't stop here. With Ronald Reagan's help, they would retake America, and stop the world from ever becoming the shitshow it was in 2022. He turned from her to charge the lab, tripping over bodies as the soldiers inside shot nonstop into the hallway. It was an effective bottleneck, as the protestors fell in a pile before him, but the men in front of him continued to shot and die as numbers on both sides dwindled.

---------------------------

There was blood everywhere. It splattered the walls, the lab equipment, even the scientists, who now retreated into the back rooms out of sheer desperation. Only Rosy and the Maharishi Bagdi remained with the soldiers. The Maharishi still remained calm, placing his hands against the observation window, hoping to manifest the particle into existence. Rosy grabbed the gun of one of the fallen soldiers and tried to keep the holy man covered, shooting at anyone who made it through the door, but still the attackers kept coming. "God help me," Rosy whispered, trying to stop his hands from shaking. It reminded him so much of Vietnam, of the horrors he saw and the friends he lost, and for a moment he wanted to curl up in a ball but then he saw the Maharishi fall. The man was hit, he was on the ground. Rosy took a step towards the injured man when his mind grew flooded with a strange sensation. It felt like gravity had disappeared and time around him slowed. There was two soldiers left and men coming through the door but they barely moved in his mind. To any other human being it might have seemed like insanity, but Rosy embraced this sensation because he had imagined it a million times. It was the particle. The particle had been created. He laughed and started towards the unattended observation window, but just as he was about to look into it, an attacker grabbed his shoulder.

-----------------------------

Seth saw the faint glow in the sky at the same time as the tower started to waver. It was happening, it was reversing, but he knew if they lost power it wouldn't continue across the sky, and it had to, he remembered, because he'd seen it happen the first time. He sucked in his breath, eyes still locked on the gun that lay on the ground by Daniel's body. If he took a step towards it, the protestors would see him and mow him down, but if he didn't, the tower would fall and the reversal would fail, and if ever he had a chance to be Mad Max, it was now. It was literally a chance to save the entire world. Him. Alone. He could do it. If he could just get up the courage to move. And then it dawned on him, that the very thing that had hindered his existence here could actually be used to his advantage. He was an adult who looked like a three-year-old, and despite people knowing as much, they'd all still forget all the time. It would work. He believed it. He ran out from behind the car and started crying, "Daddy! Daddy!" as he ran toward Daniel's body. "Daddy," he cried out again, noticing that the attackers all saw him but didn't make a move to stop him. He slid to a stop below the tower and grabbed the rifle. then leaned up on his elbows and started to fire.

-----------------------------

Joe sensed the electricity in the air, smelled the ozone of the lab, noticed he felt light and off-balance, but none of those things surprised him as much as staring into the eyes of the man he had grabbed away from the control board. He felt an instant connection, like he knew this man, and as they both continued staring at each other, he realized it was Rosy. Younger and healthier, but he could never mistake the man's face. The 'why' part, he couldn't fathom, but he could see the instant recognition in Rosy's eyes too.

"Joe, let me go," Rosy gasped, fighting with his hold, trying to get back to the equipment.

"Rosy, man," Joe said, "What are you doing? Don't help these people! They're lying. They'll destroy everything."

"I've got to take us back," Rosy said, managing to step towards the observation window with pure brute force.

"Bro, no," Joe said again, tugging at his arm as he was dragged along by the bigger man. "I've got a good life here. I don't want to lose it."

"I'm sorry," Rosy said between breaths, giving one last great heave of his legs to reach the observation window. He closed his eyes, spoke to God one more time, asking if this was what he wanted, and then opened his eyes to view the particle. Bright white light entered his eyes, momentarily overwhelming him. For a split second, he thought of the scientist's story of sparklers on a birthday cake, but that snapped him into remembering. He had to go into the future, to the moment after the reversal. He'd be in Seth's office, the beige walls, the blue carpet, the fishtank in the corner, and Seth would be saying "What was that?" to him. The bright light started to thin to a single white line, alongside what he now saw was a million other thin white lines, shooting off in all directions. "Return to my future," he begged, trying to understand what was holding him back, before realizing it was Joe, who had still been holding on to him when he looked into the window. Joe's consciousness had somehow traveled with him into this dimension, where they both now existed outside of time. "Let go," he said to Joe to his mind. "You have to let go."

He could feel Joe's desperation, but he also felt something else. A deep calm. A peacefulness. A sense of unconditional love that permeated his every cell. He was suddenly more then just the man called Roosevelt Morris. He was an infinitesimal part of the whole, but he was also the whole of the whole, the universe and what lay beyond it. He remembered the Maharishi saying something about becoming part of the 'all.' It was true. He could feel it. And he knew. He could take himself back to the future. And Joe could take himself wherever he wanted.

And suddenly he was standing in Seth's office.

----------------------------

Seth fired wildly at the remaining protesters, hitting some of the men and one of the trucks enough times that both big rigs stopped moving. Men emerged from both cabs, firing back at him with abandon. He felt a bullet pierce his ear and another shatter his shoulder. And then he rolled onto his back, tears of joy rolling down his cheeks, watching the glowing static flow across the sky above him. He had stopped them just long enough. He'd done it. He'd saved the world. He crawled near Daniel's still warm body and took the man's hand. Daniel moaned and opened his eyes. "We did it, Daniel, look!" he said, pointing up at the glowing wall of light.

Daniel smiled and whispered, "Amen."

The static approached and they both closed their eyes.

-----------------------

"What the hell was that?" Seth asked Rosy, watching the static outside his office door disappear into thin air.

"The reversal being reversed," Rosy said, throwing his hands up into the air, clapping his hands and stomping his feet like he was doing a touchdown dance. "We did it! We did it!"

"What on earth?" Seth frowned, concerned at his friend's strange behavior.

"You don't remember?" Rosy said, then blinked his eyes in amazement. He turned to Daniel who had entered right behind him. "You don't remember either?"

"Remember what?" Daniel asked, annoyed. "That a white out sheet of hail just came out of nowhere and dissipated just as fast. Why would I forget? It literally just happened. And it got my good jacket wet."

"Oh man," Rosy said, looking at them both before spinning once more around the room. "What about Joe? Where's Joe?"

"Who?" Seth asked, glancing over at Daniel, who narrowed his eyes in return. "Joe who?"

"Joe Kelly, Joe, who works here on the docks?" Rosy said while eyeing a chair to sit down. Joe had been ahead of him through the door and Joe wasn't there. "He didn't come," Rosy said in amazement. "He let go. He let go and stayed in that timeline." He turned to Daniel and smiled. "He's still there!"

"I'm quite sure you've lost your mind," Daniel sniffed, before backing towards the door. "I have to get back to work. Keep an eye on him, Hadji," he said.

"For the love of God, I'm NOT Indian," Seth said with a shake of his head, dismissing Daniel's teasing with a wave of his hand. "But seriously," he said, turning to Rosy. "Are you feeling okay?"

"Yeah," Rosy said, leaning back in his chair. He alone remembered, and there was no point in telling the world, except maybe the scientists at CERN, because no one else would believe him. For all he knew, this had happened before, and as long as the collider continued to fire, it could possibly happen again. But he couldn't even wrap his head around that thought. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket, smoothed his hands over its black glass surface, appreciating modern technology, then pressed a name on his contact list.

"Hello, Star?" he said, smiling at the sound of his wife's lovely voice. "I think I'm gonna retire now."

----------------

(*Thank you guys for reading this! - Kritter*)

 

[feralferret]

Thank you for writing the story. It was my pleasure to read it.

 

[Nature_Lover]

Thank you Kritter, wonderful!

 

[Gardener]

What an interesting premise! Thank you for sharing it with us.

 

[Lake Lili]

Really enjoyed this! Thanks Kritter!
Lili

 

[Raymond]

Thanks Kritter. It took a while to get here but it was worth it.

 

[Kritter]

Some notes on Retrograde:

When I first got the idea for this story, I had the beginning and vague idea for what happens to each character, and an ending involving Rosy and Joe being on opposite sides of wanting to return. Both of those characters have a bit of me in them. Rosy, like myself, is very into physics, science, and consciousness and constantly watching videos on those topics, just enough to understand but by no means a scholar on the topic. I had made him a retired history teacher thinking his knowledge of history would be useful in 1973, but in hindsight, I should have made him a retired physics teacher as that was what was much more useful to his storyline.

Joe was all the things I'd have probably done if I had my life to live over, wanting to be healthier and rethinking or redoing life choices, along with the honest assessment that some of the reasons one fails at things is because of who they are by nature. I've found, like Joe, that having someone who motivates you to do better is more valuable then having someone who enables your poor choices. ((The first Jenny was me too, lol. My first husband was in a band, and I tried to be all into his drinking and partying when I wasn't, then got annoyed when he didn't stop after we got married. That ended in divorce just a year later (I wanted out) and it took me years to realize I only had myself to blame for that debacle.)) No clue why I decided to name them both Jenny, other then when I envisioned him meeting her at the movies, that was the name she gave him and I tend to go with the flow when characters take me in new directions.

Which brings me to Daniel. Daniel, in my original notes, was supposed to have his entire life fall apart and end up homeless, destitute, and eventually actually jump off a bridge. He was to go to the shelter, find it run by a nun who disapproved of him, and end up on the streets. But when I pictured the scene, the nun was kind and non-judgmental and somehow, the two of them meshed. So I let it roll and wrote it in, and let him go down that path. Then I thought, wouldn't it be sort of ironic if in the end, he gives his life to save hers somehow. I sort of failed on this part, but in rewrite someday I'll work it out.

Seth, is based on a childhood friend of mine who actually was an Indian kid raised by Jewish parents (and he really is named Seth.) I originally imagined him wanting to have adventure and getting his grandmother to come with him, and felt I could also explore both Jewish and Indian philosophies where their religious mysticisms meet with the pseudoscience of quantum physics, but I never really was able to get too deep into that. I decided at some point I wanted Seth and Daniel to play a roll in the finale, so I had to come up with a way to move them both out west, and that sort of ate into Seth's storyline. But then, his wanting to be an action hero sort of found its usefulness.

In the middle of writing all this, halfway through the second week of January, my husband, who is a stroke survivor on peritoneal dialysis, got a very bad infection and almost died. He was having hallucinations, was in a lot of pain, and ended up in the hospital for two and a half weeks, and I started feeling stressed over needing to write chapters as the time between each of them grew longer, so I think you can tell I rushed a few chapters those weeks just to get it out of the way. I meant to flesh out so much more of there, but it is what it is. My husband is back home and doing well now.

I like how the story turned out, I love when characters come to life in my mind and tell me what they're doing and saying, and every one of these guys did that! I imagine, in Joe's timeline, everyone who wanted to go back to the future went, and everyone who remained moved on from there. Maybe someday we'll find out.

 

[Catshooter]

Thank you, very creative.

 

[ssonb]

I many years ago started putting together a story that hinged on the same premise but me being of a technical mindset discovered that I could not make the story flow.
You on the other hand wove the separate story lines together and having a unique plot would find myself like others here after reading a couple of chapters putting myself into some similar situation and wonder, What would I do?
Excellent read.