Post by theboyinadress on Mar 21, 2015 7:21:48 GMT -6
"This is ridiculous" the large-framed African-American sighed into his breathing apparatus
and urged his left leg to move again. The plastic body-bag hardly shifted in his sluggish
exertion and he wondered if he'd actually moved at all.
During the series of underwater tests that he and the man slightly ahead of him had took
part in, he had believed they would have it all wrapped up in an hour -at the most.
Professor Charles Shaw slowly twisted his head to where the disgruntled Roland stood and
hissed "I agree, but it's all we have"
The man from Los Alamos re-set his gaze towards the limousine and shifting his hip to
begin another step, he decided that 'walking through a swimming pool full of molasses' wasn't
a bad analogy.
The forever-shadows of Zapruder and his assistant standing on the stone plinth and filming the
waiting assassination laid across the older man's shoulders as he watched Roland move off
the paved-area and onto the grass.
"This is going to be hard on the senses, son..." Charles muttered softly as he perused the vague
shapes of the people lined along the road to his left. "...And the body is gonna suffer too"
The last part was really aimed at himself.
The two men in the biohazard suits had only moved around three feet down the slope of grassy
bank in the past twenty minutes and even though the incline tickled at Roland's inner-ear that
he should prepare his stance and burden for the gradient, the invisible force told his body that
he would only move if he pushed hard.
"Tell me about yourself, Doc..." Roland Adams grunted as he focused on manoeuvring the
wrapped corpse. "...How the hell did you get into all of this?" The thick atmosphere seemed to
be getting worse as they moved closer to the scene ahead of them.
Adams had only been brought into the project three months-ago and he'd only seen Professor
at the facilty, twice.
Charles rested and allowed the dragooned-janitor and his baggage to come along side him
before he spoke again, Roland realised the action and remained silent during his endeavour.
It wasn't easy.
The course they were set on would bring them past the two standing males that had been
known by conspiracy theorists as 'Dark Complected Man' and 'Umbrella Man' It would mean
that they would arrive at their destination just before fatal head shot.
Roland nodded a 'thank you' at the grey-haired man beside him and watching Charles slowly
raise his arm to check his oxygen-converter, he glanced beyond the old scholar's head towards
the fenced-area called the Grassy Knoll.
"Don't do that...!" Charles snapped into the mouth-piece and honoured Roland with a dark
frown, the clear plastic of the air-mask didn't hide his 'tut-tut' feature of his mouth. "...We're
not here to find out what happened" he added and moulded the scolding face into a smile.
"It was around thirty years ago and I was as inquisitive as yourself..." Charles answered the
original question. The older-man slowly reached for the body-bag and took hold of one of the
corners.
"...That was when I first heard of Project Camelot" he said and Roland believed that there was
a tone of sadness in the words as the pair began to move again.
"The figures indicated that the going won't get any easier as we near our destination..."
Charles said through gritted teeth as they once more, began hauling the heavy-duty albatross
towards the curb of Elm Street. "...So let's suck it up and get there" he chirped with an optimistic
one.
Roland leaned his six foot-four body forward and copied the action.
The reason for their current difficulty to walk to where the world-famous assassination took place
was because of something quantum physicists called 'Kinetic Granularity'
Gravity, the air, the movement of everything in close proximity and even the daylight, they all hold
a natural force that makes up the world we live in. These forces 'move' in a way that we -as a species
on this planet, have grown accustomed to. It's all about individual energies and the effects that we
take for granted.
I suppose the best example is what happens when you take a deep-sea creature from the sea
bed miles down and bring it to the surface. A bit like that, it can't handle the new forces.
If one can access a moment in time and believe me, it's very difficult, those forces are static.
Gravity is what it is for that moment, it isn't the natural feeling that we accept everyday, it's like...
well, like molasses. It's a 'stationary' force that seems a lot more difficult to move through.
The air and light are the same, they seem to 'sit' in the moment you've chosen and all you can
do is struggle through it.
Dr. Carmen of LANL had advised the two during the final conference that: "think of standing in an
tornado and then in a instant, switching off the noise, the raging wind and the flying debris.
Imagine the power that holds you is still there. That's what it's like to utilise a split-second access"
Charles had worked on 'The Clock' from the day he'd shown up at the sprawling estate in the
Northern New Mexico mesa. The idea that time travel was even being discussed, was something
that the young man in the dog-eared tweed suit secretly believed proved that Government funding
had gone hay-wire.
'What the hell...' -he had thought to himself as he hung up his lab coat on that first day
'...Nothing will come of it'
That cynical lab assistant with the shock of wavy hair had been proved wrong and now -minus those
flowing locks, Charles and Roland were the evidence. The Professor and the janitor.
"It was just after the Watergate Scandal..." Charles continued. "...the Atomic Energy Commission
had just been split because of the oil crisis and we were looking into other ways to power the
country"
The bright midday sunlight of 22nd November 1963 pooled the pair's shadows beneath them on
the neatly-clipped grassed embankment and as Professor Shaw searched his memories of how
he'd become involved in the first time-walk, he realised that the warmth that he felt touching his
overalls would be eternal in this one-single instant.
"There were rumblings that the CIA were under attack for some of their antics and a little-known
experiment they'd been funding had been dropped. The labs just kept going until the money ran
out"
Roland's face offered the features of somebody that was appreciative of the information, but as
Charles pushed his right foot forward, he wondered if the younger man could ever comprehend the
way that the world had been scrambling along back then.
"Los Alamos stumbled across the split-second access during an experiment with nuclear fission..."
he explained "...The Clock was built on a crazy assumption to acquire energies from other deep
space and it was only a year ago, this mission came along" Charles wheezed and noticed the
droplets of sweat trickle onto the surface of his air-mask.
"We'll rest here" Charles gasped and relaxing his hand gripping the bag, he resisted the urge
to breath heavily. Roland nodded and looked around the place called Dealey Plaza.
It was classed as a 'city park' and yet, three main roads cut their way through the centre of it.
Roland had read the big grey binder they had given him after he'd been picked for the mission,
the photographs of the white concrete Bryan pergola behind them and the large building with the
Hertz rental sign on it's roof were almost seared into his brain after he'd found out that they'd
wanted him for the appointment.
"The Book Depository Building" Roland pronounced slowly and stared at the many-windowed
structure. Charles noticed his partner soaking in the vista and recalling the names, he smiled
to himself and wondered if the big lad realised how important this operation was.
The Professor's smile waned when he thought about what the powers-that-be may well decided
upon later in regards of the larger-man's fate.
The respirator vibrated on his belt to notify him it was fully charged.
Roland had just been transferred from the Maintenance Department at Los Alamos that dealt
with external upkeep of the facilty and for the first three weeks, the burly man with the genuine
smile had painted window frames and replaced storm shutters.
The tasks of keeping the toilets and washrooms clean may have seemed a poor promotion to
some, but Roland knew that when winter rolled around, an indoor position would be seen as
a smart move.
A lowly janitor, a man who cleaned latrines and walked in history -he had thought after the
interview. If Roland had asked Charles why he had been picked for such an important assignment,
a couple of pats on those broad shoulders from the scholar may have provided a fair clue.
Charles took a better purchase of the body-bag and waited for signs that Roland had finished
his reconnoitre of the famous area and as long as the big lad didn't peer over towards the
picket fence, the Professor didn't mind.
It's not like they were short on time.
"I know the eggheads... sorry Doc, but I know they told us we had to keep the mask on at
all times, but there is air here. Why can't we just breath it?" Roland suddenly said and turned
his head to look at his companion. "I mean, it's not like we're in space" he supplemented.
The respirator vibrated once more as if to emphasis that Roland's question was relevant and
nodding his head in appreciation of a valid query, Charles explained as they both began
to move forward again.
"It's about theft and fatigue..." replied the man who had been thinking about what will happen
to Roland after the mission. It was something he'd overheard when he'd been suiting-up in
the Locker Room and two miitary-types were using the showers again.
"...We inhale the air around us and we expel carbon dioxide..." Charles continued. "...The real
dilemma is that we're converting another space-time's components and some theorists have
suggested there may be a 'knock-on effect' from our intrusion"
They were nearing a position where the rear of the Stemmons Freeway sign and the lines of
people were more defined. With the sight of the men and women coming into view, the pair
of 'rescuers' recalled the list of names from their respective files.
'Carol Reed, Gloria Calvary, John Templin...' All witnesses to a terrible day.
"The other reason is that if we respired naturally, the effort would drain our energy..." Charles
added fluttering his eyelids to keep his vision clear. "...It would be like sucking treacle down
our throats" he gasped and raised his gloved-hand to indicate another rest period was needed.
The Police motorcyclists waited like carved monliths just slightly behind the long dark car
with the injured President in the rear, the Professor pondered whether Kennedy's raised
arms would be a problem in getting him out of the limousine.
"I have another question, Doc... if it's okay?" Roland said as he followed the older-man's
eyes towards the strange scene.
"Why are we pulling this guy out?"
Charles smiled once more and even though it was a drain on his energy, he raised an arm
and touched the giant's shoulder. "That -my lad, is classified" he rasped sagely and looked
closely at the guy who peered back with genuine curiosity.
Mary Moorman and her friend Jean Hill, stood across from where the two men stood and the
thoughts of what could happen to Roland when they got back, nuzzled at Charles' concern
again.
It was what the Military men had said that nibbled at the back of his mind.
"They're going to kill him... you know that?" the 'Babushka lady' called out from across the
frozen moment of the unfolding tragedy on the road between them and the two men almost
jarred their neck muscles at the sudden sound in the eternal silence.
"You shouldn't have brought him" the woman in the crimson headscarf added.
Charles quicky pondered the information he'd been given about the female that had remained
a mystery from this terrible day, but it was Roland who gave his thoughts utterence.
"You're not Beverly Oliver..." he said loudly, "...I've seen the photographs and you ain't her"
he stated.
The woman in the large sunglasses and bulky-coat smiled and caused both men to make
an 'o'-shape with their mouths as she stepped quickly around the motorcyclists. Passing the
rear of the leading vehicle and with a glance at the confused second-lady sitting beside her
husband, she trotted to where Charles and Roland stood looking on astounded.
"You both shouldn't have come" she said in a lower tone.
"How...?" Charles spluttered, but before he could finish the sentence, the woman waved
a hand in front of his face and halted the question.
"Let's say it's classified" she chirped and the sarcasm wasn't lost on the elderly scientist.
The November day waited along side the two shocked men as they soaked in the sight
of the middle-aged woman with the ancient camera in her hand. Space-time it seemed,
was playing tricks.
"Your mission will succeed..." the enigmatic female said flatly. "...You will take the President
back to your timeline and he will recover from the throat wound." she added without
taking her eyes from the large, young black man with the shocked expression.
Charles narrowed his own eyes as he scrutinised the hidden face behind the sunglasses,
the physical action that she had just performed was impossible.
The mathmatics proved it.
"But this isn't about saving John Kennedy from a terrible murder..." the Babushka Lady
sighed and offered a kind smile. "...It's about saving him" and pointed a nail-painted
finger at Roland.
.......................
With the woman's assistance, they removed the Leader of the free-world from the back
of the uncovered limousine and ignoring the look of disdain from the lady with the knee
-length skirt and fawn-cloured raincoat, the weary Charles and confused Roland placed the
deceased look-alike into the leather-covered seat vacated.
It took over an hour, so I suppose the big chap who used to swab out the latrines, was near
the mark with his assumption.
The trio looked at each other in the sunshine of the unceasing day and nursed their own
private thoughts.
"So now what?" Roland asked and broke the spell. Charles raised his eyebrows and waited
for the brand-new facet to all of this to answer the question.
"Now we take the President back to the Space-time junction and 'he' steps through with
your acquistion" Babushka said in an optimistic voice.
The long finger appeared again and pointed at the Professor.
.......................
The operation went well and the young Northerner with the winning-smile breathed steadily
as the Doctors monitored the many machines that offered readings of the President's health.
It would be quite a shock for Mr. Kennedy to find himself in the year of 2063 and Charles
wondered what sort of difference the man from the past -would make.
Dr. Carmen pressed the button in the wall-console and waited until the recovery room's
door to swish closed before he spoke to the brooding Professor at the Observer Window.
"It was a shame what happened to the boy..." Dr. Carmen whispered softly to his fellow
academic. "...From what I gathered, he was a nice kid" he added and waited for any
response.
The failed respirator was being analysed in the laboratory just futher up the hallway, but
Charles guessed the investigation would be only half-hearted.
Afterall, Roland was just a janitor.
Charles sighed without looking up from his musings on the hospital floor, the air smacked
of remorse and sadness.
"Listen... I've got other tasks to do, so if..." the Doctor began and the Professor's nodding
head told him that he didn't have to finish the apologetic sentence.
Charles Shaw stood alone and wondered about the young man he'd left behind.
.......................
"This is ridiculous..." the large-framed African-American sighed and tugged at the tight collar
of his shirt. "...How am I supposed to take the Oath of Office when I can hardly breathe?"
Roland growled.
The woman in the familiar headscarf smiled and reaching up to loosen the tall-man's tie, she
whispered "I agree, but it's all we have"
The End.