Open Writing

PART FOUR

ENEMY ACTION

“So, that’s what we’ve been up to,” said Cal. “How about you?”

Jonathan smiled at his old friend. “Oh, you know. Same ol’, same ol’.”

They were all together on the Hermes, settled comfortably in one of the larger staterooms. Cal and Karen and the others had brought Jonathan and ‘tau up to date, and now they were trying to decide what to do next.

“Seems like a done deal to me,” Cal said. “Now that we’re finally all together, we can return to our Earth, and our time.”

“And what time is that, Cal?” The American pilot turned to look at Karen in surprise. “Have you forgotten that we are from a different time from Steve, his friends, and Jonathan.”

Cal looked at Jonathan, who’d said nothing so far.

“Jonathan, I thought you had decided to remain in our time, where we brought you. Was I wrong?”

Jonathan smiled. “I’m not certain yet, Cal. But remember, while your time is somewhere in the 25th century, I have recently come from 29 A.D., and before that, I came from the 21st, which is where we began the original mission.” He looked around. “In this very craft, in fact. And Professor Seartell, Steve and Trotter are from that time also.”

Cal looked chastened. “Yes, I’m sorry, I’d forgotten.” He looked at ’tau. “Is there any problem here, ’tau? Can we still get everyone back to their respective times?”

‘tau inclined his head. [I do not believe that would present us with any real difficulty, Cal Ferguson] he sent.

Cal sat back and spread his hands. “Well, there you go. Now, can we go home?”

“Cal, ’tau has told me something of which I believe you ought to be aware.” Jonathan said.

Cal looked at Jonathan, still unable to equate this sun-browned, wiry individual with the pale cripple he knew formerly. He looked at ’tau, who sent nothing, but turned his attention to Jonathan.

“On the Earth you just left, it is somewhere in the early 1950s, correct?” Jonathan said, and Cal nodded. “And Harry S. Truman is President?” Again, Cal nodded. “Well,” Jonathan said, “something is happening there which both ’tau and I believe is affecting all dimensions, all alternative universes, right across the entire spectrum of realities.”

Jonathan had their full attention. They had not spent much time in the reality of the Kennedys, but had returned to the Hermes at the first opportunity. Dennis had told the others of his promise to John Kennedy, and his solution had been met with some amusement, especially from Joe. While Joe was gay, he disliked certain elements of that community, and was only too happy to assist Dennis.

Now, the room was silent, except for the sound of Jonathan’s quiet voice.

“Do any of you recall, back in our time, the occasional appearance of what were called ‘crop circles’?”

The listeners looked at each other, and several began to speak at once, but Professor Seartell prevailed. “As I recall, certain sections of rural land in Britain and America began to exhibit odd happenings. Large, complex circles began to appear in the fields, usually in the middle of a crop, like wheat, or corn, which had been somehow flattened. I recall that there was some controversy over whether the circles were made by aliens visiting the Earth, as many people believed, or if it was a hoax.” He shook his head in bemusement, “Although, for the life of me, I could never see why anyone would do such a thing, just as a prank. The work it would have taken…well, I just thought that the game was surely not worth the candle.

“Eventually, a couple of men in Britain came forward and claimed they had made the circles by stamping down the wheat or whatever with flat wooden boards. However, when they were invited to repeat their efforts for the media, they could not even come close to duplicating the precision of the circles. Also, I think there was something about the way the crops’ stalks were flattened. They were bent, but none were broken, whereas the pranksters broke all the stalks. But even if those men were responsible, it didn’t explain the circles in America.”

“Yes, that’s most of it, Julius, thank you,” Jonathan nodded. “There was of course one other anomaly which made it clear that those men could not have made the crop circles. In one night, dozens of them appeared all over Britain, from the north to the south. Even if those men did make one or two, there was no way they could have done any more. The time involved would have made that impossible. They would have required an international army of accomplices.”

He looked around those assembled, their fascinated faces staring back at him, waiting for his next words. For a moment, Jonathan felt like he was back at the riverside in Israel, that he was once again John the Baptist preaching to the faithful. He felt a slight twinge at this thought, and he knew that there was still unfinished business there. But for now, there was an important job to do here, in this time, and he went on.

“’tau has told me that things are approaching a crisis point in several universes, that events are reaching a confluence, that things are coming together, and that these circles figure strongly in the approaching union. Some of you may recall what I said previously about multiple universes, how they could be likened to an infinitely large room filled with bubbles, where each bubble represents a universe, or as we have come to think of them, a reality. You will also recall that I said the bubbles sometimes overlap, and this was how we were able to travel between universes, at the point where they touch.

“But there has to be a consequence of this touching, and I believe I know what it might be. I believe that something has upset the balance in the omniverse, or multiverse as some called it previously, and that the touching has become commonplace, rather than rare. And I think the crop circles are a manifestation of that upset; Footprints, if you like.”

Confused, Karen Ferguson looked at him. “Footprints, Jonathan? That’s an odd name for them. Are you saying that some…I don’t know, creature, some thing, has stepped through the dimensions and somehow…”

Jonathan was already shaking his head. “No, no, Karen. Not a living manifestation, but an effect, nonetheless. Let me put it this way.

“As we travel through our lives, we all leave footprints in our wake. We meet people, we interact and then move on. But we nearly always leave something behind; some mark or impression on the lives, on the souls, we touch. Even if the life we lead is the most unremarkable you can imagine, we each still leave these footprints on each other, and on the world.”

The room was silent as each one there digested the implications of what Jonathan said, then Arnold said, “When we were with John Kennedy, he said something that I thought uncommonly profound, especially for a politician. He was quoting from a speech given by his younger brother, which he had helped him write. I remember it all; I know it will stay with me for the rest of my days.

“He said, ‘Each time a person stands up for an ideal, or acts to improve the lot of others, he sends forth a tiny ripple of hope. And crossing from each other a million different centers of energy and daring, those ripples build a current that can sweep down the mightiest walls of oppression and resistance.’”

He looked at the others’ faces. “I believe that this is one of those times. I believe we have to stand up now for those who cannot, and perhaps the ripples we create will give the world more than hope. Perhaps they will give it freedom.”

The others exchanged puzzled looks, and Arnold looked at Jonathan. “Because I believe Jonathan is right; the circles are becoming more numerous, and occurring with greater frequency, aren’t they, Jonathan?”

The Englishman nodded quietly, a small, sad smile on his face, and Arnold went on. “And we have to go back there, don’t we? And somehow stop them before the world, and our universe, is opened to all other realities. Before we are invaded.”

Jonathan nodded quietly again. “If we are able, Arnold,” he said. “If we are able.”

* * * *

Cal spoke quietly as everyone listened. “While we were on this Earth, Karen and I spoke with President Truman. He told us of beings he called ‘the visitors’ who had appeared in Earth’s skies since the late 1940s. Since 1947, to be more precise. Roswell, Area 51, and all that stuff that supposedly didn’t happen in our universe, I guess happened here. Would you agree, Jonathan?”

“Right, Cal,” Jonathan replied. “Only a few months ago, ’tau told me, there was a display of lights over Washington that could have come only from alien spacecraft.”

Cal nodded, glad to have his theory confirmed. “Okay, now for the bad news. The visitors have been confirmed as having originated in the region of space known as Orion’s Belt.”

Jonathan, who had been listening with his head down, looked up suddenly, and stared as Cal went on.

“Yes! That’s Rigel, where the original portal is located. It seems a reasonable assumption that it is the source of all the power going to the other portals.”

Everyone tried to talk at once, until Jonathan’s quiet voice got their attention. “We seem to have no choice as to our next move.” He looked around the room, his gaze resting momentarily on each of them. “We must return to Rigel IX and close the portal there. If we are successful, then we must also return to our Earth and do the same there. Only then will our universe be safe.”

“But Jonathan, those alien creatures are on Rigel IX. How do we get past them? And how do we close the portal, anyway? That…what was his name, Garn? He must surely have the portal guarded by now. How can we close it?” Cal said, apprehensively.

“Only one way,” Dennis said. “Someone’ll have to go through it and blow it from the other end.”
Alarmed, Arnold looked at his old friend, “Dennis, no! Why can’t we simply…I don’t know, send a pack of explosives through to it, from another universe?”

“No good, Arnie.” Dennis shook his head. “We couldn’t be certain that those monsters wouldn’t intercept it, and defuse it before it could blow the gate, or send it back so it explodes here.” He looked around the room. “No, someone has to go with it, to make sure. As our weapons and ordinance man, that’s me.”

* * * *

From his position by one of the viewing ports, Steve still couldn’t believe he was in a spacecraft orbiting Earth, and until this moment, he’d felt like only a witness to happenings too exotic for his involvement. Now, listening to the conversation around him, he realized that a chord had been struck deep within him. What was happening here was real, not a story from one of his books. People he had known for a short time, whom he had come to respect, were willing to put their lives on the line for people they didn’t even know. From what Dennis Crafter was saying, Steve gathered that the former soldier was proposing some kind of suicide mission, a rear-guard action that would save them all, but that he wouldn’t survive.

The idea stirred Steve in a way that he couldn’t explain. Steve-the- historian was beginning to merge with Steve-the-writer, and great tales of sacrifice for the common good, fact and fiction, ran through his mind. Books he’d read, movies he’d seen, where the hero stayed behind so everyone else could go free, came to mind as he listened to the talk in the room. Some were opposed to what Crafter was suggesting, while others said nothing at all. And some of those, Steve could see, were seriously considering what he was proposing.

Steve watched and listened, but didn’t take part in the discussion. What he would do when push came to shove, he didn’t know, but the notion of martyrdom did not sit too well with him. Still, he knew he might have to do something to pull his weight, and he resolved not to shirk what he saw as his duty should it become necessary.

The meeting broke up with general agreement for the Hermes to head for Rigel, and the ninth planet. What they would do when they got there, no one knew for sure. Steve was about to leave for his cabin when he noticed Jonathan watching him from across the bridge. He held Steve’s gaze for a long moment, then nodded once, and Steve left the bridge and went to his quarters. What had passed between him and Jonathan, he didn’t know, but the Professor’s calm gaze had been reassuring, and had provided comfort for his troubled mind.