Exit Strategy

There is an old adage when you are involved with a project that can be risky, “When the red lights start flashing, you’d better have an exit strategy.” My grandpa told me that. My grandpa worked on the Manhattan Project. Maybe you have heard of it. The research and experimental testing at Los Almos, New Mexico.My grandfather Cecil Monroe was a professor of physics at Princeton university. The head of the department was Albert Einstein who had developed where his theories had advanced nuclear fission. As he told me, Los Almos became a beehive of activity.

“Man, I wish I could have been there with you.” I was just nine years old at the time visiting him at his home in Long Beach.

He laughed, “It was quite a time, Abey. It was quite a time. But when all was said and done, I walked away once I heard what the bomb had done. I did not wish to have my name attached it.”

“Why? It helped us win the war. That’s what my history teacher told us. ” I looked at him, but I could see the sad, vacant look in his dark eyes. I knew better than press him any further..

“Hard to explain.” He coughed. When Grandpa Ben had one of his coughing fits, it could last quite a while. I did not want to be the reason for it.

Grandma Hazel had passed away before I was born. Mom told it was lung cancer, because she was a heavy smoker. She was one of file clerks at the testing range when she met a dashing young scientist. Their whirlwind romance culminated with their wedding a year later. There was an unwritten rule that those assigned to the top-secret project should not fraternize with each other, but some rules were made to be broken, he would say with a chuckle.

Always have an exit strategy. Those words echoed through my head when I was approached in my post graduate program at Massachusetts Institute of Technology. Herbert Aschette were working on an artificial intelligence project. If things became unmanageable, I would employ my exit strategy. Herbert could be problematic in certain circumstances. An exit strategy was a necessity.

A man walked into the laboratory we were conducting some simulations. He wore a dark suit and tie. I glanced at Herbert as the stiff-legged man removed his sunglasses.

“I’m looking for Abraham Wilcox.” He said in a firm tone.

“That would be me.” I raised my hand.

“I was sent to find you and offer you a chance to work on the Zenith Project.” He looked around the room.

I had heard of that project through the well-developed grapevine that was MIT.

I glanced at Herbert. Herbert shrugged with an unreadable expression on his face.

“Why me?” I looked over the stranger with skepticism.

“It’s not my place to say why.” He said in hushed voice.

“My mom told me not to talk to strangers.” I smiled at Herbert.

“I’m Agent Marlin.” He showed me his identification badge, “I work for the project. I was asked to bring you in.”

“What if I don’t want to.” I turned away. I did not feel the syringe jabbed into my neck, but I did hit the floor full-force, face-first.

When I came to, I was buckled into an airplane seat.

“Welcome aboard, Mr. Wilcox.” The man sitting next to me nodded. “I am Mr. Jenkins, and I will be your supervisor in the Zenith Project.”

“What am I doing here?” I was groggy. It felt as though my head was clogged with spider webs.

“You’re on your way to our headquarters outside of Boulder, Colorado. We should be landing shortly.” He smiled, but I did not feel his smile was sincere. I had been shanghaied.

The plane landed at a private airfield guarded by armed military personnel. The air was cool even though the sun was in the middle of the sky. Mr. Jenkins was walking next to me; he flashed his badge to the armed man at the gate. “Welcome to Camp Zenith.”

I glanced at the guard who seemed to snarl at me as I followed Mr. Jenkins through the gate.

“Security is top priority here.” He shrugged as we walked for a door in the mountain dead ahead. “We cannot discuss the details of the project unless we are in a soundproof room.”

My stomach instantly tightened up as the big metal doors opened as if to swallow us. Once again Mr. Jenkins held out his badge to show it to the two heavily armed guards. Both of nodded. The guard on the right waved us through. There was a metallic sound as the doors closed behind us leaving us to the fluorescent buzzing of artificial lighting.

“You are now inside.” Mr. Jenkins announced, “Anything you see or hear will be top-secret.”

Men dressed in stark white lab coats moved like bees to a hive.Their voices echoed from the acoustics of the rocks. I felt as if I had entered some sort of unworldly sanctuary. The intercom overhead spoke in a language I did not comprehend. Every now and then, Mr. Jenkins would chuckle after hearing a short message.

“We know who you are.” Mr. Jenkins walked into a small office area with windows overlooking the platform where a strange apparatus was placed. “Your grandfather was with the Manhattan Project in 1942, and your father was part of the du Pont Agent Orange creation. Please have a seat.”

“That is correct.” I did not want to think about my father creating such an awful weapon. He passed away in 1977 from the effects of the chemicals he worked with for du Pont.I sat down as Mr. Jenkins faced the window peering out over the platform, “Down there is what can be best described as a time machine. Calling it that makes me think of H.G. Wells, but that’s the best way to describe it.The media has figured it out, but they will never have access to some of our documents that explain how it works through molecular transfer. Once we figured that out, we were off to the races.”

“I do have a question.” I raised my hand as I would when attending a lecture.

“Yes?” He turned to look at me.

“Why me?” I shook my head.

“Why not? You have the pedigree. Your grandfather and your father were science engineers on two of the most important projects of their time. Now, it’s your turn.”

“I have no background in molecular transfer.” I shook my head.

“There is no one with any sort of idea what that is, except for the scientists here at Zenith.” He sat down at his desk and opened his computer. “You will learn on the job. It’s the only way. Did you ever figure out nuclear fission?”

“No, not really.” I sighed, “Grandpa tried to explain, but even looking at his diagrams, I could not figure it out.”

“What about Agent Orange?”

“Dad didn’t want to talk about it.” I stared down at my sneakers, “He just said that too many people suffered from Agent Orange’s creation.”

“My God, he wasn’t wrong.” Mr. Jenkins put his hand to his chin. He seemed to drift off for a moment, “I was in Vietnam. One of the flyers dropped a cannister and it felt as if I walked straight into Hell.”

I shuddered.

“So, tomorrow at Oh-Eight hundred, you will be strapped in Chronos.” He pointed toward the window.

“What is that?” I asked.

“The time machine.” Mr. Jenkins chuckled.

Early in the morning, I was fitted into a lead lined suit to protect me from the radiation Chronos would be emitting.

“Good morning, I’m Jack Kennsey.” A man wearing the same suit as me, introduced himself, “You must be Abe Wilcox.”

“I am.” I nodded.

“Ready for a ride?” He sat in the pilot’s chair and flicked a few switches.

“Do I have a choice?” I asked.

“Well, you can run, but I don’t think you’ll get very far.” He chuckled.

“So, where have you been?” I asked as he continued to fiddle with some of the nobs.

“Here and there.” He sniffed, “I met Socrates.”

“You did?” I swallowed hard and almost began coughing.

“Sure.” He shook his head, “But our time if brief. Usually, we only have a minute and then WABANGO, we come back.”

“That sounds incredible.” My jaw hung open.

“It was. But after a few missions, you get used to it.” He shrugged, “Remember that old story about the Butterfly Effect?”

“By Ray Bradberry?” I asked.

“Yeah.” He nodded, “He was right. Don’t touch nothing or interact with anyone or you can alter the future. Don’t mess with it, understand?”

“Yes sir.” I nodded remembering the consequences of that story.

“We are going to go Lexington to hear the first shot of the American Revolution.” He pushed a button. Suddenly everything trembled violently. I felt as if my insides were about to break through my skin. “I love this part.”

“I’m not used to it.” I tried to catch my breath.

“We have arrived.” Kennsey said as he turned a couple more nobs and unbuckled his harness. “Open the hatches.”

To my amazement, the door swung open. When I stepped out of Chronos, I would be standing in Lexington in the morning of April 19, 1775, as the British approached. I could hear the drums as the rank and file appeared in the open field.

“Remember, we are only here to observe.” Mr. Kennsey put his arm across my chest, “Do not touch anything.”

I nodded as I inhaled the air from over two centuries ago. I wondered it breathing would disrupt the future.Damn Bradberry and his Butterly Effect.

“Do ye surrender?” The man mounted on a horse called out to the colonists preventing him and his men from continuing on to arrest John Adams.

“We will not stand aside.” Yelled one of the colonists.

I heard a gunshot, but no one on either side fell.

“We have to go. Our time is up.” Mr. Kennsey tapped me on the shoulder.

Then I heard multiple muskets firing. Many men from both sides fell into grass of the open field. The battel of Lexington had begun.

Violently vibrating, Chronos returned from where it had started.

“What did you think?” Mr. Kennsey asked as he pulled out his clipboard.

“That was awesome.” I shook my head smiling.

“It gets better.” He smiled back.

“So, what controls the time you go to?”

“This dial right here but be careful. Things can go very wrong unless you know what you are doing.” He warned me as he put his clipboard away.

“How was the ride?” Mr. Jenkins was there to greet us.

“Awesome.” I could not believe I had seen history with my own eyes.

“Yeah, it’s something, ain’t it?” Mr. Jenkins smiled. “Well, now you had your first experience.”

I walked around the rest of the day as if I was in trance. Reality no longer seemed real after you have traveled back in time. I sat in the break room recalling the minute I had in history. From what they told me, the next upgrade with Chronos would be to extend the time a bit, so the traveler could get a better feeling for the historical events taking place.

After spending a quiet hour in the break room, I wandered out to the platform where Chronos. From the exterior, it did not really look like much, just a metallic box, but inside with all the instruments, Chronos took on a whole personality. I ran my fingers over the console. I tried to imagine what each switch did. Mr. Kennsey made it look so easy. I wanted him to teach me how to pilot Chronos.

I had so many questions.

“Hey Abe, whacha doin’?” Mr. Jenkins had his tie pulled down. It had been a long day for everyone.

“Just havin’ a look-see.” I was startled and jumped a bit at his sudden intrusion.

“Look-see is fine, but do not touch the controls until you have been certified.” He put his hands on his hips, “Mr. Kennsey will take care of the training. In the meantime, you have been assigned a room in the barracks.”

“I can’t leave?”

“Nope, you have to stay on this compound until you have been certified.” He shook his head. “I thought Kennsey told you. I apologize for the miscommunication. Go see Janie Slocumb over at the barracks office.”

“Alright.” I nodded.

“I’ll see ya tomorrow.” He patted me on my shoulder before walking out of the big metallic doors.

“So, you are the new guy.” Mrs. Slocumb pulled down some sheets, a blanket and a pillow, and put them on the counter. “Sign here.”

I signed where she pointed.

“Sweet dreams.” She smiled as I left with my key and bedding. “Your room is on the third level. There is an elevator over there.”

Her directions were lacking, but after asking other people for help, I managed to find the elevators. When I got to the third level, my room was just a single room with a window that overlooked the platform. I could not take my eyes off of Chronos. What was time travel really like. Now that I was on the inside, I would be able to see it all first hand. Patience was always difficult for me. I hoped I could control it. I lay down and was asleep as my head hit the pillow.

The next morning, I went to breakfast in the dining facility on the first floor. After breakfast, I went to the platform and met Mr. Kennsey.

“Ready for another excursion?” He smiled as he checked the gages.

“You bet.” I nodded.

“We will be launching in about fifteen minutes.” He winked, “Today, I want you at the controls.”

“Am I ready?”

“That’s where you will start.” He checked off some boxes on the sheet on his clipboard.

This excursion took us to the Roman Empire upon the return of Julius Caesar to the Senate. His assassins were waiting for him as he entered. I wanted to shout a warning to the Emperor, but then I remembered the Butterfly Effect.As we got into Chronos, I watched him being murdered by whom he thought were his friends and allies.

I was quiet on the journey home. I did what Mr. Kennsey told me to do. As I turned the switches and dials, I remembered the procedure.

When I got back to my room, I stood at the window looking down on Chronos. Today I learned how to steer the craft. It was easier than I thought. It was quiet as I stepped into the elevator.

I could not believe what I was doing. I sat in the pilot’s seat, buckled my belt and did the takeoff sequence. The ship shook violently like it always did as it was preparing to journey back into history.

I set the date and time.

I would travel back in time to the Manhattan Project and find my grandpa, Cecil Monroe.

Even if I only had a minute, I would see for myself what part he played in making the bomb that brought the Imperial Japanese Empire to surrender. I doubted the Butterfly Effect was real. It was just a piece of fiction.

One thing I did not know was how to set the destination. August 6, 1945, was the date on the display.

When Chronos landed, I got out of the craft. The sign I saw was written in a language I could not read.

Someone pointed to the sky. There was a B-29 flying overhead.

Where had I landed the craft?

I tried to get back inside, but there was a blinding flash. I put my hand over my eyes to shield them from the flash. In horror, I realized that I was not in Los Almos, I had landed in Hiroshima as the Elona Gay dropped the bomb. He had told me to have an exit strategy, but I had failed miserably to do that.