Thomas's Sacrifice

"I’ll get you some tea," said Rio Euwe to her menagerie, slipping out and closing the door. She was a professor of biology, responsible for monkeys in an environmental experiment in which they lived between captivity and freedom.

Professor Rio Euwe dedicated her career to the esoteric and challenging work of teaching primates to communicate using avian languages. Her work, although met with skepticism and challenges, resulted in groundbreaking developments in animal communication studies. Rio Euwe, a woman of striking presence, embodied a blend of elegance and practicality that set her apart in her field. Her heritage, a rich tapestry woven from Swedish and Ashkenazi Jewish threads, gifted her with a unique and captivating beauty. Her complexion, a porcelain canvas touched with the faintest hint of golden undertones, reflected her diverse ancestry. Her eyes, a mesmerizing shade of blue, held a depth that seemed to harbor the secrets of the wild. They were framed by dark, expressive brows that lent an air of intensity to her gaze.

Rio's full mouth, often curved into a thoughtful smile, suggested both warmth and determination. Her wardrobe would be characterized as 'safari chic'. She favored tailored khaki trousers, crisp linen shirts, and a collection of utility vests adorned with pockets. A well-worn pair of sturdy boots completed her look, ready for any terrain she might encounter in her research.

In the avian language training program Rio utilized recordings of bird calls and songs, training monkeys to mimic these sounds through repetition and positive reinforcement. By associating specific bird sounds with objects or actions, she aimed to establish a basic vocabulary. For example, a particular chirp might be linked to the action of eating or the presence of food. Monkeys’ vocal apparatus was not naturally suited for bird calls, presenting significant challenges in achieving clear articulation. Monkeys often showed resistance or lack of interest in sustained language learning sessions, making consistent progress difficult.

In her report on the feasibility of monkeys in the time machine experiment she wrote:

Dear Thomas Reece,

I hope this message finds you well. Following your interest in utilizing my trained monkeys, I am providing a brief overview of their current capabilities and limitations based on our ongoing research. The monkeys can reproduce a range of avian sounds with moderate accuracy. Their mimicry is most successful with simpler bird calls, which they can perform on command.

The primates can understand and respond to a limited set of verbal commands, especially those related to their immediate environment and routine activities. Despite these achievements, it is important to note that the monkeys' verbal communication skills remain rudimentary. Their ability to engage in complex dialogues or convey detailed messages is highly limited. Further training and trials in a controlled yet varied environment would be prudent before considering their inclusion in an experiment. Please let me know if you need more detailed information or if there are specific aspects of the monkeys' training you would like to explore further.

Best regards,

Professor Rio Euwe

Psychologist and Researcher in Animal Communication

Thomas Reece read it intently. He was a little surprised that Rio Euwe seemed content to play with her monkeys. But he wished her to develop her human interaction qualities as well and would have liked to take her to an art gallery or museum, but was afraid she would only appreciate the abstract and pre-human points about them.

He reacted to her letter.

“So, you are reluctant to offer your monkeys, even though they’re trained in avian ways, offering the ideal combination for an experiment.” He was rapping his knuckles against his lips.

Meeting for the first time, they had supper at Thomas’s house, and he proffered the wine from his collection afterwards. He heard out Rio’s theory on monkeys and birds as she had written a soon-to-be-published monograph on the subject. They went down to dinner in the basement, which served to act as a security measure as its walls were hard to penetrate. Someone had given Rio Euwe a broach, but her aversion to such trinkets forbad her to wear one, and she arrived with it in a box, which she laid on the table.

There were two cushions for Rio and Thomas to sit on. The room was adorned with gentle reminders of nature—plants, flowing water, and soft wind chimes. Rio slowly and deliberately opened the box, saying aloud, “Neither alive nor dead.”

A tiny hummingbird sprang to life. Rio and Thomas noted the delicate balance of its existence. It would spend its life expending almost as much energy procuring nectar as consuming it.

Thomas had striking blue eyes and a finely crafted expression that conveyed both meticulous attention to detail and an air of quiet authority. His thin eyebrows arched with an almost instinctive understanding of form and function. As an armorer, Thomas wasn’t merely a creator of attire but a specialist in designing garments for the most extreme environments. His expertise bridged ancient and futuristic realms, blending the resilience of medieval armor with the cutting-edge innovations of modern space suits. This unique skillset made him exceptionally suited for working on the very latest advancements in time travel suits, where the heritage of past designs seamlessly merged with the needs of the future.

He would produce the perfect suit then go back in a time machine to meet a shaman who eluded detection, in the year 2 BCE. This shaman, a figure of mystery and power, was responsible for creating the Nazca lines, those enigmatic geoglyphs etched into the Peruvian desert, from a garment woven for him by a master weaver. The weaver, in turn, had received the designs from a potter, a humble craftsman who shaped clay into vessels that held more than mere water or grain—they held the secrets which the Eternals revealed.

Thomas would not tell Rio this, even if she asked. He felt the weight of the centuries pressing down on him, the immense gravity of time and knowledge. She was here, now, in his place, because she found him charming, no, but not intolerable, or a bit of both.

Thomas knew that his journey was not just a search for a single man. The monkeys would play an integral part and possess their own inner motivations. In their deployment, if he could bring it about, he saw the expression of the illiterate, the hands-on learning in the time before the rote recital of text and process. They would look for birds, especially hummingbirds, which was the subject of study of the shaman, and would therefore lead him to him.

The weather changed, and rain spots fell, slaking the thirst of the smaller animals. The last refugees of animal studies, humanely treated he was assured they communicated to each other in bird calls, with the aid of instruments which melded modern science with traditional art.

It was almost a year before Rio was finally forced to admit she did not know the true identity of the young man she was dating. “It’s like I’m sleeping with a ghost,” she said one day in a pique of frustration. ‘You come from an undeclared background and stick by this…this tailor story.”

Thomas Creer had risen to go out and greet the sun, his morning ritual. In a soothing tone, he said, “The vocation I have gives me a moderate income, my love.”

“Because it will dress lawyers and architects?”

“Exactly. As for the exasperating lack of detail, I know that in time you will learn more, but the path of occupation is closed to us introverts, an invisible barrier stands in our way—because of the masters of ambition.”

“That demands an explanation, my love. Some people develop nevertheless, some insist on more than getting by to change the future deliberately.”

Thomas started. “As if anybody could get around ambition!”

“The principle I refer to is that what if we give those things no place in our existence, why, we are just lovers, of course!” She rolled over in bed playfully. Thomas wiped his glasses. . . . “But what if it was only a temporary lack of ambition?”

“And where do I fit in?”

“At a fundamental level, you are my agent of destiny: Our contact depended on your sending me a letter in the first place.”

“In other words, we’re going to keep performing this scenario over and over? Nobody will like us, and we won’t be able to go into the world as equals.”

“No,” said Thomas. He hesitated, looking like he was summoning a tailored explanation. “It always comes back to my uncertain past, looking forward to a certain future. Each situation must be different, without changing the outcomes we haven’t intended. Even the moment we’re living in is nothing but a. . .”

“Thomas! In other words—excuse the unscientific expression—I might ‘knock out the undesirable past or the future’?”

“You don’t have to think outside the box.” he sighed, reminding Rio of the hummingbird she released at their first encounter. “You must have one particular goal—”

Thomas would not tell her about the time machine. Over time, he navigated the terrain with her, appreciating her job, her profession, but claiming no particular excellence in his own.

Then Thomas encountered a mysterious figure seated on a boulder outside his apartment one stormy night. The figure appeared motionless and was covered in what seemed to be a torn and blackened protective suit. He attempted to illuminate the figure with a spotlight, but there was no response. Upon closer inspection, he realized that it was his agent contact from the Canadian Spacetime Agency, meticulously dressed in black to fade into the appearance of a rock or an oddly shaped stone. He experienced a mix of relief and awe.

Thomas wiped the rain off his face, staring at the figure. "Who are you? Why are you just sitting out here like this? It's pouring."

The Agent stood up slowly, his voice low and gravelly. "Thomas, I’m here because you’ve been chosen for something extraordinary. My name is Agent Carter from the Canadian Spacetime Agency. I’ve come to prepare you for your maiden flight."

Thomas’s eyes widened in surprise. "Flight? In this weather? Are you serious?"

Agent Carter nodded. "Yes, it’s time. You’re going to be the first experimental pilot of our time machine. This is an unparalleled opportunity—an honor, really."

Thomas was both confused and intrigued. "A time machine? But why me? And what about my research? And Reo... I can't just disappear."

Agent Carter’s voice took on a more serious tone. "You’ve been selected due to your unique skills and attributes. As for your research and Reo, there are some things you need to know. You must not disclose this mission to her. Not a word. Your duty to your country requires secrecy."

Thomas frowned "But Reo... she's my partner. How can I keep this from her? She'll be worried sick."

Agent Carter gave a firm but sympathetic look. "I understand it’s difficult, Thomas. This is a matter of national security. Revealing too much could jeopardize the mission and everyone involved. Sometimes, sacrifice is required for the greater good."

Thomas took a deep breath, nodding reluctantly.

"Alright. I suppose if it’s for something this important, I can manage. But I need to know what exactly I’m getting into."

Agent Carter reached into his suit, pulling out a small briefing folder. "I’ll give you the details. The machine is ready, and you have been chosen because of your exceptional capabilities. But remember, this is a one-way trip with uncertain outcomes. Be prepared for anything."

Thomas glanced at the folder, then back at Carter. "Okay, I’ll do it. But this will be harder than you think. I need time to prepare… mentally and physically."

Agent Carter said, "You have the time you need. Just remember, secrecy is paramount. For the sake of the mission and your safety, you must keep this to yourself."

Thomas acted determined, but with a hint of sadness, said, "Understood. I’ll get ready. But you better hope this all goes as planned."

Agent Carter was restrained, but smiled. "We do too. Good luck, Thomas. We’re counting on you."

Thomas provided a concise report on his experience, explaining his undue absence whilst omitting his encounter, receiving a knowing smile from Rio. Despite being close in age, he felt a sense of age disparity when interacting with her. The young woman praised his way of speaking but returned to her own vernacular at her first encounters with equals.

He reflected on the struggles of Earth's societies, emphasizing the cycle of using scientific advancements for destructive purposes. Human power was wastefully expended in harsh conditions, life was divided between rich and poor, and individuals were treated as fragments during their working lives.

Despite the risks, he decided to go back in the time machine at the first opportunity, instructing Rio to stay on standby without contacting him for a few days. In a government transport vehicle, he traveled into the laboratory, observing changes in scenery and mysterious writings. Surprisingly, the self-drive vehicle took an unexpected route, and the tunnel walls were now narrowing. Three unusual individuals were extracting material from the wall, and one stared at him with enquiring eyes. The vehicle halted at a closed lock gate, without going further. After entering a code the gate opened, allowing the vehicle to proceed to the time machine location.

The Prometheus had progressed with unwavering trust in the theoreticians’ calculations, eliminating the doubters. The Brazilians were in on it with the Peruvians: with redoubled determination.

During a restless night, Thomas observed his intensive training as having paid off. His marathon runs and bench presses had honed him not only to fit into his own suit but quickened his reactions to unfamiliar stimuli. Seated in his time machine for the first time, he thought of the sleeping city of Nazca, feeling a shallow sense of empathy for the creation of antiquity which he had no right to interfere with.

"Reece, this is the Canadian Spacetime Agency," crackled a voice through the intercom. "We’re detecting an inter-time object interfering with your transition. Adjust your coordinates slightly to avoid a temporal anomaly."

"Acknowledged," Thomas replied, manipulating the controls. The ancient landscape blurred around him as he recalibrated. "What kind of object am I dealing with?"

"Unclear," the voice returned. "Possibly a remnant of a previous time travel or a natural temporal disturbance. Stay on…”

"Acknowledged," Thomas replied.

He felt a sense of deja vu, then a slight bump as he landed the time machine at Nazca.

He wrote a report:.

‘At a single house on the outskirts of Ventill (the main city of the Nazca), I noted few signs that would lead the Nazca to suspect an enemy among them. I had gone to some lengths to appear as an authentic Nazca visitor.’

In the stark, silent desert of Peru, a strange beauty unfolded, snow fell in slow, delicate flurries, veiling the arid plains of Nazca, a blanket of white purity. The Nazca lines lay hidden beneath the snow, their serpentine forms and geometric precision muted, it was as if the ephemeral, the immutable past and the fleeting present conjoined to provide the solution to the whole riddle. All the science team needed to do was cause a weather cycle which obscured the lines from the Eternals, the beings who lived in the future who had sent message to the Canadian Spacetime Agency. No matter the rituals and offerings, now covered in a cloak of snow were like the gentle caress of a forgotten deity, a reminder that even the most enduring of human marks could be erased, if only for a moment.

In this moment, Nazca was a white expanse, the lines a hidden network, a secret once more. The Spider, the Hummingbird, the Monkey – all the cryptic figures that had defied time and space were now unified under the same monochrome silence. It was a different kind of revelation. A reminder of the cosmos' indifferent artistry, of the fragility of human endeavor against the backdrop of infinite time.

And yet, the city remained. Its people moved through the snow-dusted streets, a rare and surreal tableau. Children played, their laughter rising into the cold air.

The snow on Nazca was not just a meteorological anomaly; it was a dialogue. Between earth and sky, past and present, permanence and transience. It was the beauty of Nazca, not just covered in snow, but embraced by it, a reminder of the ephemeral nature of all things.

It was then that Thomas could interpret the reference in legend to the man with the white face, walking as he was with leaden steps away from where the Nazca lines would be drawn, away from the house, holding the small hope that there was a way. It would have been like shooting dead a motorist in an accident because he was blocking an airport, and the number of lives which it would disrupt would cascade into the present where Rio lived out her life then into the future.

The planetary changes included the formation of hexagonal ice crystals, snowfall, and the growth of stromatolites over the surface of the Earth. Sunlight penetrated the sky as usual, leading to the creation of ozone, protective cloud cover, and rain, fostering the development of soil. The process was like a rejuvenation of the Peruvian eco-system, but the poverty of the soil through over-farming endured and soon life in this area returned to normal.