A New World

I was chosen to bring you sunny days, gentle and plentiful rains, and clean air.

I was sent to ensure harmony, prosperity and peace.

I expected history to thank me for the revolution.

My code name is Shiva, named for the Hindu god of destruction and rebirth. My mission was to take us to the brink.

Time travel is not new. Some of the world’s brightest physicists understood as early as 2028 how to revisit the past, but agreed to protect that knowledge even from their own governments. Visiting and altering the past posed a far greater threat to mankind than the atomic bomb.

By 2032, Earth was reaching an existential crisis. Climate extremes were plaguing the planet, destroying cities, ecosystems and economies. Wars flared everywhere, killing more civilians than soldiers. Greed was God, thrusting billionaires and corporations into power over the people, enforced by politicians all over the world riding a wave of nationalism, bigotry and frustration.

Our planet needed fixing, but the physicists didn’t dare tinker with the past, fearing the Grandfather Paradox, creating a situation – such as causing the death of your own grandfather – that makes the present impossible. The tiniest tweak of past reality could snowball into the future. But they did explore the idea, running millions of computer simulations to steer destiny for the better. No computers were advanced enough to predict all the possible outcomes.

Not until 2056, when I was recruited for a mission like no other.

With the advent of more powerful computing technology and advances in artificial intelligence, a cabal of a dozen or so physicists, ethicists and historians examined thousands of points in history when a simple act could radically change history. As models, they looked to events that occurred without the help of time travel but eventually, with sacrifice, led to a more stable world. The attack on Pearl Harbor, then the bombing of Hiroshima, come to mind. The group called themselves the Utopia Project.

Events of historic magnitude could not be accomplished with simple tinkering, and the risk of chronological anomalies would be enormous. A stealthy, light touch was needed.

That’s where I came in. My background was in military special ops and covert work for the CIA. I began to question whether my work for the government was helping or harming society, so I quit. I wrote a book questioning the ethics of manipulating world affairs.

That was what the Utopia Project was looking for.

Bryan, an old college buddy, invited me to lunch one day at a neighborhood dive near his place in Brooklyn. In school, Bryan was a history major and was obsessed with the rise of cult personalities. He knew more about Stalin, Hitler, Machiavelli and Napoleon than their own mamas. After graduating, he joined a seminary but dropped out when he concluded that organized religion practiced a lot of the same mind control as dictators.

We sat in a booth near the back of the room, which resembled something straight out of the 20th century. The adjacent booths were empty, but after awhile the server sat a couple in one and some business-lunch guys in the other. With the high seat backs, conversations from the booths were just a mumble.

After a little catching up on family and friends, Bryan got to business.

“What would you say to the most dangerous mission you’ve ever had, one that could save the world from self-destructing?” he asked.

“Sounds like the same challenge they always offered me at Langley.”

“No. The part about saving the world is real, not just from a nationalistic perspective.”

“So what is it?” I was intrigued at that point.

“Unless you come on board, I can’t be too specific. It involves time travel. It requires stealth and speed. It requires a leap of faith. It will test your courage and conscience.”

“Time travel?”

“Yes, time travel,” Bryan replied. “My colleagues have almost perfected it and have tested it several times in the safest conditions. They have sent objects, then people, into remote areas where history and nature would not be disturbed. Eventually, they placed a traveler on the deck of a sailboat miles from shore and brought him back safely in seconds. The mission they propose for you would be neither remote nor unpopulated. The risk of danger to you would be great. The risk to our planet is incalculable.”

Even for a former spook, I was surprised and energized by the challenge. My body pumped too much adrenaline to be scared.

“And what’s the purpose?” I asked.

“To tweak the course of history to save the human race. The pay isn’t great, but years from now the world will know what you did.”

My experience in covert ops urged me to sign on.

“I’m in if the plan is as altruistic as you say. When do I get an interview?” I asked.

“You just did. And passed,” Bryan said. At that, the couple and business group, wired in to our conversation, emerged from their booths and came to shake my hand and welcome me aboard. You have to love the intrigue.

The plan, as it turned out, was so simple that a kid could have done it. But the eggheads concerned about altering history didn’t want to leave anything to chance. I was expecting them to want me to assassinate someone or blow something up. All they wanted was for me to slip a mickey to the right guy.

That guy was Harold Ackerman, at the time president of the United States. Before my mission, he was likely to win re-election by a handful of votes in swing states. At 79 years old, Ackerman was in good health and likely to live for a few more years, but age and demands of the job made him look tired and disoriented. His opponent was hammering on the economy, which was actually thriving after a period of inflation, then they focused on the age issue.

When Ackerman won, he continued steady but unremarkable advances in human rights, climate change and international cooperation, but the partisan gridlock that gripped Congress and the country at large played on as world affairs declined further into war and tribalism, and domestic concerns focused on low-bore cultural issues like pronoun use, entertainment media and religious symbols. That decline has continued 24 years later to the present, unless I could change the trajectory.

On June 27, 2032, Ackerman and his challenger were scheduled to debate, the only such matchup of the campaign. Without interference, he performed well, dispelling claims that his faculties were failing. His opponent on the other hand, claimed he was persecuted, named enemies ranging from migrants to judges, and said he would restore America to a greatness that we could only imagine. The debate gave Ackerman the small boost he needed.

After thousands, maybe millions, of computer simulations, the Utopia Project researchers determined that revolution, not a liberal-majority status quo, would bring the world out of the current malaise. Their work came to one conclusion: Ackerman’s opponent needed to assume the presidency and create a new reality so unjust and demeaning that a disillusioned electorate would rebel, and support reforms long opposed by the right and permitted to languish by the left. Simulations indicated that the revolution need not be violent, though a pharmaceutical CEO’s assassination at that time suggested that many Americans were fine with violence as a tool to end exploitation. That violent class warfare never materialized.

My job was to make Ackerman falter. I had misgivings about damaging a competent and honest leader only to enable another to inflict damage on millions of people worldwide. The Utopia Project members convinced me that such destruction was temporary and was needed to rebuild better. That’s why they labeled me Shiva, god of destruction and rebirth.

***

Today I completed my mission. I’m in recovery, a period of decompression in a dark room to overcome the effects of returning to a time that has been altered. I lie here not knowing what to expect. For all I know, visitors from space now rule the planet.

My mission had gone as planned. At 10:03 a.m. I found myself in the small kitchen adjacent to the Oval Office. Through the door, I could hear Ackerman thank his butler for a glass of iced tea, then heard the door close as the valet left. I knew from records that the president would be studying his notes for the upcoming debate before his chief of staff arrived for a briefing. I had 10 minutes.

I edged the door open, aimed my neural transponder, a device unknown to all except a few scientists in 2032, at the president’s head, waited a second for confirmation that its signal was locked onto the cerebral cortex, then activated the microwave transmission that would create confusion in his neural pathways for several hours. The transponder’s effects wouldn’t be obvious for a few minutes, so I returned to the present without knowing the outcome of the debate, the election and the future of mankind. As I turned to close the door and pocket the transponder, I bumped a saltshaker off the kitchen counter. The lid popped off as it hit the carpet, spreading a halo of salt and a temporal anomoly. With no time to lose, I picked up the saltshaker and lid, and began to screw the lid on as I felt myself being transported ahead in time.

I could feel the saltshaker in one hand and the lid in another. What I didn’t feel was the transponder. Did I leave it on the counter when I picked up the saltshaker?

Decompression over, I hear voices outside the door. A man I don’t recognize enters and turns on the light.

“Shiva, right?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I answer. “So did my mission succeed?”

“More than you could have hoped. You left a gift for future generations.”

“A gift?”

“Yes. Your transponder,” he said. “Fortunately, the Secret Service agent sent to investigate the mystery device and missing saltshaker knew just what to do with it. The FBI was corrupt, so he took the transponder to the Truth Group to analyze. They determined how it worked, and have made its use, or I should say that of thousands of replicas, the tool of choice for pacifying our enemies within and without.”

“And now, Shiva,” he said, taking a neural transponder from his pocket, “let me demonstrate on you what you’ve been missing the past few years.”