Gramps
On a bland mid summer day, it seemed the sun had tired of its oppression and chosen to give us a break as we rode in our green van to San Diego. We met with my father’s family in a lavish hotel. We were happy to see each other because it was the first time in many years we had all been together. There was an incredible amount of happiness present despite what was to come. We settled down in our rooms and wandered down the long white corridors in small bunches, darting from room to room. For dinner we gathered around the biggest table we could find and talked as old friends often do. The subject soon turned to my grandfather and I fell back from the world in thought.
To his children he was a stern military man. He served his country valiantly as a Marine dive-bomber in several wars. He traveled often and brought his family along for the ride. Some of his children didn’t know him until later in their lives because of his long absences as a military officer. I often heard of his strict parenting that generated conflict, fist fights, and other brawls between him and his children. He had a strange duality, a presence and absence in the lives of others. He was an island unto himself – distant to those that loved him, inspiring respect from a distance.
As a child I loved him as only a child could and he returned that love as only an elder father could. He seemed to have change from the old stories I heard. He was calm with a pleasant disposition and through young bright gleaming eyes I saw a hero, my grandfather, my Gramps. Whenever I visited him, he was always smiling, laughing or telling jokes. If not for the stories I would never have known of the conflicts that surrounded him. Gramps had young glassy bright eyes of onyx imbedded in tan age hardened skin, deep wrinkles around his eyes and mouth from years of smiling and atop his head a swirl of shiny gray black hair. He frequently wore a fleece polo shirt and slacks, forgetting where his waist ended and stomach began, as older people often do. His age did not hinder him in anything that he did and I never expected the youthful air he carried himself with to vanish. In the years to come his booming laughter was stifled, his muscles weakened and waned, his beaming glow dimmed and his back now frail and weighed down soon fell forward.
As I grew older so did he, and soon it was apparent he was in the winter of his life. He was no longer able to run, play, or work his land as he did when I used to visit. He was reduced to a shadow of his former self for he now hobbled. His health deteriorated and in comparison to his younger self he was emaciated. He began to wiggle his yellowed and decaying teeth and out they would tumble. Just as his body deteriorated so did his mind. He no longer recognized his grandchild or his son or anyone. When he grinned at you not knowing who you were, it was like looking into the pitiful eyes of a child that believes the world is truly full of goodness. Like an old pocket watch he slowed down preparing to stop, but I often wonder if he was prepared, or if he even knew what awaited him. Nothing else in this world slowed down with him and perhaps that is how we all exit this world, as T.S. Eliot wrote, “not with a bang but a whimper”.
Everyone was gathered once more but this time there would be no laughter, only solemn faces and tears. It was cold and misty to match our moods; we dressed ourselves in the colors of mourning both inside and out. In a small dull and lifeless golden box, Gramps was sealed. As we passed him for the final time, some grasped out to touch him. We all sat on cold stone benches in the fog overlooking the Coronado. Gramps received his twenty-one-gun salute, just as he had wanted, a series of thunderous cracks that stiffened the body like the dead. As the service ended the chaplain gave him over to god. On our way out of the funeral grounds, we walked past the wall that would be his final resting place. Cloaked in sadness we had hope for a brighter tomorrow for Gramps had touched each of us in a unique way.
Department of Historical Simulations and Correction
Under New York city down several sewerlines and past abandoned train stations is a door, it is simply marked DHSC. Beyond this door is a large array of silver instruments. Noises of mechanical clattering and electrical buzzing pervade the air. Several men are inside this large oval room each is wearing a white lab coat and a black suit underneath. None of them have any discernible markings or features. Each one is blandly the same.
“Dammit, you know we can’t do that. We are simply a foot note on a research committees budget. As far as anyone is concerned we do not exist.” One
“I’m just saying I haven’t been outside this complex in over a decade.” Two
“A decade their time. We can’t even be sure of that. We need to make sure we haven’t created too many disconnects in the stream.” One
“Yeah it’d be unfortunate if we accidentally erased ourselves.” Two
“You know that’s not funny. That’s a very real possibility.” One
The two men continue to bicker while a third is writing down facts and figures in a blank papered bound book. The book is red with gold gilded lettering it clearly reads Department of Historical Simulations and Correction.
“It’d be nice if we didn’t have to write every thing down” Three
“You know that’s the only way it will keep constant. Just look at the differences that have occurred.” One
“Yeah it’s hilarious when you accidentally move your birth date and the founding of this department back two hundred years.” Two
“Yeah a bit of a paradox though considering these tunnels and subways were built after the fact. The coverup there must have been awkward.” Three
“We seem to be all about those though. Considering the equipment we have is thousands of years more advanced than anything that currently exists.” Three continued.
All the machines gleam and glow. No wires or plugs are seen throughout the room. All the energy that powers the machines is drawn from the air. An orb of electricity pulsates a light blue in the center with concentrate steps extending outward and up from it.
One of the men walks along the top step and stops to pick up what appears to be a flintlock pistol.
“This one was a doozy.” Two
“Yeah it was. Easiest way to bring us back here. Before we had those.” One motions to a series of seats on top of a platform.
“How do you think people feel about what we do?” Two
“People don’t feel anything. As far as everyone is concerned any mention of us died two hundred years ago.” One
“Do you think the guy who we unseated to ‘adjust’ things would hold a grudge?” Two
“He made the legislation to start this.” One
“I suppose that was the easiest way.” Sighs. “So where do we need to go this time?” Two
“Well what does the machine say is the next step?” One
One of the men turns towards a wall. A hologram shimmers up expectantly. A computer way beyond anything humankind could imagine. It traces every person who has ever lived inside of the United States of America and their every action and it’s effects, it knows the result of ever ripple since the founding of the Union.
“Seems like that laundry list is almost done.” Three
“I don’t like that thought. I’m not looking forward to self termination.” Two
“It has to be done. We were given an agenda. We need to make sure the results stay consistent. It’s the only way.” One
The man thinking of his own demise walks forward running his hand across the silver instruments until he is a few feet away from the other doctor.
“I’m afraid I can’t let you do that.” Two
His hand shreds open and folds back. His wrist opens and his forearm expands into a cylinder. His arm is a twisted and mutilated hunk of flesh and metal. The other doctor two’s eyes widen as his head is blasted by a white beam of light. His ears bleed while his eyes and mouth stay wide open. His assailant smiles and looks at his other arm. His palm opens to reveal a circle. He presses it against his victims ear. The victim jitters slightly as his mind is absorbed and the mass of grey in his skull melts.
“Mainframe take care of this mess.” Two
Several mechanical robot arms emerge and push him towards the center of the building. The pulsating orb strips the man down atom by atom until nothing remains. The image of doctor Three shimmers and dissipates. Leaving behind a slunk down man barely breathing haggard with age. An electronic voice bellows “Program Complete”.
“It’s unfortunate this was the only way to stop you from interfering.” Two.
The old man looks upwards with glassy eyes straining to keep the image focused.
“Isn’t it wonderful. That machine knew how old you would need to be completely immobile. And it was such a simple simulation to run to ‘correct’ our measly fate. Well rather mine since you both met your demise as prearranged.”
Three whispers, “How?”
“Such a good question. Let me show you.”
Two presses the same palm used to kill One against Three’s ear. The old mans eye’s go wide for a moment and then as his mind is cannibalized fade to lifelessness. Three is picked up by the robotic arm and meets the same fate as One, stripped apart in a glow of white as all his energy and atomic potential is plucked away into the cold hearted machine. Two looks around the room and smiles. It is finally all his. The room and his comrades are all his.
“Computer initiate program Deux Triad”
The holograms flicker and lines of facts, figures, and numbers run down the screens. The computer room grows larger. The technology more advanced. The computer know holds power over ever man, woman and child on the planet. Two’s vision shimmers as he is transformed. His body augmented to the ultimate form, a union of man and machine. This is no longer a secret department adjusting the USA’s history to create it’s current iteration but the seat of world government. Two is a god. An imperfect god but one none the less. As the computer halts to a stop it seems it needs to run a little while longer as it encountered an unforeseen circumstance. Unforeseen in a computer of this magnitude and power. This sends shiver down Two’s spine.
“What’s the matter?”
“Incident at section 4.3 subset 6.”
“Elaborate”
“Resistance of cooperation”
The program halted. The governments of the world had changed. The world was divided into several multinational conglomerates hundreds of years in the future. Two was displeased.
“Integrate Computer and Two”
The computer room shimmered into nonexistence. The world stretched and contracted shifting Two onto the surface of an island in the Atlantic. Two was now 1.5 times the size of a normal man. His body was perfectly sculpted. His veins shimmered with electricity. His skin pale and slightly silver. His eyes reflected back nothing back darkness. His vision was constantly evaluating his surroundings displaying details. In his minds eye he could see ever action of ever person. These new overwhelming senses overtook him. He stood up tall and walked across the landscape. The landscape contracted until he was at the seat of the world governments.
“Pardon my interruption.”
All the leaders turned and looked at this newcomer. A man who’s voice echoed in all their minds. Booming and louder than anything in the room.
“You may call me History.”
One of the leaders stood up about to say something. History already knew what this man had to say. The finger he was about to point as well as the hand up to the wrist exploded in a flash of white sparking light. The man crumpled clutching his searing wrist.
“I create reality, now do not toy with me. I know everything that is and everything that was.”
Incredulity filled the eyes of everyone in the room. The room waved like a mirage and ceased to exist. All of the members started to flee. History stopped each one by causing their hearts to explode out of their chests. In their dying moments History took all of them into his mind. The only weakness of History was he never knew what another was thinking.
“Shame, none of them knew what is troubling me.”
Several large explosions push History off balance. A whole rips slightly above the ground open revealing the old computer room, One steps forward and raises his arm gun in hand. History looks perplexed. The gun fires. The bullet pierces History’s forehead. As History is falling back he is sent spinning through space and time. The hitch the computer did not realize was that the use of the machine by these three had created infinite versions of themselves at each step they took in correcting the time line. History landed on hard cool ground somewhere. The gun used on History was capable of transporting a person to any point in space and time, and also to any previous iteration of that person. History woke up as the weak Dr. Two not the powerful mega god he had become. History had planned for setbacks before the first correction. While no one was paying attention History focused on improving himself instead of his masters plan. History pulled back his jacket and unbuttoned his shirt, on his left chest was a round metal protuberance. He pressed it in and a space time tore open once more. He stepped up into white space.
“Computer Initiate Recommission”
As soon as the words were finished History recovered from the setback. History had created a similar lab in the event that he should be foiled. This lab kept track of only him and was designed to keep him alive. He decided that now he would make sure it kept him in his peak form.
“Computer Maintain Optimum Performance and Initiate Direct Link.”
He searched his mind trying to find out where One and Three had gone. They had appeared and disappeared without even disturbing him. History’s murderous rampage had eliminated them from this time line. In this world One and Three had died never mind the infinite number of iterations he had spawned in the process. Any other interference could halt any changes he might make to reality.
