Paul Jones - Towards Yesterday

He took the empty coffee pot to the sink and filled it from the faucet. “How’d you sleep?” he asked, “Well,” she answered, before adding, “Is this going to change anything?” Her voice suddenly serious and, Jim thought, very vulnerable.

“Yes,” he replied honestly, placing the coffee pot back on the counter. His hands found the young woman’s shoulders, and he gently turned her to face him. He stared into her eyes and ran his hands through her hair before pulling her close and kissing her gently on the lips. “This changes everything.”

Simone’s crew set their camera up in the corner of the conference room. Jim shot her a quick look as he walked to his seat, but she was all business now. Only the cold eye of the camera met his glance as it swung around to track him entering the room.

Pulling out his chair, Jim looked at the rest of his own team. He could tell they were all nervous, there was not the usual lighthearted banter flowing between them. Of course, it was hard to concentrate and relax when you had a troupe of strangers pointing a camera at you.

The camera crew was, to give them credit, trying their best to remain anonymous but it was impossible to ignore them. They were dressed in muted colors in an attempt to blend into the surroundings, Jim guessed, and not appear too conspicuous. But it was the sheer incongruity of the three of them that was impossible to disguise: Simone, radiant and elegant, every movement part of a graceful dance; Beaumont, skinny and gawky, his body an explosion of angles and bones; and finally Gallagher his hulking body dwarfing both his colleagues and the digital video camera he had fixed to a tripod stand.

Jim could smell the coffee over the other side of the room, but he decided it wouldn’t be too cool to stand up and walk over to grab a cup while the camera was rolling. Amazing how the simple act of focusing a lens on an individual immediately changed their behavior , he thought.

Once Jim seemed comfortable, Lorentz began the meeting.

“I must apologize,” he began, “for the intrusion, but as you know, my hands are tied as to their presence within this compound.” Lorentz looked straight into the camera as he continued. “I will point out right now, however, for the benefit of all here and the establishing of ground rules, that my team is under no obligation to answer any questions other than those relating to their role within the project.” Now his gaze fell on each of his people sitting around the desk, “If at any time you feel our visitors are being too obtrusive or just getting in your way, call security.”

Jim thought he heard a snicker of laughter emanating from behind the camera but he couldn’t be sure.

Lorentz picked up a sheaf of papers, the meeting’s itinerary and battle plan for the day. “Now,” he said, as he gazed at the first item on the list, his voice returning to its normal joviality, “Let’s get this show on the road, shall we?”

Jim found it hard to concentrate on Lorentz’s briefing. All he could think of was Rebecca, the feel of her hair in his hands, the scent of her as she had slept silently beside him, curved into the concavity of his body. The taste of her skin beneath his lips.

It was hackneyed, he knew, clichéd even, but for the first time in his life, he finally felt complete.

“Jim, are you with us?”

“What? Oh! Sorry.” Lorentz’s voice broke him from his reverie and he realized the entire team, gathered around the conference table, was staring at him, smiles creasing their faces. He glanced at Becky and saw her face flush with embarrassment.

They had decided not to tell anybody that they were an item yet, Hell, he didn’t even know if they were an item. They would wait until the experiment was over and then they could announce it. Until then they would be forced to sneak around like a couple of teenagers. But judging by the knowing smirks on the rest of the teams faces, it looked like their secret was already out.

He turned his face to a smiling Lorentz and said “I’m sorry Mitchell, what were you saying?”

“I was talking about the preparations for tonight’s action, Jim,” said Lorentz returning to seriousness. “How is the purity of the power supply?”

“I had a couple of problems with interference yesterday but I managed to isolate it to the guards’ radio system. Horatio was kind enough to install a low-band filter in-line with the generator and that’s done the trick. Purity of ninety-nine point seven percent now.”

“Excellent. Excellent,” said Lorentz ticking the item of his list.

“Now, Mr. Mabry, how are your final preparations coming along?”

It was 23.30 hours, and just half-an—hour remained until the project’s midnight deadline. The already cramped confines of the transmitter room had become even more claustrophobic with the presence of the Church’s camera operator, sound technician, and of course, Simone.

Lorentz was growing more frustrated by the moment; Jim could see it in the rosy flush that was beginning to creep into his cheeks. The Church crew shadowed Lorentz as he moved through the room, running diagnostics on the seemingly antiquated solid-state computer systems they were forced to use. No Nano-Comps this time; they wouldn’t be invented for another fifteen years or so.

Lorentz stopped at a terminal and peered closely at the screen. The action was an old habit, one he had seen repeated numerous times by the majority of people who had found themselves returned to their younger selves. When you have spent the best part of what was supposed to be the last years of your life having to adjust to poor eyesight, it was hard to escape the habit of leaning in to get a better view of what you were trying to look at. Jim saw Lorentz catch himself and withdraw to a better focal point.

The tension in the room was palpable. As the clock ticked away the minutes to the experiment’s start, the weight of responsibility and the inevitable destruction of humankind if the experiment failed was now, finally, coming to bear squarely on the team’s shoulders. Tempers were short, excitement was high, and Simone’s team was definitely not helping matters.

Dressed in a two-piece tweed suit, Simone looked the epitome of nouveau-gentry; elegant and stylish, yet conservative enough to appeal to the Church’s true believers. She was blindingly beautiful and Jim watched her graceful movements as she placed herself behind Lorentz’s back and began talking in a quiet voice to the camera, explaining to her viewers exactly what was occurring.

Earlier in the afternoon she had met with each of the Tach-Comm team members to personally interview them, extracting information about their role within the team and precisely how the experiment would be conducted.

When it had come to Jim’s turn, she had been the consummate professional, almost cold in her interview technique, with no hint that there was any kind of a past between them. He had found himself becoming angry at her lack of warmth, answering her questions with equal iciness. But her final question had caught him completely off guard.

Leaning back in her chair, Simone had bluntly asked him, “Do you believe in God, Mr. Baston?”

Jim had blinked reflexively at the question. In all the years they had been married he could not recall a single discussion between them on the subject of religion. He had assumed she was as much of an unbeliever as he was.

The whirr of the camera lens focusing tightly on his face drew his eyes from Simone’s to the machine’s own single cold eye. Behind the camera lens the rest of humanity, current and future watched, and they would hold him accountable for all eternity by his words and actions. He stared directly into the lens for a long moment and then said with a deliberate tone of nonchalance, “No. I do not.”