John Schettler - Meridian

“Well we could warn people!” Kelly kept trying.

“Oh, that would be a sight,” said Nordhausen. “We’ll all dress up in emergency gear and take a short range jaunt, say five or ten days before the eruption? Then we can run around telling everyone the east coast is about to be destroyed.”

“You know that’s impossible,” said Dorland “We can only go back to a time beyond our own Life-Shadow. You can’t go to any time you actually lived. That’s Paradox with a capital P, and it can’t happen.”

“Of course it can’t happen,” said the professor. “The shortest jump we could make, assuming we could jump at all, would have to be to a time before any of us were born— well before we were born so we couldn’t possibly interfere with our own potential time lines.”

“It’s an Imperative event,” Dorland put in again. “We can’t change it, no matter where we go.”

A knock on the door surprised everyone in the room.

“Who could that be?” Kelly got up and started for the door.

“I’m not expecting anyone,” said Nordhausen. “Probably local police with a civil defense warning.”

“Probably one of those idiots running around in the street,” said Kelly. He twisted the door knob and pulled open the door. A frail, elderly man was standing in the shadows just outside. The noise of the tempest raging through the Bay Area surged into the room on a gust of cold air. “Yes?” Kelly poked his head around the edge of the door, peering into the darkness as he tried to make out the stranger’s face.

“Kelly Ramer?” The visitor’s voice spoke in a near whisper.

“Yes, I’m Mr. Ramer.” He could see that the man was dressed in a heavy overcoat, but that he didn’t seem to be wearing any kind of official uniform. “What is it?” He guessed. “Don’t tell me my car is in someone’s way out there.” The minute he offered the statement he knew how ridiculous it was. How would anyone know that the forest green Subaru with one wheel on the sidewalk outside Nordhausen’s private study belonged to Kelly Ramer?

“Thank God,” the man said. “You’re alive.”

“What?” Kelly was completely confused now.

“Who is it, Kelly?” Maeve came up behind him, her hand on his arm. “Well, invite the man in, dear.”

“Maeve Lindford?” The man stepped forward and the light from the study illuminated his face. He seemed old, perhaps seventy years by the well entrenched gray of his hair. His features were drawn with fatigue, and he paused a moment to look at his wrist watch. “10:45,” he said in a low voice. “I’m a bit early, but no harm. The tape has run out.” He looked up with a smile tugging at the lines around his eyes. “I’ve brought you a little gift, Maeve.”

The man reached into his heavy overcoat and drew out a small parcel. Maeve squinted, then saw what he was holding. A puzzled look came over her features. “A delivery? At this hour?” She instinctively reached out to take hold of the small dark brown bag in the man’s hand, recognizing it at once as a bag of Peets coffee. She raised it to her nose, taking in the aroma of freshly roasted coffee beans.

“May I come in?” The stranger smiled as Maeve looked at the label on the bag. It was Major Dickason’s blend.

Lightening flashed in the open doorway, and they ushered in the stranger as the resulting peal of thunder rumbled in the distance. The man tramped in, his outer coat and hat sodden with the rain. There was a strange howling on the wind, as if a pack of dogs was trailing in the man’s wake. He paused for a moment, a glimmer of fear and uncertainty in his eyes. The cold air seemed to surround him with a pale, frosty aura. Everyone in the room just looked at him, until Maeve, her social sensibilities more honed than the others, extended an arm and pointed the way to the study table where Dorland and Nordhausen were still hunched over the atlas.

“You’ve come a long way in this weather.” Maeve was still a bit nonplussed. “Peets is on the other side of town.”

“A very long way indeed,” said the stranger.

“Here, let me take your coat and hat, and please make yourself comfortable. Was this a special order? I had no idea Peets would make a delivery like this, but I must say, you couldn’t have come at a better moment. Will you join us? We were just about to brew a fresh pot.”

“I’d be delighted.” The man nodded, his ashen mustache wagging a bit as his features strained to a smile. He had a pale aspect, and he seemed very frail.

“Let me make the introductions.” Maeve was shifting social gears nicely, glad for the odd distraction from the tension of the moment, and glad to put aside the thoughts that were simmering in her mind; the image of a titanic wall of water sweeping into Boston Harbor and obliterating the quaint New England style cottage where her mother was probably sleeping quietly in her bed—dreaming away the last few hours of a very long life.

“This is Paul Dorland, and Professor Robert Nordhausen.” She paused, a strange look in her eye. “You seem to already know Kelly, but I’m sorry, I can’t recall meeting you. Forgive me. I’m sure I’ve been in your store a hundred times. Perhaps we met there? Mr…?”

The obvious question in her voice invited the stranger to answer. She was helping him out of his overcoat, and he reached up to remove his hat as he spoke, smiling graciously. He ran a weathered hand through his sparse gray hair.

“Excuse me,” Kelly closed the door and came up from behind, thinking the man had come to see him about something. “Was there some problem I can help you with?”

“No problem, Kelly,” said Maeve. “He was just making a delivery.” She had the closet door open and was fishing for a coat hanger.

“Well it’s just that…” Kelly thought a moment, smiling. “You seemed surprised to see me a moment ago and—”

“Count your blessings,” Maeve shot over her shoulder. “For someone to come out with a pound of coffee on a night like this is well beyond the call of duty. Let me get my wallet here, before I forget, and I can pay you for this.”

“Please,” the stranger held up a hand. “Don’t trouble yourself. I’m afraid you misunderstand. Yes, I’ve just come over from Peets, but I—” He paused, hesitating for a moment and looking at his watch. “May I sit down?” The man seemed to be somewhat winded.

“Be my guest.” Nordhausen pulled out a chair at the study table and the visitor sat down as the others gathered around.

There was an awkward moment of silence before the visitor spoke up. “Well, I’m afraid this can’t be helped.” He looked at his wrist watch, and Kelly had a puzzled expression on his face as he seated himself. Dorland was watching the man very carefully, his forehead furrowed with concentration.

“Phillip Graves,” the man introduced himself. “I suppose you’ve heard the news?”

“Indeed!” Nordhausen scratched the back of his head. He had noted Paul’s silence, and suddenly had a funny feeling about the unexpected visitor. This was very odd. Why would Peets send over a pound of coffee at this hour of the night? They didn’t deliver coffee at any hour. He struggled to get on top of the situation, but Maeve asked the question first.

“Did one of you lovely gentlemen order this?” She held up the bag of coffee with a glint in her eye. “Robert?” It was logical to assume that Nordhausen was the guardian angel, as the coffee had come to his study address.

“I’d love to think I was that considerate, but I must confess I know nothing about this. Does Peets deliver?”