A Dream From The Past
A Piece of History

I don’t understand why this particular mission should bring on the nightmare more often and make it more pronounced, but there it is. Do you think that the two could be interrelated?

Josh stood quietly for a moment as Albert finished grading a few papers and writing some notes in the columns. He observed the vast library that Albert kept in his partially unkempt book shelves. Wood seemed to be the theme for his office, for the floors, the shelves and his desk were all versions of hardwood. Although the chairs at his desk were simple metal fold up chairs, and they felt oddly out of place. The windows were weather worn both inside and out, and were shut tightly. This was unfortunate; for it was rather warm in Albert’s office. Josh thought at first that it may be from the poorly designed archaic heating system that was used in this time, but then again maybe Albert may have wanted it this warm. He may have even needed it this warm, but just in case Josh was glad to be of service. “Uncle Albert!” Josh said-using Uncle had become a term of endearment, for the both of them had become very close.

“Yes, Max.”

“May I open a window? It’s a bit balmy in here, don’t you think?”

“If you like, it’s ok with me.”

“Unless you need it this warm, Uncle?”

“No, really it’s ok; the fresh air would do me good.”

“How are you feeling, Uncle?” Josh said as he crossed the room and slid open a window just part way to let in some fresh spring air. The sweet perfume of spring flowers wafted into the room. Was that honeysuckle or trillium, Josh smelled? Josh was no botanist, but he enjoyed the fragrance anyway.

“I have my better days, and worse days. Today isn’t too bad. That’s a wonderful fragrance, isn’t it? Thank you, son,” Albert replied, as Josh placed a cup of tea on Albert’s table beside him. “Take a look at that letter on my desk.”

“You’re welcome, Uncle. What’s it about?” Taking the letter in his hand, Josh read aloud the name, “Bertrand Russell.”

“You may read it.” Albert said and gestured for Josh to sit down beside him.

“Thank you,” Josh said and he opened the letter and sat down. As was the case with nearly everyone in his time, Josh was a rapid reader, one glance he had read the entire letter. “This looks like a manifesto urging all nations to give up nuclear weapons.”

“Read on.” Albert said, simultaneously giving a hand gesture that also said to continue.

Although Josh had already read it twice in that short amount of time he replied, “Ok.” not wanting to seem rude. He sat there in silence for a few moments admiring the paper’s size, texture and slight blotches in the text where the typewriter ribbon probably had a little more ink in it than in other places. He counted thirty-eight of them. Josh studied every little quirk in minute detail. The texture of the paper was rough and uneven in thickness, shape and in color. It was beautiful! Paper and ink were used very little in his time, mostly for formal letters and formal invitations. This paper, however, was a work of art; it was a piece of history that only a handful of people had had the chance to hold and read. Josh was overwhelmed.

“Wow Uncle, this is a great letter! Are you going to add your name to it?”

“I was thinking about it, yes.”

“Well I think you should. It sounds almost like you wrote it.”

“Yes, Bertrand is a good fellow.”

“He sounds like a great thinker!” Josh said, making a mental note to look up Bertrand as a potential subject.

“If you would fetch me a pen, I think I will write to Bertrand and give him my support.”

At this Josh bounded out of his chair and over to the desk, snatched up a pen and piece of paper. Albert scribbled a little note to Bertrand giving him his full support for the manifesto, and then signed the manifesto itself. Josh then grabbed an envelope for Albert, as Albert folded the note and the manifesto and then put it into the envelope. Albert addressed the envelope as Josh located a stamp.

“Could you leave this for the post to pick it up tomorrow?” Albert asked.

“Sure,” and Josh went straight the mailbox with the letter. Upon returning Josh commented, “That felt wonderful.”

“What felt wonderful?”

“Taking part in his—er—I mean, in such a great cause.” Josh almost said, “Taking part in history,” something he had never done.

At that thought, Josh gasped almost audibly, now he had the last piece he needed. In order to convince Albert to come with him, he needed something—like a carrot for a mule—something that would give him a reason to come. It couldn’t just be a wish; it had to be something Albert desired deep down in his soul. Albert wanted peace! This revelation began to fill Josh with both joy and exhilaration. However, having done this successfully many times, he knew had to start at the beginning. Josh quietly sat back down next to Albert. Holding back his excitement and eagerness, he calmly began, “Uncle Albert.”

“Yes, Max”

“Do you remember the first day we met?” Josh was good at asking questions.

“I do, and you presented that incredible mathematical problem. You are quite brilliant, son!”

“Remember when we talked about the properties of light information being bounced back in time if it struck the right place in that spiral of time around a black hole?”

“Yes and even in your mathematical equation you proved the information in that transmission would be so distorted that it would be impossible to receive and translate into anything more than gibberish.”

“What if that distortion could be compensated for?”

Josh knew that you ask questions of a person and allow that person to answer in his own way; in so doing you allow the person to come to the same conclusions as you did.

“Perhaps hypothetically it could be done for instant bounces, but the further back in time you go the more distorted the signal would be both by time and the turbulence of space itself.”

Josh took the hint, diving into the hypothetical now allows the conclusion not to be reality, but perhaps it could happen in theory.

“What if, hypothetically speaking, with the proper equipment and extensive testing one could calculate the effects of the distortion and compensate for it?”

“I’m not sure there is a person or piece of equipment that exists today that could calculate that many variables. Stan is still working on your mathematical problem, and I don’t think he will actually come to the answer for that one in his lifetime.”

“You have heard of those machines that can run calculations? Computers? What if hypothetically someone could make a supercomputer machine that could calculate and compensate for those distortions?”

“That would have to be a very, very large supercomputer machine. Theoretically speaking then, the possibility exists. However, the signal would still be very weak and difficult to decipher, and you couldn’t send a whole lot of information. A narrow band radio signal would be useless, because you wouldn’t be able to put a frame of reference on that signal to know what you were deciphering. If you used a wide band signal a frame of reference would available, and you could send a great deal of information. Then how could you tell the difference between that signal and background noise--assuming anyone would even be looking for that signal?”

“You are correct, no electronic equipment built today can create a signal like that, nor can any piece of electronic equipment be designed today that would even be able to decipher a signal like that. As you said, my calculations proved that. What about the biological equipment? Our own minds?”

“I don’t know how you could direct a signal like that?”

This was the deepest into this subject that Josh had ever had to go. Many of the subjects Josh had to work with just accepted some of his ideas as he presented them. Josh wasn’t going to take this question and answer session any further. He would let this part sink in It was time to change the subject and start talking about Albert’s deepest desire. But then, so much time had passed, he thought he had better check to see how much he had to spend on the subject, so he quickly glanced at his watch and…

“Oh my gosh!” Josh exclaimed.

“What is it, Max?” Albert inquired—somewhat startled.

“It’s almost five o’clock and I have a racket ball match with my friend, John, at five!”

“My goodness, you had better get going. That reminds me, my daughter should be by to pick me up as well”

“As always Uncle Albert it has been wonderful talking with you. I hope I can see you tomorrow.”

“I will be home tomorrow, but you can stop by and see me anytime.”

This was not the way Josh would have preferred to segue their conversation, but perhaps he would have the chance to smooth it over tomorrow. He still had a few more days and fortunately Albert would be mentally stable up until the very last day.

“You’re late!” John and Francine both exclaimed in unison.

“Sorry,” Josh puffed as he raced into the locker room to change. It appeared that John had already been there a while, because he was already wearing his shorts and t-shirt with some really worn out athletic shoes. His hair and t-shirt showed signs of being drenched from a water bottle. Josh figured John had been warming up a little, but doubted it was sweat running down his shirt. How could anyone work up that much sweat in only ten minutes of warm up? Just five minutes had passed when Josh emerged from the locker room. He had thrown on a brown shirt and gray shorts with a white stripe on each side. He was still wearing his brown dress socks he had been wearing all day, but he had scrunched them down to the top of his shoes so it wouldn’t be so noticeable. His athletic shoes appeared to be in the same tattered condition of John’s, and they still needed to be tied.

“That was fast!” said Francine, staring at him up and down, amazed at how muscular his arms and legs were. He looked handsome except for those… “Are those your dress socks?” Francine giggled.

“Yeah,” Josh replied.

“Had to borrow your shoes from the locker room too, ’ey?” John said with a chuckle.

“Yeah, I left my Gym bag back on campus. Are we ready then?” Josh asked almost knowing the answer.

“I’ve been ready.” John answered and then added, “Sure you don’t want a warm up?”

“I’ll just do a few quick stretches while I tie my shoes.”

“Well hurry up, we only have forty-five minutes left, and you may need all that time to score on me.” John jeered.

Josh did a few leg stretches, a few arm stretches then tied up his shoes—tight. He grabbed his racket and stepped onto the court. Francine took her place in the observation room to watch.

“Ready?” asked John as he bounced the ball a few times.

Josh just nodded and with that John served. Josh could tell that John wasn’t playing his hardest, at first Josh thought that John was letting him warm up then…

“So, where were you?” asked John. Now Josh realized this wasn’t going to be a competition, but rather a way to mask a conversation.

“I was…nice save…I was with Un—er—Professor Einstein.” Josh replied, and then swung and missed an easy shot. He was going to say Uncle, but wasn’t ready yet to give away how close he and Albert were getting, and that thought distracted him. “Geez, that was terrible!”

John served again and asked, “So what do you two talk about?”

“You remember the math equation I presented to him last month, sometimes we talk about that,” said Josh, and then he hit a slap shot that whizzed just out of John’s reach.

“Hey! What was that?” John exclaimed.

Josh grinned and picked up the ball to serve.

“So what do a business major and a physics professor have so much in common, that they get on so well?” asked John.

Josh’s reply was quick and short, “My Grandfather.”

Now John was full of questions, and before he could open his mouth to ask the next one, Josh could see the puzzled looked on his face. First Josh served and then began to tell his story—trying to tread lightly on the details so he could actually be as truthful as possible.

“My Grandfather was part time scientist and a whiz of a mathematics professor. He loved to tinker in science and mathematics from his childhood. Once he read the book ‘The Time Machine’, by H.G. Wells, and he was hooked on the mathematics of time. Then comes along Prof. Albert Einstein and he writes all these papers on the Theory of Relativity. My grandfather got extremely excited, for now he had some real equations to work with. When he read the Einstein’s theory’s on frame dragging—where a massive spinning object in space would drag space and time around it like if you spun a bowling ball on a blanket it would drag and bunch up the blanket around it in a spiral. He got an idea and worked on it for several years to try to work out an equation to see if time travel were possible. What he needed—nice shot—what he needed was an extremely massive object spinning very rapidly to make it possible. Enter the theory of the black hole. Now my Grandfather had all the ingredients to develop a theory of his own, and he created the mathematical equation that I presented to Prof. Einstein.”

“Ouch!” John had just stepped Josh’s foot trying to get to a shot that just got out of his reach.

“Sorry. So why didn’t your grandfather write a paper on it and submit it to Einstein himself?”

“Well he couldn’t get to Einstein; he didn’t have the means or the money to. As for the paper, he wrote it and gave it to me just before he died. Not before he had taught me all the ideas behind his theory. He had also taught me enough to be a math whiz too, and he got me excited about science.”

“I’m sorry about your grandfather. So… Yeah! Nailed that one!” John had slapped the ball so hard it flew past him on the right and Josh was to his left. Josh missed it, and it was now John’s serve again. “So how does a kid interested in science and a whiz at math, decide to become a business major?”

This was a good question, for Josh had graduated in the top of his class on a science major, and actually held the title of Academics director in Astrophysics for Berkeley. Up to this point, Josh had been honest and truthful about Josh’s life—as long as he kept the dates out of it. Max’s life was a different story. Both of Max’s grandfathers had been farmers, and one died before he was born. Still that left Josh with the only grandfather Max had known to be a farmer, who died ten years ago. Now it was time for Josh to fib a little to tie it all in to fit Max’s life. John picked up the ball to serve.

So Josh began again, “Well my grandfather was a farmer, and never really made money in science. It was more like a hobby for him.” This seemed like a good beginning of an answer, so John whacked the ball and started the game again. “I guess my best answer, for deciding to be a business major, would have to be…whoa, look out!” Josh exclaimed as the ball just missed the back of John’s head. “…would have to be money, I suppose.” Josh said, panting a little by now. This seemed like a good neutral answer. “You know, I think Uncle Albert and I hit it off so well because he reminds so much of my grandfather.”

“Oh! Uncle Albert is it now?” John retorted.

As Josh realized what he had just said, whoops! Too late to take it back now, he then added, “Well it had to come out some time, I guess. We are related too, in a way.”

“In what way?” John asked, almost sarcastically.

“He’s like a step Uncle or something.” Josh replied.

It was a lot easier to say and explain away than it would have been to say he was my Great great …into infinity. This reply seemed to irritate John and suddenly the game went from a gentlemen’s game to a genuine down and dirty brawl.

“So does Uncle Al help you with your schoolwork too?” John asked smugly, smacking the ball as hard as he could, making it a nearly lethal projectile.

Josh answered in kind. “No, I’ve got your sister for that!”

Although this was a true statement, it wasn’t stated matter-of-factly. It didn’t go over very well with John either, who smacked the ball even harder and at an odd angle so that Josh had to practically leap sideways to get it.

“Is that how you’ve been able to make it all these years in college, cheating off all the girls on campus and sucking up to the professors?” John jeered.

Now the contest that had begun as a gentlemen’s sport, became downright ugly. From this point on they played on in silence, with the exception of their grunts and groans and the noise of the ball rebounding. John and Josh smacked the ball harder and harder. John hit the ball into the wall, it rebounded and zinged passed his ear only to make a good solid connection with Josh’s chest. Josh coughed and gasped for air momentarily, but was undaunted. His competitive nature kicked into high gear, and he was not going to let John win this round. He staggered to his feet and grunted at John to serve again, and so it began again. As the ball screamed back and forth smacking into the wall loudly rebounding again and again, the two boys leapt from side to side and dove to catch it before it bounced twice, Francine glued her face to the window and bit her lip. Up until a few moments ago she had liked watching the match. Now she was very concerned; she wanted to turn away, and yet she couldn’t seem to take her eyes off them. John’s shirt was soaked with sweat and blood that dripped from his nose, having just been pelted hard in the face. Both were bleeding from the various scrapes on the hands, elbows and knees. Though the bruises weren’t visible yet, they too would surely come.

After a while, Josh realized this was not going well. John was supposed to be a good friend of Max’s. Josh couldn’t let this match be the beginning of the end of their friendship. Competitive as he was, winning this match might not be good for Max’s future. Realizing humor would be the best way to back out of this escalating testosterone laden battle, Josh finally broke the silence, “Yeah! And now that I have your cute little sister, she can use her charm and steal the tests for me.”

It worked. Josh had slipped under John’s radar and thrown him an unexpected curve ball in the argument. The ball now bounced unchecked around the court, as the two of them stood there for a moment looking at each other and dripping with blood and sweat, panting heavily, and then both burst out laughing hysterically.

Francine let out a deep sigh of relief, and then said in loud exasperated voice, “Boys!”

“Max! You’re such a knucklehead!” John managed to say in between the laughter.

“So are you!” Josh awkwardly replied, not really having an appropriate comeback for this time period, he had to kind of wing it.

After the laughter died down, they both reached for their water bottles. Once he had wet down his dry mouth and gave his hair a small bath; Josh continued, “You know, I loved my grandpa. He had been like a best friend for me when I was growing up. Spending these last few weeks with Uncle Albert… well it was almost like having my grandpa back ag...” he trailed off, noticing his knee was dripping some blood on the floor, he grabbed a towel and mopped it up.

John glanced at Josh’s knee and then looked down at himself. “I’m sorry, you’re right, I guess I was being…”

“…a knucklehead?” Josh quipped. “Yeah, I believe it” They both chortled.

“You know what else? I think I love your sister too; I think I will marry her. What do ya think about that?” Josh finished with a grin.

John stood silent for a moment drying himself off and sopping up the blood from his nose. Then they both instinctively looked up at Francine. Francine went pink, she hadn’t heard what they were saying but she could tell now they were talking about her. This didn’t sound like such a bad thing to John—having Max for a brother-in-law.

John looked down at his watch, “We have seventeen more minutes, what do you say, we play for one more point? Loser buys the drinks.”

Josh got concerned for a moment “Drinks” in this time period usually meant alcoholic drinks. Although Josh wasn’t opposed to the idea, he was still on a mission, and this meant he was always “on duty”. What if he accidentally went too far? What if he got drunk and started spilling his guts about time travel, his mission and generally blowing his whole cover? Not to mention how devastating this could be to the timeline. That would be unforgivable, and for this even he—Joshua Albert Roberts, the top dog at the Time Port—would be terminated. That thought made him shudder, not just because the pay for this line of work was phenomenal, but also because he absolutely loved doing this—he was born for it. He couldn’t imagine going back to just being a director at Berkeley, if they would even have him back. Then he came to his senses. They would most likely be bringing Francine along, and she wouldn’t be allowed in a bar—being under age. Besides he didn’t have to drink alcohol anyway, even if he did have to buy the drinks.

At length, he said, “You’re on!”

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