A Glint In Time (History and Time)
A Novel of History and Time...
and the ability to do something about it!
Frank J. Derfler
Copyright © 2008 Frank J. Derfler
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 1-4196-9604-1
ISBN-13:9781419696046
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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
My thanks to Kent Kjellgren and Jan Ozer for their critical comments on the drafts of this book. My wife, Marlene Derfler, is my vigilant and dogmatic proof reader and general arbiter of what makes sense.
A few of the people in this book are historic characters. I've used their names and portrayed their actions as accurately as possible. Some of the names of the characters, such as Ted Arthurs, belong to real people. Ted is a good friend of mine who was awarded two Silver Stars for Bravery during the Vietnam conflict. Ted is not a fighter pilot and he probably doesn't know much about time travel, but he is a great guy and very deserving of our respect. As any of you who have played poker with him will know.
Jose Valenzuela is the name of my son-in-law. He isn't a fighter pilot, but he is the archetype of one.
INSTRUCTIONS AND FORWARD
Readers, welcome! This is a book about time, so your part of the reading process is to take note of the time. At the beginning of every chapter I give you time and place. It will help your enjoyment of the story if you note it.
I also give you some clues and orientation as an introduction at the start of each chapter. These are not the inspirational homilies you sometimes see at the top of a chapter in some books. Instead, they are meant to be real clues and signposts for your reading.
There are no made up facts in here. Everything from Rubidium ice with no molecular momentum to "Zootsuite Black" is real. We took one step forward into time, but it could happen any day. Or, maybe it already has.
Have some adventure along with our characters. I know they enjoy every moment you spend with them. They tell me so.
Frank Derfler
Islamorada, FL 2008
A GLINT IN TIME
BOOK I 1995
BEACH HISTORY
Monday, June 5, 1995
1300 Central Time Zone
Destin, Florida
Excerpt from the Personal Narrative
of Dr. William E. Wirtz, PhD
Recorded May 2006
UNCLASSIFIED
"About that time in 1995 I was like a deer in the headlights. I was an ostrich with my head in the sand. Pick your analogy. I had no idea what was going on. But yet, I probably wouldn't have done anything very differently."
Sally Langley had the heel of her right foot on the accelerator and toe on the brake as she downshifted her new BMW 325i convertible from fifth to fourth gear to pass the heavy lumber truck moving eastward on US 98. The highway had many two-lane sections as it meandered along the Gulf of Mexico. She was ready to move after staring at the license plate of the tractor trailer and eating its dust for almost ten miles. Despite the dust, Sally was glad to be on the road and away from Atlanta. She needed a change of scene, her last boyfriend was ancient history, and a few days of work at double her normal fee with an advance already in the bank was too good to pass up.
She slowed down to the speed limit and watched for her next turn. A piece of paper with her driving directions was clutched in her right hard. The trip odometer showed the correct distance since the last turn and there was a road coming up, but no sign she could see. She took the turn, flshtailed a little on the gravel, uttered a quick "Damn", and headed for the beach. As the faxed instructions described, the yellow stucco house was at the end of a sand driveway off a gravel road. The side of the house she saw was level with the top of a dune, but it was evident that the side facing the beach was open and expansive. She stopped for a moment after she got out of the car to look around. Sea oats and a few scrub pine trees sticking out of the sand passed for landscaping.
Her knock was answered by a young man with a short haircut, glasses, tattered shorts, and a tee shirt. As the door opened, Sally noticed the blast of cold dry air and then, after a heartbeat to identify it, the familiar smell of ozone and hot plastic from computer equipment. The smell was familiar, but the setting was strange. Sally said, "Hi, I'm Sally Langley looking for Doctor Wirtz. Is this the right place?"
"Sure." was the reply. "Go up the stairs to the right." At the top of the stairs, Sally was greeted with a panoramic view of the blue Gulf of Mexico lapping at a sugar white beach. "Hey, are you Sally?" The man asking was wearing shorts, sandals, and a tee shirt with well-washed spots on the front. Just over six feet tall, he moved well as he came to greet her. Blue eyes set off a pleasant face, but he wore glasses and his eyes looked bleary. Sally pegged him as early 30s.
Sally was still dressed in Atlanta business casual -a skirt and blouse with some tasteful jewelry. Her only concession to her drive to Florida was sensible flats. She knew she had great legs and a long slim waist and she didn't need heels to set them off. At 26 she felt she was in her prime. Big hair was in this year, thanks in part to Jennifer Anniston, but she kept her dark hair cut short. She paid an upscale Atlanta salon to make sure her layered razor cut looked at least presentable coming out of the Beemer convertible. She wouldn't be caught dead as a dumb blond, but blue contact lenses pushed the reflected color of her hazel eyes a little up the spectrum.
"My goodness," she said as she smiled and shook his hand. "It's beautiful, but this is a pretty strange place for a research center." She turned her back on the view and looked at the computer workstations that filled this floor of the Florida Panhandle beach house. "What are you doing here in what even the natives call Frigging Lower Alabama?" Sally said.
"Hey," Bill replied, not missing a beat. "You're the communications expert. You know that a research center doesn't have to be in any particular place anymore. We can reach out and tap databases and people anywhere around the world. "
"So you do historical research here? That's what I understood on the phone?" She moved around the room. She looked casual, but Sally the electrical engineer from Georgia Tech was evaluating the quality of the cabling, the equipment cooling, and general layout. Everything was done
professionally and she didn't see any shortcuts. She silently nodded in grudging approval.
"Well, as I explained on the phone, we call it research into historical alternatives. We look at what might have happened if certain elements of history had happened differently. In one way, you can look at it as a study in sociology, politics, economics, and history all rolled into one."
"Yeah, but on a university campus you'd have people to collaborate with, wouldn't you?" Sally knew she was sounding bitchy, but she was both curious and on alert. She expected to be at the end of the technological universe, but instead she found herself on the Holodeck of the Enterprise. She was out of sync and taking it out on her client. Mentally, she told herself to get out of it.
"Academia took a dim view of my research into historical alternatives before I got funding from my sponsors. I was published a few times, but the feeling among my peers was that I was writing historical fiction instead of doing academic research. Now, of course, several universities have told me that they'd love to have my money and equipment on campus, but I don't need them. I'm working hard, but I can also find the time here to enjoy myself without snoopy peer review boards and department heads."
"So where do you find the people to help you run this equipment?" she asked.
"That's the easy part. Eglin Air Force Base is just across the bay. They have a big development center there. The kids I
have working here after 6 PM spend their days programming the guts of drone aircraft and smart bombs. They're good, but their day jobs are pretty narrow. In this project they get to do different things with the latest technologies. I pay them a healthy wage on the local scale, which is still half of what I'd have to pay graduate students on some campus. Besides that, they know how to keep their mouths shut."
"How important is that? Keeping your mouth shut, I mean." Sally asked. As they talked, she moved through the building inspecting the consoles and equipment rooms. It was evident that the first floor of the relatively spacious house on the beach had been gutted and converted to office and equipment space."You told me on the phone that you're financed by some big money guys in the computer gaming business. Do they enforce security? I don't see any guards or television cameras."
"Oh, the television cameras are here, see that nail hole in the wall? That's one of them." He pointed a long finger at the hole that looked like it had once held a hanger for a picture. "But they're here mainly to please the insurance company that covers all the equipment. The best security in this case seems to be the dullness of the subject matter. Doing "what-if" historical sociometrics doesn't interest many people, but if these folks signing the checks are in the computer game business like they say they are, then I guess they have competitors. " He shrugged as if indicating that the business of games was beyond his understanding.
"You really don't know what they're doing with your results? You only think they're designing games using your
scenarios and reports?" Sally raised an eyebrow. "Isn't that a little strange?"
"Well, maybe that's why you're here. They told me to bring in a communications expert to establish a high speed data link to Indonesia. You're it. You're the imported talent from far away Atlanta. Maybe we'll find out why an Asian consortium is so interested in history. The computer game idea sort of makes sense, but there is never any one story line in their questions that we can find."
"So how have you been communicating with these people? How do you get their questions and send replies now? "
"We started out with faxes. They contacted me originally by fax, we negotiated by fax, and they told me how to contact the bank in a fax.Then, after I made some initial equipment buys, we moved up to using MCI Mail online to exchange questions and scenarios. They don't want these computers to have any connections to any commercial network, so I've been dialing an international number and connecting with a server twice a day, updating my e-mail, and dropping off files. "Wirtz gestured to a computer screen that indicated it was ready to dial.
"Have you got a copy of the message they sent with the high speed connection requirements? " Sally asked. Wirtz nodded and handed her a printout.
"Well," she said as she scanned the sheets, "they only want a T-1 line." She noticed the blank look on his face.
"That's one point five megabits per second. Ah, it'll move about fifteen kilobytes per second of data —more if we use compression. I'll have to work with the local telephone company and a major international carrier to set this up. But uh-oh, they want it installed within seven days. We might wind up with a satellite dish and some pretty high costs."
Wirtz smiled and waved his hand again.“I’m a sociologist who understands programming, but communications technology is beyond me. We've never sent them a report of more than 10 or 15K of text, but I can tell you that the subject of costs for the circuit never came up. I don't think they care. But they did say that we should arrange for the circuit from this end and pay for the whole thing in dollars."
"Well, the dollar is cheap for them right now. I guess they think they're getting a bargain. I'll see if the local telephone company business office is open in the afternoon."
"If the fishing's good, it might not be. That's the way they work around here." Wirtz gave her directions for the telephone company in Destin and smiled as she went out the door. She got into her car and headed out to get going West on US 98 leading into the town.
Sally's meeting with local and long distance telephone companies didn't inspire confidence. The clerk talked a lot about needing engineering studies in order to design the circuit. She placed an order for the circuit to get things moving and arranged for expediting charges, but when she was in the car she also used her mobile phone to call
