Herculanium (20 page)

As the general exited the room, Preston felt as if a great weight had been lifted from his conscience.

“I’ll leave you to your rest, Mr. Jones,” said the doctor. “I shall return in a few hours to check on your recovery.”

“Why did he just call me a ‘soldier’? Earlier, he thought I was on a mission...”

“The general’s a bit of an eccentric, I’m afraid. Please don’t mind him.”

“There’s something wrong here. There’s something wrong with you, with him, with this room. Is there something I should know?”

“Mr. Jones, I’m going to ask you a question. It may seem eccentric, so please feel free to decline answering it.”

“Shoot.”

“Do you know what time it is?”

“You trying to be funny? What kind of fucking question is that?”

“It’s just a question, Mr. Jones. I retract it.”

“You guys are talking down to me like I’m some kind of cripple. Doctor Bentley, I feel like I’m under arrest here. The only ‘crime’ I’m guilty of is surviving and waking up in this madhouse. You two geniuses don’t even know who I am, and I’m the idiot?”

“Try to get some rest, son. Everything will be alright.”

“Don’t change the damn subject. You eggheads probably think I’m delusional or something. I can say the same thing about you. All of you.”

“It appears we both have questions about each other. Dialogue is good. Good day to you.”

Preston waited several minutes before getting up from his bed, making sure the doctor didn’t unexpectedly return with some new epiphany. Wincing as his feet touched the glacial floor of the room, he stood in front of the window and stared out into the sky. But there was only a frosted window before him, dotted by crystal raindrops and puddles of streaming water. For the moment, his whole world existed within the four walls of his room, where he stood out of place, and out of time.

Jayna Rogers sat comfortably in her plush chair, keeping her unblinking eyes glued to the screen. She had eaten her popcorn down to its last, lingering layer in the cardboard, and she was more than ready for another round. It was times like this she relished the most; a new career in the military seldom gave her free time, much less enjoyable company. This movie, a classic being shown inside a vintage-style theater, was just the remedy for the end of a harrowing day.

Sipping the remaining droplets of soda with her straw through a sieve of ice, she almost didn’t hear her cellphone in her coat pocket.

“Oh, bloody hell,” she muttered. “We’re boarding in two minutes? Where has my head been?” Grabbing her carry-on bag and disposing her food tray in one flawless motion, Jayna bolted out the exit doors and stepped onto the airport breezeway. Her simple world of movie-going had turned into just another store façade among a dozen others, where passengers went to be entertained in-between delayed and canceled flights. She had already been re-routed twice today, and she couldn’t afford to miss her flight back to the base.

Jayna was the last one to board, hurriedly squeezing though the center aisle to reach the last available seat in the back of the plane. She barely had time to catch her breath when she was immediately called back to duty.

“Corporal Jayna Rogers speaking,” she said with a rehearsed joviality, juggling the cellphone between her ear and shoulder, “how may I help you?”

“Good afternoon, Corporal Rogers. Did you enjoy your vacation?”

Jayna immediately recognized the voice of her commanding officer, the seemingly omniscient man who always knew to call her at the most awkward time.

“I had a grand time, Captain Barrows. Me nieces and nephews were almost shoulder height. I ate beyond my fill, as always. Mum says hello to you.”

“Splendid. Family can cure just about anything. What’s your twenty?”

“I’m on the plane headed back to Fort Santiago, sir.”

“Splendid. We have your next assignment lined up for you.”

Jayna winced and thought to herself, “If he says ‘splendid’ one more time, the bloody phone is going straight down the toilet.”

“An incident has occurred over the weekend. With your college background in history, the powers-that-be felt this assignment was just right up your alley.”

“I don’t like the sound of that, Captain.” Jayna always had to cloak her misgivings with humor; a more diplomatic way of expressing displeasure. “I’m a corporal, not a candy-striper. You are going to make this worth my while, yes?”

“I promise you, Corporal, this is unlike anything you—we—have dealt with before.”

“Thank you, sir,” she said with hesitation. “I think.”

“Please report to Babel Clinic at 010:00 hours tomorrow morning. And bring an open mind.”

“Yes, sir. Good day to you.”

The clouds rolled past her window at a leisurely pace. Preoccupied with her conversation, Jayna failed to notice that the plane had already taken off. She fell back into her chair and closed her eyes, tuning out the rumble of the plane, the stares of the other passengers, and the grand vacation she just had. She was again on duty, clutching her phone and waiting for another adventure to unfold.

* * *

“I’m telling you, I don’t need a wheelchair. I’m just going to walk to the meeting.”

Preston sat up on his bed and stretched his arms wide. A certain Nurse Cole had been seeing to his requirements; an attractive woman, if a bit elderly. Despite the slight wrinkles and gray hair, he could tell she was in tremendous shape.

“But this is just to make you feel more comfortable, Mr. Jones. And I doubt you’ve seen a wheelchair quite like this one.”

“I am a professional athlete. I’m in the best shape of my life, and I don’t need to be led around like my grandmother. Besides, I don’t think you have one my size.”

“Really, Mr. Jones?” she said with a smile. “You’re actually quite smaller than my usual patients.”

“What kind of patients do you regularly have?” he said in return sarcasm. “Giants?”

“Bigger.”

Nurse Cole pushed the small vehicle at the foot of his bed and unfolded its arms and leg attachments. It was unlike anything Preston had seen before: ergonomic to the tee, reclined and running on a large track ball. It almost seemed to hover just above the ground, completely silent in motion.

Preston stood up and placed his arm around the headrest, nodding to the nurse of his approval.

“I don’t dig the clothes you have me wearing.” He gripped his waste pockets and stretched them forward. “This looks like a jumpsuit. I feel like I’m in the military.”

“It does seem to fit you quite well, doesn’t it? We have very good tailors here. Your outfit looks much better than those tattered rags you came in.”

With the nurse’s help. Preston positioned himself into the wheelchair, taking a few seconds to adjust to its weight and balance. Nurse Cole quickly locked him in place, securing gears and buckles around his extremities.

“This meeting is for my benefit, right? You guys are finally going to explain everything?”

“I’ll leave that for the doctors. Dr. Bentley is already there waiting.”

“I just want to talk to my family. Forget anyone else. I just don’t want my wife to worry. I don’t even know how many days I’ve been here.”

“I’m sure they’ll answer your questions to your heart’s content. There are no secrets in this hospital, soldier. Just family.”

Yet another military reference, he thought.

Nurse Cole wheeled Preston out into the hallway and paused, giving him time to adjust the new air and lighting. She wasn’t sure how he was going to react to the open space, having being kept in seclusion for so long. But like his former room prison, the hallways were skeletally bare, devoid of furniture or mounted pictures, and painted with a drab hue of cotton ball white. There were no doctors, nurses, or even patients milling about; no light bulbs flickering out of place; no hum or breath of life. The only thing seemingly out of place was the hallway itself, a tunnel swallowed in its own silence and simplicity. With every door they passed being labeled, “No Trespassing,” or “Personnel Only Beyond This Point,” Preston had a sickening fear that they were in a prison, and that the hospital was intentionally trying to minimize his exposure to even the slightest of information.

The winding hallways eventually led to a turned corner and a set of wooden, brass-handled doors. This entrance opened finally to a world of color and texture: a posh conference room made of ceiling-high windows, oak furniture and ornate rug carpeting. Rows upon rows of framed diplomas, medals and commendations lined the walls from end to end, top to bottom, while sculptures capped every table as a grand centerpiece. A scythe-shaped conference table sat at the far end of the room, just inside towering bay windows. For the first time since waking up, Preston could see blue skies and green gardens beyond the glass. But in front of the spectacular view, sitting at the conference table, were some familiar faces. Nurse Cole removed Preston from the wheelchair and sat him at a small table facing the waiting committee. Dr. Bentley and General Cube sat at the center, flanked by two people he had never seen before. They were all dressed formally, giving this meeting the feel of a ritual trial—or an execution.

“I see the gang’s all here,” said Preston with a smile. “This is a potluck, right?”

The group in front of him looked at each other and collectively thought out loud, “A what?”

The court reporter paused for a moment, unsure how to spell his reference.

“Thank you for joining us, Mr. Jones,” said Dr. Bentley. “I can only imagine what you’re going through. I sincerely hope this meeting will clarify most, if not all, your questions. You’ve already met General Cube. Allow me to present Corporal Jayna Rogers.”

Preston looked at her and nodded in acknowledgement.

“Equal pleasure, sir,” she said with a smile. Preston was immediately drawn to her voice, a flowing British accent he had only heard in movies. Corporal Rogers had the most engaging stare and demeanor, immediately piquing his curiosity. Although wrapped like a mummy beneath a formal uniform, Miss Rogers was obviously fit.

“Mr. Jones,” continued the doctor, “you are in a most peculiar predicament, perhaps deeper than you realize. There really isn’t an easy way to explain this to you…”

“Do you know what year it is?” interjected General Cube, not missing a beat.

“I’ve already been asked that question. Do you want to see the original finger I responded with, or should I use the opposite hand?”

“Answer the question. What year is it?”

“What year do
you
think it is?” said Preston in defiance. The panel was not amused, causing Preston to concede. “It’s 2032, last time I checked my calendar.”

“What do you recall doing last before waking up here?”

“I told you, I was flying in a space shuttle from the Olympus Space Station. We were shot down just as we re-entered the atmosphere.”

“And you swear that everything you’ve told us is the truth?”

“What reason would I have to lie?”

General Cube raised his hand, motioning for his corporal to speak.

“We tracked your descent into the atmosphere,” recalled Jayna. “Your ship came out of nowhere and was headed for the coast of Northern California. Narrowingly missing a few commercial airbuses, the ship crashed just above San Francisco Bay.

“Most of the wreckage was vaporized in the fireball. While there was some flotsam, there were no bodies, no survivors. That is, except you. We were able to verify your ship as an Isis-class TransAstra passenger shuttle. That’s all we’ve been able to recover at this point.”

Preston sat silent, struck down at the thought that his comrades didn’t survive. Micky, Dr. Gracie, his escort Kendra Adams, were all dead.

“But that’s only where the mystery begins,” continued General Cube. “Isis-class shuttles were retired from service over 200 years ago.”

“WHAT?” Preston’s eyes widened in disbelief.

“We ran checks on your clothing, the wreckage, your organ tissue…,” said the general, reading a memo he retrieved from Jayna.

Dr. Bentley quickly sensed that this meeting was about to spiral into a shouting match. Better the news come from him than a ranting general, he thought. “Mr. Jones, the year is not 2032. By your calendar, it is 2210. Our present, where you are right now…is your future.”

Preston’s heart throbbed hard in his chest, but he made sure to conceal his reaction. “What do you mean? I don’t feel any different, you guys don’t look any different. Why are you lying?”

“I don’t know what else to tell you, son. I’m sorry.” General Cube’s apology was as rehearsed and as stiff as the part in his hair.

“Sorry for what? For lying to me? Why don’t you tell me what’s really up and stop bull-shitting? Tell me the goddamned truth.”

“We’ve been easing you into our environment as best as we could,” said Dr. Bentley. “That’s why we’ve been keeping you in seclusion for as long as possible. But this is not the same world you know.”

“Fine,” said Preston with a mock smile. “I’ll play along. But I want proof. Show me some damn proof.”

“Oh, we’re not short on that, Mr. Jones,” said the general smugly. “We just want to make sure you can handle it.”

“This is not happening. I am Preston Jones. I am a professional basketball player,” he said out loud, reaffirming his identity and history to himself.

“We do know who you are, Mr. Jones” said General Cube. “It took a little digging, but we know you are who you claim to be. Hype and all, you really are…you.”

“How do I know all of this is real? You guys can just be in my head, something I dreamt up, right? I’m probably still at the crash site, hallucinating. All this can just be my imagination going nuts.”

“True, or you can be a figment of my own imagination, and we’re all still asleep dreaming about you. Do you see how far we can go with this line of reasoning?”

Preston kneeled on the floor and buried his face in his palms. “My wife, my friends, my career...”

“My condolences, Mr. Jones,” said Jayna with unexpected empathy, drawing a leer from the general.

Preston gathered himself and stood up. “So what happens to me now?”

“This is only the beginning, Mr. Jones,” said General Cube. “Many people want to talk to you. You represent a period in history we know very little about.”

“For what it’s worth,” said Dr. Bentley with reassurance, “I have a feeling you’re going to be very famous for all this. Who knows? You might have a new career in front of you. But in the meantime, we’ve made arrangements to have you stay at an off-site facility. This should help in your re-acclimation process.”

“Great. I just fucking joined the circus.”

“You’ve also been assigned a liaison.” General Cube nodded his head in her direction. “You’ve already met Corporal Rogers.”

Jayna smiled in acknowledgement.

“And I have a bodyguard, too.”

“Don’t let my corporal’s appearance fool you, Mr. Jones. She is quite a handful. She will fill you in as time goes by.”

“We will give you a day longer to recuperate. Then you’ll be off. We will chart your progress on a continuous basis.” Preston could tell Dr. Bentley was hiding his sadness behind his signature formality.

“Since when did I begin working for you guys?”

“Since we rescued you,” said the general in rebuttal. “All pillowing aside, you owe us for your survival. We can’t have you wandering about aimlessly in the streets now, can we?”

“I see two hundred years hasn’t changed people that much. There are still assholes like you around.” Preston picked up his chair and sat back down.

“I will be in tomorrow at 010:00 to escort you to your new home, Mr. Jones,” said Jayna with enthusiasm. “Is there anything I should know about? Any specific needs or requests?”

“He is very green, Ms. Rogers,” said General Cube with a half-smile. “He had a massive allergic reaction to plain drinking water.”

“I beg your pardon, general?”

“You’ll receive a detailed report on your desk tomorrow morning, corporal. Please study it before you proceed with your assignment.” General Cube stood up and motioned for the court reporter to stop recording.