Time Merge

     "What now?" Atkins asked.

     The man behind the desk looked up at Atkins, a burly man of thirty.  "Sit down.  This one's a bit different."

     Atkins snorted, remaining standing by the door.  "Aren't they all?"  He had been an agent long enough to know that no two assignments were the same.  Still, receiving an assignment personally from the director was unusual.  A lower level supervisor normally gave them out.

     "I told you to sit down."  The director eyes narrowed.

     Atkins sprawled into one of the chairs.  He smiled thinly, waiting for the director to continue.

     "As I said, this one's different."

     "You're going to have to go some to beat steaming jungles, a jihad, or Antarctica.  They were my last three."

     "How about 2004?"

     Atkins blinked in surprise.  "What the hell do you mean, 2004?"

     "Exactly that."

     "That's a hundred and twenty years ago."

     "Precisely."

     Atkins continued to stare at the director.

     "Time travel is here, and you will have the dubious distinction of testing it."

     Atkins took in a deep breath and let it out slowly.  "Tell me about it."

     "What do you know about reincarnation?"

     "Reincarnation?"

     The director nodded.

     "Somewhere between little and nothing.  What does it have to do with time travel?"

     "Everything, as it turns out."  The director leaned forward and folded his hands on the desk.  "Those eastern mystics that we've been ignoring for centuries turned out to be right.  Apparently we do reincarnate, living out different lives in different times, and that's the key to time travel.  We can send someone back to a previous incarnation."

     "This has actually been done?"

     "No, you'll be the first."

     "Then how do you know it's true?  It sounds pretty hokey to me."

     "Ask the theoretical types, if you like.  They can tell you.  Or at least, I guess they can.  I asked, and they told me."  The director smiled.  "Unfortunately, I couldn't understand what they were talking about."

     Why me?  flashed across Atkins's mind.  He firmly repressed the thought.  It was the same thought that occurred to him every time he received a new assignment.  "When do I start?"

     "You'll spend two days in a crash course on the early twenty-first century, then we'll send you back."

     "What do I do once I get there?  Kill the ancestors of some dictator?"

     The director shook his head.  "No.  Just getting there, hanging out for a day, and coming back will be sufficient.  We don't know enough yet to go meddling in time.  Any other questions?"

     Atkins could tell by the inflection in the director's voice that the interview was over.  "No."  He stood up, nodded curtly, and walked out of the office.  Two days later he entered a small, gray room in the back of the agency.  The director and a technician were waiting for him.

     He nodded to the director and turned his attention to the technician, an attractive young woman, blond hair and hazel eyes.  The nondescript blue lab coat did not hide the fact that she had a good figure.  He hadn't seen her before and regretted the fact.

     "Are you ready?" the director asked.

     Atkins turned reluctantly away from the woman.  "I suppose."  He glanced around the room.  The only pieces of equipment were two metal chairs, sitting in the center and facing each other.  Atkins frowned.  "This is it?"  He had assumed there would be some sort of elaborate machinery.

     The director nodded.  "This is it." 

     "You sit in the chair to the right," the technician pointed to one of the chairs, "and the medium will sit across from you."

     "Medium?"  Atkins's eyes narrowed.

     "Wait a minute!  You mean some nut is going to mumble some words over me, and I suddenly go back in time.  This is crazy!"

     The director sighed.  "I know what you're thinking.  Actually it's not that simple.  You'll be in a strong, fluctuating magnetic field at the same time; besides..."

     The door opened and a young man with long black hair entered.  He was short and stout and smiled pleasantly as he nodded in greeting. 

     The director returned his nod.  "Good morning, Sen. This is Agent Atkins with whom you'll be working."

     The medium bowed slightly to Atkins and extended his hand.  Atkins hesitated and then shook hands.  He found it mildly comforting that the man had a firm grip.

     "Please be seated."  Sen gestured toward the chair to the right.

     Atkins sat down gingerly as though he expected the seat to be hot.  Sen sat down across from him.  Several hundred questions crowded Atkins's mind.  He distilled them into one.  "What now?" 

     "The procedure will begin shortly."  The medium's voice was calm.

     It was not the reply that Atkins would have liked.  He licked his lips and waited.  After several minutes, an eternity for Atkins, he felt more than heard an electronic hum.  He focused on the face of the medium, which had lost all expression.  After another eternity, approximately thirty seconds, the medium's face began to recede as though Atkins were slowly moving away.  Then suddenly the face disappeared in complete blackness and Atkins felt himself falling.  Cold fear coursed through him.

     "What happened to him?" the director asked.  Atkins had suddenly vanished from his chair.

     "His body is in a transitional state while his mind returns through time.  The two will remain separated until I call him back."

     The director nodded.  "You'll bring him back tomorrow?"

     "Tomorrow."

     When the darkness surrounding Atkins dissipated, he found himself staring at the ceiling of a room.  Although he knew it definitely was not the room he had been in, the agency rooms were gray and this was white, he had no idea where he was.  He could tell something was wrong.  It was nothing that physically threatened him, or at least he didn't think it did; rather, it was something mental, something within his own mind.  It was as though his subconscious were leaking through to his consciousness.  He could sense a vague fear and uneasiness that was not coming from his own awareness.  He ran his hand across the bed; it was indeed a bed.  Although he took comfort in the fact that he was still in his body and able to move, the subliminal sense of dread increased.

     "What the hell?"

     "Exactly.  What the hell is going on?"

     Atkins sat down shakily on the edge of the bed.  He had not uttered the second phrase. 

     "Am I crazy or what?"  Again, the question did not come from Atkins.  The truth began to dawn on him.  He had indeed returned in time to a previous incarnation, a woman apparently, and the two of them were sharing the same body.  It was her mind that he had felt; the fear and uneasiness had come from the mind of the woman, who had sensed his presence.

     Atkins groaned.

     "What is this?"  There was hysteria in the woman's voice.

     Atkins took a deep breath.  Why the hell didn't they tell me it would be like this?  He wondered angrily and then realized they probably didn't know.  "I can explain."

     The woman shrieked and jumped to her feet.

     "Calm down.  Calm down."  He was afraid the woman might do something drastic, and he had no idea what would happen to him if she died while he was sharing her body.  She sat down slowly on the bed.  "You're not crazy.  It just seems that way."  He gave her a quick summary of what had happened.

     "Come on!  You expect me to believe that?"  She jumped to her feet and started pacing.  "That's crazy!"

     Atkins could see her in the mirror every time she turned.  She was attractive, a good body, long dark hair, a pretty face.  Had he met her in a bar, or anywhere else, he would have been most interested.  Under the circumstances, he felt uncomfortable and wished she would put on some clothes.  He could still feel her thoughts, just as he had from the beginning.  He could not, however, understand what she was thinking.  Apparently they could only communicate by speaking.  He noticed that either one of them could control the body.  He sat down on the bed as a test. 

     "Look.  I know how you must feel.  I can assure you it's equally disconcerting for me."

     "You're out of your mind, Shelley."  She shook her head slowly.  "You're completely out of your mind.  It's the job.  I've been working too hard lately."

     Shelley glanced at the clock.  "Ten o'clock.  I sleep late on Saturdays."

     "Okay.  Turn on the TV to cable news.  In about fifteen minutes there's going to be an explosion at a factory just outside of Chicago, and they should cover it."

     Shelley did not move.

     "Turn on the TV."

     Shelley grabbed the remote, and the TV came to life.

     She reached for the remote after a few minutes.  "There's nothing about anything in Chicago."

     "That's because it hasn't happened yet.  Give it about ten minutes."

     Shelley stared at the TV.  At twenty after ten the announcer gave the first report of an explosion outside of Chicago.  "I'll be damned."

     "Would you like some other future news, ball scores, stock market closings?"

     "No . . . no.  That's okay."  She paused, staring into the distance.  "So tell me about the future."

     Atkins gave her a brief rundown of the state of the world during his time.  As he talked, he could feel her uneasiness diminish.  She was interested in his description and halted him frequently with questions.  After several hours, she stood up and stretched.  Once again, he saw her nude body in the mirror.

     "Why don't you put on some clothes?"

     "Why?  I like . . .” Shelley halted.  "You're a man, aren't you."

     Atkins mentally blushed.  "Well . . . yes.  I am."

     She laughed.  "Don't you like looking at me?  I don't mind and most men don't seem to."

     "Yeah . . . I'm sure they don't.  It's just that . . .."

     "Somehow it's different when you're actually in the body."  She laughed again.

     "Yeah.  That's it."

     "Okay.  Let me take a shower and then I'll get dressed."

     Atkins remained silent.

     "I wish I knew how to bet on the ball games," she said as she showered.  "I could make a load of money off this."

     "I suppose."

     "You mentioned the stock market.  Any hot tips?"

     He named several she should buy.

     After her shower, she dressed as promised and spent the rest of the afternoon watching TV.  She quizzed him on events.  He was invariably right.  Atkins was tiring of the situation.  The woman was not particularly interesting, and he had already answered the basic question, time travel does work.  The only thing still to be seen was whether Sen could bring him back, and Atkins preferred not to dwell on that.  About five o'clock Shelley changed her clothes.

     "What's this all about?"

     "It's Saturday night.  You can't expect a girl to sit home all the time, can you?"

     "Given the circumstances, it might be better if you just stay in tonight."

     "Why?  You're only going to be here for a few more hours.  You might as well see what it's like, right?"

     "I suppose."  Atkins had a sense of foreboding.  "Where are you going?"

     "A little place I know.  You'll like it."

     Soon she was driving through city traffic toward the center of town.  Shelley parked her car, a small red sports car, and walked into a building.  Immediately a wave of sound and light washed over her.

     "What is this?"

     "Disco!  Isn't it great!"

     Atkins remained silent as she moved through the press of people to the bar. 

     "Tom Collins!" Shelley shouted.

     "How you doin'?" a tall man beside her asked.

     Shelley flashed him a smile.  "Fine and I'll be better soon!"

     He grinned in response.

     "Hey, Jack!"  A woman grabbed him by the arm.  "Let's go!"  She pulled him toward the dance floor.  He winked at Shelley as he left.

     "Uh . . . I'd rather you didn't get too involved tonight."

     "What do you mean?"

     "To be blunt about it, I'd rather you sleep alone."

     "What difference does it make to you?"

     "I don't know.  I ..."

     "Don't you like sex?"

     "Yes I do."  Atkins was, in fact, known as a womanizer.  "But this is different."

     Shelley snorted.  "Who are you to tell me when and for whom I put out!"

     The bartender blinked at her in surprise.  "Hey, lady.  I'm just bringin' you your drink.  What you do past that is up to you."

     Shelley blushed.  "I was talking to someone else."

     The bartender swallowed nervously, took the money, and hurried away.

     "Just a minute."  Shelley bolted her drink down.  "Bring me another one."

     "You jerk," she said, once the bartender had left.  "Look what you made me do."

     "I made you do!  What do you mean?"

     "Exactly what I said, jerk!"

     The bartender set the drink down and rushed away without looking at Shelley.

     "Another one," she shouted after him.

     After four drinks the tall man, Jack, returned.  "How about a dance?"

     "No, thanks," Atkins replied.

     "Shut up!  God, would I like to.  I love to dance."

     Jack looked at her quizzically.

     Shelley smiled.  "Excuse me.  Sometimes when I've had a few drinks, I forget what I'm saying."

     "Or doing."

     Jack grinned.  "Come on."  He grabbed Shelley by the hand, and they were soon dancing on the crowded floor.  Atkins could see the man's eyes glaze with desire as his gaze shifted from her ample bust to her hips and back to her bust.  He could sense a feeling of warmth suffusing from Shelley's mind.  He tried to look away from the man, away from the eyes brimming with lust, but Shelley held her gaze riveted on Jack.  With an effort, he overrode her and glanced to the side.  She brought her eyes back immediately.  Atkins had been in Jack's shoes.  He knew what the man was anticipating, and he couldn't blame him.  But Atkins couldn't face the thought of being on the other side, trapped in Shelley's body.

     "Dump the jerk."

     "Hey, it's my body and I'll do what I want with I!"

     "Yeah, baby!"  Jack grinned.  "I like what you're doin' with your body!"

     Shelley laughed.

     Atkins groaned.  The director was right.  This assignment topped the list.

     After several more dances and an equal number of drinks, Shelley was completely and thoroughly drunk.  Atkins, in fact, had to keep her from falling several times.  He was relieved to note that the alcohol that was clouding Shelley’s mind did not affect him.  Jack was also feeling the influence of liquor.  He pawed at Shelley at the bar and on the dance floor.  Atkins batted his hands away and Shelley pulled him closer.  Jack, intent on his goal, ignored the mixed signals. 

     "Come on!"  Jack pulled her toward the door.  "Let's go."

     "Where we goin'?" Shelley asked once they were outside.

     "You decide.  My place or yours?"

     "My place," Atkins said.

     Shelley nodded.  "Yeah, that's fine."

     "Girl, you talk to yourself too much, but your place is okay with me.  You got a car?"  Shelley nodded.  "Great, I came with a friend.  We'll use yours."

     "Come on!"

     They got into Shelley's car and she started the engine.  He leaned across to kiss her.  Atkins pushed him away.  "Wait until we get there."

     "Quit telling me what to do!" Shelley shouted.

     "Drive the car," Atkins shot back.

     Jack leaned back in his seat, laughing loudly.  "You're crazy, woman.  You're crazy."

     "I get crazy when I drink."

     "You think you can drive?"

     "No problem."

     Shelley pulled away from the curb and started down the street.  Atkins steadied her.  He had learned all about cars and drunk drivers in his two days of training.  Jack made no attempt to interfere with her as she drove.

     "This it?" he asked as she halted the car.

     "This is it."  She grinned.  "Let's go!"

     He got out of the car and Shelley joined him on the sidewalk.

     "Take that, you son-of-a-bitch!"  Atkins kicked Jack in the groin.

     Jack's eyes exploded in surprise as he doubled over.

     "What the hell are you doing?" Shelley screamed.

     Atkins ignored her as he brought a fist down on the back of Jack's neck.  Despite Shelley's lighter frame, compared to Atkins's, he was able to deliver effective blows.  All agents received training in martial arts, and Atkins had always been exceptionally good.  It was not long before Jack lay on the pavement, unconscious.

     "You killed him!" Shelley whispered angrily.  "You killed him!"

     "No.  Just put him to sleep."

     "Damn it!  I've been waiting all week to get laid and you muck it up."

     "Go to bed."  Atkins walked toward the door.  At first she resisted and then went along, muttering angrily. She was still cursing when she fell into bed, but was soon asleep.  Atkins breathed a sigh of relief when he felt her mind relax.  He was not tired himself, and he remained awake throughout the night.  Shelley was still asleep at ten o'clock the next morning.  Atkins, already in darkness behind Shelley's sleeping eyes, felt the disconcerting sensation of falling.  An eternity of thirty seconds passed once more, and then he was staring at Sen. 

     Relief swept over Atkins.  It was quickly followed by a feeling of exhaustion. 

     "How was it?" the director asked, a note of eagerness in his voice.

     Atkins shook his head.  "Man, am I beat."

     The medium smiled.  "I'm not surprised.  You probably felt no tiredness, but it was accumulating.  You must feel it now."

     "Yeah, do I ever."

     "Fine."  The director smiled.  "You get some rest and then we'll debrief you."

     Atkins nodded his head wearily as the director and Sen left.  He stood up shakily.

     "Can I help you?" the technician asked.

     Atkins glanced at her and she smiled.

     "I wouldn't mind."

     "Put your arm over my shoulder."

     He did and felt her body press against his.  He decided he definitely had to get to know the technician better.  Perhaps even this very night.  Suddenly he felt a mental jolt and staggered.

     "What's wrong?" the woman asked.

     "Keep you hands off me!" Shelley screeched.

     "What the hell?  Not you!"

     "Get away from me!"  Shelley pushed the technician away.

     "Leave her alone!" Atkins shouted.

     The technician backed slowly out of the room, her eyes wide.

Don Stockard's background includes growing up on a homestead and working as a commercial clam digger, a miner and a geophysicist. He spent ten years in school studying math and science at Carnegie Tech, Dartmouth and Caltech. He has also spent quite a bit of time bike touring in Europe, mountain climbing and sailing. Over the last four years he has accumulated over one hundred eighty credits, a hundred forty of which are short stories. Some recent publications are: "Raskolnikovâ's Cellar" Dark Horse Fall, 2001 "Once Upon a World" Karmic Trap Fall 2001 "Armchair Aesthete" Frozen Monk inter/Spring, 2001. In addition Softspin Press published a collection of his short stories in 1999.

Email: Don Stockard

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