The Temporal Expeditions: Escape from Extinction Book I

By Yordie Sands

Sandy Lombardia’s wealthy family pressed her into the field of physics, to join other family members in furthering the secret development of time travel technology. When a monstrous asteroid emerges from deep space on an impact course toward Earth, Sandy is chosen to launch two expeditions into the past. She is also chosen to lead an expedition of naval ships. The expeditions goal is to escape extinction; their mission is to prepare humanity for the future.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu Publishing Services
• Release date: Sep 9, 2019
• ISBN: 9781684707874

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PROLOG: MY FAMILY’S SECRETS

Every family has secrets, especially if their history extends hundreds of years into the past, like mine. However, there are several facts from the past hundred years, and one extraordinary revelation, that will help you understand my family’s response to the global extinction event we now face. And perhaps you’ll understand why that revelation has been guarded ferociously.

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On the weekend that followed the dropping of the atomic bomb on Hiroshima in 1945, my great-grandfather and two prominent U.S. Army generals met privately at our home on the shore of Long Island Sound. The men considered the destruction brought on by World War II and reflected on the rebuilding of Europe and Asia, but their focus was on an atomic future and its potential for unparalleled global destruction. In a worst-case scenario, they foresaw the need to rebuild civilization itself, from scratch.

The men formed a think tank and began recruiting enlightened scientists and intellectuals who shared their concern. My family possessed immense wealth and great-grandfather arranged financial backing for the group. A private research and scholarship trust was established and used to develop new talent and conduct research. Some scholarship recipients would go on to scientific and engineering jobs with Origo Research, our family-owned defense company headquartered near Brookhaven National Laboratory. Others had research funded by Lombardia Bank.

Inspired by the election of President John F. Kennedy, a founding general suggested the group be aspirational in purpose, and proposed the motto: A new beginning, a new ending, translated into Latin as "ortus novus, novus finis". Soon, members began calling it The Ortus-Finis Society, then simply The Society.

By the twenty-first century, the Society had grown to over two-hundred members with expertise from agriculture to energy, science to industry, education to religion, and most essentials for re-creating a civilized world. In the early years, other threats, such as super-volcanoes, asteroid impacts, or other acts of God, weren’t considered. It was always assumed that humankind itself would destroy the world. In 2002, the Society acquired an obsolete underground facility in New Mexico, near Origo Research Albuquerque Center. It was expanded and refurbished, and a new chamber was built to house a mini nuclear reactor. That same year, the Society began increasing recruitment of military personnel, recognizing that even a new civilization must be capable of defending itself.

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Suddenly, the world changed. An amateur astronomer named Rachman discovered a huge comet as it emerged from the Oort Cloud. Soon, astronomers determined the comet was in fact a dwarf planet, then classified it as a Potentially Hazardous Object headed toward Earth. When news leaked out that Rachman was an Earth impactor, the disclosure shook the world and caused chaos that lasted months. Fortunately, NASA and other planetary defense offices had scientists and engineers already developing mitigation resources, and within days, nations of the world joined forces and began assembling an unprecedented armada of reconnaissance and nuclear interceptor vehicles.

The Society’s Grandmaster—my father, Wallace Lombardia—conducted his own research, conferring with Society scientists and other experts, but after five days he realized there was a high probability that the massive mitigation operation would be insufficient. He called an emergency leadership meeting, swore members to secrecy, and presented his supposition: Earth was facing an extinction event. His conclusion was alarming but suspected by many. Then he reminded them they were sworn to secrecy before revealing our family’s greatest secret—and they were astonished.

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No one outside our family knew about a project begun by our great-grandfather before World War I. It was prompted by a disturbing visual phenomenon he experienced while visiting Nikola Tesla’s high-energy experiment at Wardenclyffe Tower, a few miles from our home. He sought a medical opinion and was diagnosed as suffering from a perceptual disorder, synesthesia. He rejected the diagnosis and began his own investigation into what he referred to as the shadows of time. His first experiments were with small electronic devices but soon graduated to higher energies, and then high-energy resonating coils. During the Great Depression, he moved his research activity near the family’s defense company and commissioned the building of an early research cyclotron. It was a difficult era for the defense company, but he kept it solvent and continued his quest of technological discovery. World War II rescued Origo Research’s defense business financially, but the overall cost of the temporal research project eventually consumed, in modern equivalents, billions of dollars.

During his lifetime, he succeeded in developing advanced mechanisms for penetrating the shadows he had observed. That research led to technologies for moving solid objects through the shadows and backward through time. He never saw the full fruition of his work, but a decade after WWII ended, he generated a temporal bubble and sent a letter from the present into the past. There was a complication though: When the letter appeared in the past on the message drop site, it was embedded in the glass table top it was launched from. The letter experiment might have appeared to be a failure if it been on a solid table; instead, it was a monumental success. The experiment was duplicable, and his work inspired my grandfather and father to carry on the work.

Three decades later, a navigational and guidance solution was developed by my father, two brothers, and in part by myself in my role as experimental physicist. Regardless of our collaboration, the principle theories were developed by our second brother, Augustus—Auggie. Using an Origo Research experimental cyclotron, and a network of electronic devices and computers, we transported small solid objects, such as letters, plants, and even insects successfully to precise places and points in time. Large objects, however, couldn’t penetrate the small bubble created by our existing cyclotron.

In 2008, a new, much larger cyclotron was being built; however, while we waited and unbeknown to our father, Auggie made the first human temporal insertion by coordinating his insertion with a run of Brookhaven Lab’s Relativistic Heavy Ion Collider—the RHIC. Auggie traveled only twenty-four hours into the past, but he not only proved that humans could travel through time, he also confronted the challenges of entry and return, especially the Temporal Avalanche. Since that experiment, additional insertion and re-entry tests have been conducted, piggybacking on runs of the RHIC. Every adult member of my family, except my mother, has made one or more insertions with no signs of temporal decay. Two human insertions were made to distant locations, but no one has ever traveled back farther than a single month.

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My father’s revelation to Society leaders caused his credibility to plummet, even before he finished his explanation. They demanded to know how it was possible, but he bluntly refused to explain; assuring them that he’d conduct a demonstration that would prove the technology, conclusively. No one in the meeting was asked to make a temporal insertion, but he requested two volunteers to simply watch a launch of a test subject, then be present for the return. The request drew a positive response; but, obligingly, he also disclosed that observers would undergo a disturbing re-entry experience. The disturbing re-entry was more than anyone would commit to, and that’s when my father asked me to join the meeting.

I had been summoned to the Long Island home with other family members. We were simply told that an announcement of great significance would be made, so when I was asked to attend the Society leadership meeting, I was confused. I was only a junior officer in the Society, a minister, so I knew everyone, but I was nervous because Father asked me to recall my experience as an unsuspecting observer of Auggie’s first test.

I had written about the experience extensively afterward and was able to explain to the leaders that the re-entry effects I’d observed were not as powerful as the full Temporal Avalanche, but effects were challenging and disturbing. I described the insertion as a perceptual anomaly, but when the subject returned, there were visual, psychological and perceptual disturbances. Abruptly, Father interrupted me with assurances that no one was permanently harmed and asked me to testify that I was unharmed from observing Auggie. I did so but recommended wearing dark glasses to protect from the re-entry flash. I also assured them I was unharmed from my own temporal insertion and return. I didn’t mention my concern that Auggie was psychologically damaged by his many insertions, especially a traumatic re-entry he attempted to share with his doppelgänger.

My assurances seemed to be convincing, but only two leaders volunteered: one, a family friend; the other, the Society’s resident skeptic. Surprisingly, Father declared that he would be the test subject. He explained that the RHIC was down for maintenance, but the nearby Origo Research facility had a cyclotron capable of generating enough temporal resonance for a human to launch. The non-observers were told to make notes and recordings that would act as reference material before the launch. Then Father asked my brother Marcus to join us, and the following afternoon, we conducted the solo launch without incident.

After my father disappeared, we returned to the house on the Sound. For twenty-four-hours we went about our normal activities, but father and his doppelgänger met with the two observers briefly then both left. The following day we returned to Origo to wait for the observers to witness his return, which occurred at the precise moment he was expected. After his return, my father was exhausted and the observers were disoriented, so they rested for several hours, shaking off the effects of the test.

That evening the meeting reconvened, but this time both Marcus and I were asked to attend. We sat quietly with Father as the first observer stood before the group. He was our always calm and rational family friend, Martin Hanselman, but he was grinning like I’d never seen him, and he extolled his experience to his colleagues. I’ve known Wallace Lombardia for over thirty years. I’ve known him to be a man who keeps secrets, and now I understand his obsession with secrecy. I saw Wallace Lombardia and his twin from the past and could not tell them apart. Then Martin proclaimed that the test was an unqualified success and the Lombardias had unlocked the greatest secret in human history.

The second observer smiled wryly as Martin spoke, then he stood, grinning like a kid who’d stolen his father’s car. After a moment he looked at Martin and said dryly. "Yeah-yeah. What he said. What that guy said." The dry comment was like a breaking glass and there was an uproar of laughter and congratulations, followed by waves of questions and off-the-cuff conversations. By midnight there was a unanimous affirmation for my father and his credibility had been restored.

The following morning, Dad shocked the leaders again, explaining his plan to send an expedition to a pivotal point in history. Marcus and I were surprised but listened to his rationale: We must enter a time of relative progress and before the invention of nuclear weapons or gunpowder, before the extensive use of fossil fuels, and before the invention of internal combustion engines.

My Father took a harsh look at human dynamics, in every era. He lamented the virtual impossibility for a small group to assure significant change. He explained that the discovery of the New World—America—would be ideal for curtailing slavery. And considered the Italian Renaissance desirable also. But in both eras, gunpowder was used extensively. He rattled off other points in history, then dismissed them for a variety of negative factors. He asserted his belief that there was no point in history that wasn’t scarred by violent wars, slavery or polarization between classes.

Several leaders punched holes in his thesis, and there was a general preference for an insertion into America before its discovery. Yet, my Father insisted they must endeavor to change civilization at its core, rather than confront the problems faced by settlers in an uncivilized world. For these reasons he chose the first century BCE, at the dawn of the Roman Empire, ideally during the time of Caesar Augustus.

He also stated that it would be possible to bring sufficient resources, especially a knowledge of history and man’s calamities, to guide or even force humankind away from its most destructive decisions. Father’s thesis stirred debate that lasted deep into the night and the following morning. One leader asked how Eastern and Asian civilizations figure in, but Dad admitted those questions were beyond his ability to evaluate. In the end, leaders embraced Dad’s choice and debate turned to how the group could move forward. Father pointed to the Catholic Church. Regardless of what you think of Catholicism, they’ve carried their message forward for nearly two thousand years. They created a powerful culture, capable of effecting change, and we can’t say that about any democracy or monarchy or any other form of government, not over thousands of years. I found it odd that Dad would point to the Catholic Church, because he’s a Catholic in name only.

That evening, my father’s plan was adopted.

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Following the meeting, members created an action plan, and Father bought an additional year for preparations by sending a message into the past, warning of the impending event. He explained that the asteroid impact would occur in just over a year, so that is the outer limit of effectiveness. He went on to explain that the arrow of time always points forward, and even after a temporal insertion into the past, the arrow is controlled by the speed of change across all matter, energy and dynamics. Any change made in the past propagates forward in the physics of the existing world, at the speed of everyday life—Experiential Time. For this reason, the date and time a message is sent becomes a threshold, the Temporal Juncture. Once changes cross the threshold, a rebalancing of atomic and sub-atomic structures occurs, effecting everything associated with the change. Simply stated, making a single change a century in the past will require a century to effect the Juncture.

Changes initiated by my father’s message crossed their Temporal Juncture two months ago, but only a small number of people were affected. Nonetheless, the time he bought was used to liquidate Lombardia stocks, bonds, real estate and hard assets, and to convert the funds into gold and silver, even faux Roman-era denarii coins. Most important, the time was used to accelerate construction inside the underground facility in New Mexico, converting an entire level into long-term housing for up to one thousand people.

~ Sandy Lombardia

21st Century: Map of Italy

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Map of Modern Italy (PicSketch from NASA image, Credit: Jacques Descloitres, MODIS Rapid Response Team, NASA/GSFC)

CHAPTER I

EIGHTEEN DAYS

Day 1: Lombardia Motion Picture Studios, south of Milan, Italy

As of when I awoke this morning, only eighteen days remain until Rachman impacts the Earth. The world clings to the hope that a multi-nation armada of interceptor rockets will deflect it, but Society experts believe that even if the deflection is successful, it probably won’t prevent a dangerous penetration into the Earth’s atmosphere. This isn’t something my team dwells on because all we have time for is the launch of the First Expeditionary Force—an operation suddenly in jeopardy as our final pre-launch test triggers screeching abort alarms on our consoles. I’m astounded. Could the launch fail?

Sandy, I just sent four-hundred people into temporal oblivion!

I stand and respond sharply. Dammit, Buddy! NO! You did not.

Honestly, I’m not so sure that a temporal oblivion is any worse than the new world they’ll be inserted into. Ancient Rome for chrissake! Tomorrow though, those four-hundred lives will be at stake, and this test failure has come at the worst time. My analytical mind keeps reminding me that the abort was just a procedural issue, but my emotions fill me with doubt. This is the most complex launch ever attempted by orders of magnitude: the largest number of human beings, two huge insertion vehicles, thousands of tons of equipment and cargo, and the deepest penetration into the past ever computed. All at once! And the basic science of temporal mechanics is not deeply understood, not really. We don’t even know if the temporal past decays at some point. My body betrays me as my stomach churns. I sit down to avoid appearing unsteady.

The launch team is seated at the wrap-around control console with its array of six large display screens. It is a relatively small part of the Launch Control Center, the LCon, located in an enlarged and hardened basement below the Lombardia Studios main office. Behind us are rows of computers and other electronic devices needed to execute a temporal insertion. The area is very warm, despite wintery weather outside and the server’s climate control inside. It is also noisy, even though computers are contained in the Faraday cages and behind a thick plexiglass wall. The studio’s security center, the OpCon, is directly adjacent to us, on the other side of a bulletproof glass wall. Also, above us is the walled-in studio complex that houses the huge launch hangar, warehouses, and other buildings. The remainder of the estate is undeveloped land that was used for filming a war movie in the 1970s.

Tomorrow, or maybe the day after, we will either get a thirty-minute window to launch, or this entire operation is finished. I’ve never had such a great responsibility and never felt more alone, in between my launch team. Buddy Black is my senior electronics engineer and resident comedian, but his habitual grin has fallen from his face leaving him void of expression. And my senior software engineer Zava Levine’s normally expressionless face is filled with uncertainty. They both look at me anxiously. Do they see my concern?

I sneak in a deep breath and exhale a secret sigh as I try to form the right sentence. Before I speak Zava, states bluntly, Sandy, you’ve been pushing us hard. No?

I nod, but I’ve concealed my feelings my entire life and I doubt they see my uncertainty. I speak in a relaxed voice. Listen up, guys. The system test failed. I pause and make eye contact. We’ve never had a major failure and haven’t had a significant failure in weeks. This wasn’t major and wasn’t a system failure, it was a couple of human mistakes. I pause but there’s no reaction. So, let’s acknowledge the failure, but remember—we’ve conducted over one hundred successful tests together. Each of us has substantial experience with this technology and the launch procedures. We are the launch team. And we know how to make this work!

They both nod.

Zava is right though. I have pushed hard. We’ve worked long, tiring days, running diagnostics, conducting inspections, executing failover drills and creating countless simulations. We’ve run full launch sequence tests. We’ve had surprise emergency evacuations. We even participated in First XFor’s new-world first-encounter exercises.

Buddy snorts. "Salve amicus."

Zava laughs. "Salve civis."

I laugh. Yeah, I should have just said no to that. Yanno?

Buddy surprises me. Well, the naval expedition will have first encounters.

I nod. Then we got right back the following day. All that! And—what was it, a day before coming to Italy?—the two of you made a dual temporal insertion. That’s rough.

Zava sighs. Two days.

Yeah, you proved that you are steely-eyed, space-time wizards!

Zava laughs again and gives Buddy a fist bump.

Buddy says soberly. It was sickening…the Avalanche.

I continue. The Temporal Avalanche is hard to explain beforehand. I’ve done two round trips and both times were different, but both made me feel like hell afterward. I pull back my chair so I can see both of them. Our work has been extremely demanding, and at night we commute back to Milan. Then the next day, we start all over: more testing, more simulations, more everything.

Zava crosses her legs and settles back, but there’s an awkward silence.

I wish this fail hadn’t happened. I should’ve seen the signs, the effect the pace has had on you, on us. So, Zava is right, and this fail is on me. And…

Before I finish Buddy interrupts. "No. No! This fail is on me. I’m the one who froze."

He’s sort of right, though the failure technically occurred in the system controlling the encapsulating coils surrounding the transport vessels. A minor fluctuation in the power conversion stream triggered an uncommon alert that Buddy wasn’t familiar with. He instinctively executed the resolution procedure, but simply mishandled the first step. After a long moment, he tried to restart the procedure but failed to execute a