Mind Travelers 2 - Harold's Journey

By J. Vincent Leroux

The second instalment of the Mind Travelers Trilogy. A tasteful Sci-Fi action adventure novel that explores life and death, reincarnation, out of body experiences and futuristic interior design, playfully positing hi-tech inventions and lifestyle of the future along-side the physics of time travel. This follow up novel focuses predominantly on the journey of Victor's next incarnation, Harold, and includes juicy plot lines dealing with greed and manipulation; patent-jacking; double-cross; interstellar travel; sushi and wine; fantastic futuristic technology; physics and best of all time travel.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Mar 14, 2016
• ISBN: 9781329973206

Book preview

Mind Travelers 2 - Harold's Journey

Mind Travelers 2 Harold's Journey

Mind Travelers – Harold's Journey

I dedicate this novel to the love of my life, my wife Tracy, who has inspired and encouraged me to exercise my imagination and to continue expressing myself creatively through writing. I also dedicate this novel to Oliver and Simon, my time traveling adventure companions and meditation partners.

My Zen Masters

Oliver         Simon

Contents

CHAPTER 1

7. An Obsession

17. Harold's Journey

21. Writer's Block

29. The Atom Exchange and Déjà vu – part 2 – The Wormhole

(Excerpt from The Time Traveler’s Handbook)

39. Harold's Journey – Part 2

45. Writer's Block Part 2

65. The Father of Time Travel

73. A Decorator's Dream Job

CHAPTER 2

93. Victor's Rebirth

105. Writer's Cramp

117. Old Love

125. Sheila's Arrival

129. Martin's Training

135. Ethereal Material

(Excerpt from The Time Traveler’s Handbook)

139. The Agreement

147. A Decorator's Dream Job - Part 2

CHAPTER 3

161. Harold's Journey – Part 3

167. Living the Dream

171. A Decorator's Dream Job - Part 3

183. Living the Dream - Part 2

187. Several States of Awareness

(Excerpt from The Time Traveler’s Handbook)

197. The Product Launch

201. Living the Dream - Part 3

207. Harold's Journey – Part 4

CHAPTER 4

221. A Decorator's Dream Job - Part 4

229. Shoot for the Moon

(Excerpt from The Time Traveler’s Handbook)

237. Harold's Journey – Part 5

243. A Decorator's Dream Job – Part 5

249. The Lunar Boom

253. Living the Dream – Part 4

257. Holger's Passion

267. Lost in Space?

CHAPTER 5

279. A Decorator's Dream Job – Part 6 Pay Day

289. There Just Aren't Enough Hours in a Day - Our Flawed Perception of Time

(Excerpt from The Time Traveler’s Handbook)

293. Harold's Journey Part 6

301. Holger's Passion - Part 2

317. Bait and Switch – Where did That Powder Go?

329. And so You Are Back…From Outer Space 

335. Harold's Journey Part 7 - Commuter

359. Time for a Change

371. Synopsis

373. Publications that inspired this book

374. Copyright

375. Acknowledgements

Mind Travelers – Harold's Journey

Chapter 1 –

An Obsession

The train slowed as it entered the Rouge Hill platform en route to Union station. I stepped out of the glass shelter into the frozen winter air and walked along the platform towards the front of the train to await the much anticipated opening of the doors which invite commuters in from the elements. Today is a morning much like every morning this past month, bone chilling cold. So cold, in fact, that the majority of the commuters wait for the train inside the aquarium style shelters provided by the GO Transit system. Shuffling to a dissonant rhythm in an ongoing attempt to promote circulation, sniffling back their post nasal drip brought on by the cold, penetrating their foreheads and into their sinuses, the crowds of commuters perform their daily dance ritual. The morning is still but chilling, void of wind with a large, brilliant yellow sun rising above the clouds, casting a bright sheen across the water and the commuters.

As the train arrives into the station, commuters form rough line-up queues at intervals along the platform. Each morning, people choose where they will stand in anticipation of the position where they estimate the doors will open after the train comes to a halt. I never jockey for position on the platform along with the crowds, no, I deliberately take my position between the groups as a matter of principal. I am a student of human nature and it is my nature to oppose the norm. I observe the by-stander effect many times each day, and have noticed that people arriving on the platform tend to gravitate to other people who are already present. I make it a point to always take my position between two groups to begin a line-up of my own.

Often times the train will stop with the doors far from my location, but my objective is not to anticipate the door position when the train stops. My motivation is to observe the behavior of people. I like to observe who will take up position with me. Will anyone leave a group that they have already lined up with? Perhaps questioning the decision of their local pack to join me, this lone wolf? Will any late comers place their bet on my position? Could I be right when the majority had obviously chosen differently? What did I know that they didn't? It was a game I played with the general population outside of their sphere of awareness.

Today my position proves to be accurate. The train is a short one, which results in a shift of the usual platform door position upon stopping. No one has bet on my choice of position today and as a result, I am the first one to enter the train. I walk up the stairs to the upper deck also known as The quiet zone and take a seat on the south side of the train.

I notice a number of commuters that glare at me as they take their seats, likely in admiration for my accurate judgment of where the train would come to rest. I unzip my ski-jacket and smile as I turn to face the brilliant warm, white light streaming through the window.

Gazing out over Lake Ontario, I soak in the welcomed heat of the sun's rays as the train slowly begins to roll out of the station. The scene over the lake is surreal this morning. The sub-zero temperature has caused the distant cloud shelf to drop in altitude all the way down to the level of the water surface. This alone presents a vision reminiscent of a catastrophic event. It looks as though a nuclear blast has recently taken place and settled, or in fact the sky has fallen. The reflection of the clear blue sky in the water beneath the low blanket of dark grey cloud gives the impression to the onlooker that they are upside down. What adds to the surreal nature of the scene is the abundant vapor rising up off of Lake Ontario as the sun warms its surface. Wispy tendrils of cold steam stretching up eight, twelve, twenty feet towards the sky give the effect of smoke rising from a million dying camp fires.

I marvel at the fact that the extremely cold, still air combined with the sunshine has created the perfect set of conditions to allow me to see evaporation in real-time. I remember back to my grade seven science class when Mr. Collins created a small cloud right in front of all of us using an electric kettle and a wire basket full of ice. I recall the old familiar question that came up in conversation often amongst my peers back in those days.

When will I ever need all this junk they teach us in school?

This internal dialogue now spontaneously triggered my young science class memory and several others in a flash of the moment. I knew I didn't need the knowledge of how a cloud is produced, it isn't critical to the outcome of my experience today, but I love that I understand the science of what I am witnessing this morning. I love that I am witnessing, this morning, the movement of countless billions of water molecules as they float up into the atmosphere.

As I reflect on the expansive wall of water molecules that I now watch having transitioned from liquid state to a gaseous state, I feel a deep sense of connection with the world. Would any of these water molecules eventually be consumed by me, I thought. I'm seventy percent water, some of that mist rising may have been part of me at one time, or may be part of me in the future. I open my satchel, retrieve my book, and look closely at the cover as I do every morning on my commute to the city. Studying the cover closely to confirm the title and the author, I see The Time Traveler's Handbook - a practical guide to traversing space and time by Martin Saunders III.

I open the handbook to where I had placed my bookmark the night before on page 47. This section titled Atom Exchange is particularly relevant this morning because the content covers the movement and life-cycle of atoms throughout our planet, and the connection we humans have with this ongoing migration of atoms. The simplicity of the description in this passage resonates and energizes me every time I read it. Today is no exception despite the fact that this is my seventh time through this particular chapter. I feel a sacred kinship with every sentence of The Time Traveler's Handbook. It feels as though the book was written specifically for me. There are even times that I feel as though I may have written the book myself. It is a feeling that comes over me often, and with no logical explanation, but the feeling prevails none the less. Each time I read the handbook a deep glow of warmth and peace wells up within my being. Each day I double-check the name of the author for some inexplicable reason, I feel as though my name will one day magically appear.

I have always been interested in memorabilia. When I see something old in a shop like a child's toy or doll, or maybe a figurine or carving I think of them as little windows into the past, a glimpse of a previous era. My interest evolved, gradually growing over time, to eventually become a fanaticism. My weekly visits to antique shops and used book stores had become such an obsession that some of my closest friends once considered an intervention. My friends are eccentric enough to embrace my obsession to a point, but the degree of enthusiasm I would exhibit towards antique Science Fiction had at times become embarrassing in certain social settings, specifically my obsession with time travel. An interest in time travel permeates my being to the extent that it has become a subject that I over-exude enthusiasm for when engaging in conversations with people. Unfortunately most people do not share the same sentiment and sadly, I am frequently alienated from conversations.

I discovered The Time Traveler's Handbook in a dusty used book store on Queen Street West one Sunday afternoon in July 2091. The store had been open for quite some time, but I had never seen it nor heard of it. When I saw the store front that hot July day, it took me by surprise. I had combed the shops in this neighborhood dozens of times, but had never seen this one. At least I couldn't remember ever seeing it before that particular Sunday.

Entering the store I felt a sense of awareness that I had just crossed the threshold of a very special place. Like stepping onto sacred ground, I found there was a strong vibration that now enveloped my consciousness. The feeling drew me to a specific area of the shop where technical manuals and user guides for a variety of outdated operating systems and software applications sat collecting dust on faded yellow aluminum merchandising shelves. I couldn't understand why I had gravitated to this area of the store, fully aware that the coveted Sci-Fi section, which I came in with the express intention to peruse, was clearly labeled and located at the opposite side of the shop.

I approached the shelf full of dusty technical manuals and blindly reached out. My hand seemed to have a mind of its own. Guided by my sub conscience and unaware of the book's title or subject matter, my hand retrieved the small book from a position sandwiched within the row of manuals. To my absolute amazement, it was a book written about my favorite and most passionate subject matter, time travel. The Time Traveler's Handbook had found its way into my life as though it had chosen me. I knew at that moment that the feeling I had when I entered the shop was not just something I imagined. I knew there was a reason I discovered this store on this day and at this time. There was some sort of cosmic balance that was taking place right now in my life. I knew there had to be a reason for the vibration I felt when I entered the shop. There had to be a reason the vibe brought me to a specific part of the store, there had to be a reason my hand guided itself to find this book amidst the numerous volumes of technical journals. Standing there in the shop, I pondered the experience for just a moment, then felt a certain level of resolve, as I now believed that the answer to this coincidence must be contained within the contents of the Time Traveler's Handbook. The reason would undoubtedly reveal itself over time, somehow, while I read the book. 'Everything happens for a reason' my inner voice echoed. 'Everything happens for a reason'.

On the train ride back home that Sunday evening I sat opposite a man that seemed familiar. I thought I recognized him from my weekday morning commutes into the city for work.

If only we could teleport instead of spending half our lives on these damn trains. The man across from me commented as though I should obviously agree with his point of view on the limited capabilities of today's public transit service.

Sure, we would save time, I agreed. …but it's not about the destination, it's about the journey. We've forgotten how to enjoy the journey. I added. Have we met before?

You are an old soul. The man added. Nobody cares about the journey anymore. People today only care about the destination and how soon they can get there. No I don't believe we have met. I'm Sam.

Harold. I replied. I agree Sam, Society needs to get back to its roots. You know, as a community and not exist just as a collection of individuals. The destination isn't the end of the line. The destination is just a part of the journey, a stop along the way. Teleportation would be a faster and more efficient way to reach the next stop along the way in the journey. We all talk about reaching our destination, but what does that really mean?

Whoa, that's kind of Zen if you ask me. Sam replied. Journey of a thousand miles begins with one step and all...

Well you need to ask yourself, 'What is my destination?' and that, my friend, is the question of the day. Your destination this afternoon is not your destination tomorrow morning. It's all based on your frame of reference. What is our destination in this moment, day, week, year, life time and beyond? What is your destination in terms of your soul or spirit? It could span many life times. It does span many life times, so I leave you with this one thought my friend, Sam. As we all strive to reach our destination, and along the way we all lose track of the joy of the journey, is it not paramount that we become aware, and stay aware, of the reason for our existence? What is my reason for existence? What is yours? What is the reason for our meeting today? What is the reason for this conversation? We need to remember that everything happens for a reason; everything. I realized that I had become quite intense and assertive. I was eager to dive into my new book. Leaning into the conversation, I was now only a short distance from Sam's face, looking him eye to eye. I lowered my gaze to my book and leaned back into my seat. Now if you will excuse me Sam, I raised the book up. "I am about to teleport to another world as I enjoy this journey."

Hey no problem, it was nice talking with you, Harold! Enjoy your book.

I was shocked and excited when I opened The Time Traveler's Handbook and read the following first lines:

Chapter 1: Introduction – Everything Happens For a Reason. Thirty minutes later, as the train pulled into Rouge Hill station I rose from my seat and shot Sam, who was still sitting across from me, a quick smile. I had just closed The Time Traveler's Handbook and was feeling a little disappointed. The first chapter appeared to be simply a description of the Tibetan Book of the Dead, which I was quite familiar with, having seen a documentary film on the subject recently. But the voice in my head resounded 'everything happens for a reason', 'everything happens for a reason'.

Harold's Journey

By the time I turned forty I had lived at twenty different addresses. It wasn't a conscious choice to move that often, it just turned out that way. The frequent moves as a toddler eventually took their toll on my adolescent psyche in the form of a very specific recurring dream.

The recurring dream I experienced as a youngster stayed with me through my teens and well into adult life. I had this dream once or twice each year, the scenario was always the same but with just a slight variation. The house that I arrived at would vary, and the conversation that took place inside was different each time. For some reason I always remembered the person who answered the door. The dream always began at a social setting, a party or picnic with the extended family or several of my parent's friends and their children, a jovial, celebratory atmosphere with music and laughter that gave me no reason for concern. Then out of the blue my father would order me to go home. The emotion would quickly turn dark and I would feel as though I was being punished for something that I must have done. I would ponder this feeling, brought on by the banishment, which I didn't understand throughout what seemed like a never-ending journey as I walked for miles to return home.

This journey home that I experienced in my dreams was always an extremely long walk lasting well into the night. Eventually it would end when I found my way to the last house that my family and I had resided at. Not the current residence where we now lived, the previous one. Upon arrival, I would find the door locked and would ring the door bell or knock several times until someone eventually answered.

The door would be opened by a stranger, always a beautiful female with red hair and blue eyes who would greet me warmly with the words, Can I help you? I would suddenly realize that I was in fact at my previous home which was now inhabited by a different family. I would accept an invitation to go in. A discussion would begin to take place in which I would explain the strange circumstance. Anxiety would well up inside of me usually resulting in an abrupt end to the dream. I would wake up in a sweat and confused. It would take a minute for me to recognize my surroundings and calm down as the realization of my current location then would stabilize my anxious emotional state.

I had this dream on no less than ten occasions. When I was forty four I experienced the recurring dream for the final time. This time, it was different. This time, I was in full control and this time, I didn't want to wake up.

Writer's Block

Victor labored as he wrote The Time Traveler's Handbook. At first the words flowed nicely from his mind out his fingertips and onto the keyboard. The book seemed to write itself the first few days that he devoted to its creation. He had a clear purpose then, and the words poured out as though his body was merely a conduit for the story which seemed as old as time. He knew what was required, it needed to be a message to the future, a time capsule packaged in a way that, upon opening would impact future events in the true timeline. Events that Victor knew were required to happen because they had an impact on his and Devin's present day life.

The book needed to include subliminal messages that would cause Harold to become a Time Traveler, a mentor, a coach and it needed to contain messages that would motivate Holger to become a pirate of the future's most successful and lucrative technologies. Victor had learned through personal interactions with these two future incarnations of himself, that his life's purpose would play as integral a part in the fulfillment of their destinies as it would his and Devin's. Failure to achieve the desired results would likely mean a drastic change in Victor's current life including possibly losing his wife, his friends, his family and his two dogs. Life as he knew it today would essentially cease to exist.

The Time Traveler's Handbook was a passion for Victor the first few days of his endeavor. As time passed and Victor became more invested in writing the book, he began to lose confidence in his ability to deliver on the project. The inner struggles Victor experienced as his work progressed began with second-guessing the content. Victor allowed fear to creep in, a fear that he would fail in his ultimate objective. The more Victor concentrated on consciously delivering a subliminal message to his future soul incarnates, the more the message became literal. Over-thinking his messaging, he began to second-guess himself. As the fear of causing a change to his present reality gripped his creative imagination, that creativity which previously was flowing freely, completely shut down. His project of passion had now become one of frustration and obligation.

Is this writer's block? Victor thought, as he made yet another revision to the current passage. The only way to verify the outcome was to travel to the future and see for himself if the message had indeed been delivered, and had caused the needed effect. But when would be the right point in time, and where? Victor pondered the idea for several hours before eventually plotting out a plan for verification. He would finish writing The Time Traveler's Handbook and then decide on a few key places and times in the future to visit in order to prove that the effect of the book was positive and aligned with his purpose.

Victor heard Devin entering through the front door of the house. Oliver and Simon who were napping on the couch in the rec-room, took less than a second to cross the floor to the bottom of the stairs. Frantic to get to the intruder who just broke the perimeter of their sacred domain, the two dogs sprinted up the stairs barking viciously until they heard Devin's voice call to them.

Crazies! Monkey heads! Mama's home, Mama's home! Hi boyzie boyzies.

Their barking quickly turned from a wild, snarly, 'attack' bark into an excited 'welcome home we missed you' higher pitch, slightly mellower quality tone as they rounded the top of the stairs and headed down the hallway to the foyer. At the end of the hall where the carpet ends and the hardwood begins, both dogs spun out trying to turn the corner into the foyer in an attempt to be the first to greet Devin, 'Mama' as they knew her.

Drifting like race cars rounding a sharp corner on slick asphalt with accelerators down hard, Simon slid into the side of the pantry first with Oliver only a quarter second behind. Simon had almost recovered when Oliver slid side-on into him, pinning Simon back against the pantry.

Their inertia now totally depleted, both dogs attempted to get back up to speed, their paws spinning out fast on the shiny hardwood as they performed their best Fred Flintstone and Barney Rubble impressions of getting their car to accelerate. The only thing missing was the booggetta-booggetta-booggetta' xylophone sound effect as their feet spun-out getting their momentum back up to speed. It was truly a joy to see how excited they would get as they each raced to be the first to greet Devin at the door.

In usual fashion, Simon after touching his nose to Devin's leg ran off to find the treasure of the household. The oldest, dirtiest and stinkiest stuffed toy that was the main prize and only possession Oliver ever coveted. Oliver stayed at the front door attentive to Devin's verbal greeting while she removed her coat and put down her bags. Simon quickly returned with 'dirty bone' after only a few seconds. Squeaking it loudly, he drew Oliver's attention away from 'Mama' as he did every time. Running into the living room, Oliver chased after Simon and the 'dirty bone', where he began barking loudly. Five seconds later Simon relinquished the toy to Oliver and hurried back to the real prize, Mama. Oliver, now enjoying his dirty squeaky bone, was oblivious to the fact that Simon yet again tricked him into being distracted away from the task at hand. Simon enjoyed Mama's full attention for nearly twenty seconds. Twenty seconds of pure one-on-one scratching behind the ears bliss.

Baby I'm home! Devin shouted down the stairs to Victor who was now resolute in his plan to tweak his creation until the desired future effect was achieved. How's the book coming?

Victor, now climbing the stairs to greet Devin let out a sigh and responded.

Not bad. I think I just got over my writer's block. It was going slow the last couple days but I'm back on a roll.

That's good to hear. Devin shouted back as she hung up her coat in the hall closet. Hey what do think about Thai food for dinner?

Victor had reached the top of the stairs and was rounding the corner when a bright flash appeared as though a camera had just snapped a photo. A man appeared in the hallway between Victor and Devin. He was tall and wearing black pants, a white shirt and a black vest with a logo on it. The man was carrying two overcoats slung over his left arm. Devin and Victor recognized the coats and looked past the man at each other.

Miss Devin, Mr. Victor the man said. I believe you left these behind?

Yes, yes we did. Devin replied with a puzzled look on her face. How did, how…did you...

How did I find you? The man finished her sentence. DNA I think you call it. That's a unique physical signature that each human possesses.

We know what DNA is. Victor piped in. But how did you FIND us? Victor asked.

"Video surveillance cameras recorded you removing these and leaving them next to our environment generators. They were brought to me and I confirmed that the DNA present on