Porters

By Patrick Clark

"It's actually very easy to time travel; you just have to go fast enough."

What good is a time machine if human beings can't survive time travel? Evidently, there is one answer; it becomes the most effective way in history to dispose of a dead body. I mean, what could be better for a criminal than dumping their latest victim two dozen years or so into the future?

PORTERS follows forty-nine-year-old Detective Steven Wilson in the dystopian future of 2069, forty years after the invention of time travel. Wilson is the head of the NTSI (Non-Linear Time Stream Investigation Unit), a special division within the NYPD. Ultimately, 2069 has become the official dumping ground for the first wave of "time trash," among which are numerous murder victims. It's Wilson's job to find out who killed them.

Wilson is one of the best there is when it comes to solving these futuristic murders and catching the killers of the past. However, when a new body arrives that suggests that he is dealing with a serial killer (a first for the NTSI), all bets are off the table. As more and more bodies pile up, Wilson discovers that someone is assisting the killer in the present time. He attempts to fight an enemy across two timelines; trying to solve a forty-year-old murder with real-time consequences while battling paradoxes that threaten the very fabric of reality.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tellwell Talent
• Release date: Sep 20, 2021
• ISBN: 9780228850311

Patrick Clark

Born in Milwaukee, Wisconsin.  Patrick Clark is a graduate of the School of Journalism at the University of Wisconsin – Milwaukee and hold a Master of Arts degree in National Security and Strategic Studies from the U.S. Naval War College. Shortly after he graduated from college, he earned a commission in the United States Navy where he served as a Surface Warfare Officer.   In addition to multiple at sea tours, he also served on the Staff of the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, as a military Liaison to the Saudi Arabian Ministry of Defense, and as faculty of the Joint Forces Staff College.  Patrick Clark retired from the U.S. Navy after twenty years of service and went into business at a professional services company providing support to the U.S. Joint Staff.   He retired from his position as Vice President of Operations after thirteen gratifying years. Patrick Clark's writing themes leverage his knowledge of the military and government to develop stories with suspense and intrigue.  He currently lives in Norfolk, Virginia.

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Porters

Copyright © 2021 by Patrick Clark

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Tellwell Talent

www.tellwell.ca

ISBN

978-0-2288-5032-8 (Hardcover)

978-0-2288-5033-5 (Paperback)

978-0-2288-5031-1 (eBook)

To my mom and dad, for truly making me believe I could be anything.

Prologue

It’s actually quite easy to time travel; you just have to go fast enough.

41 years ago – October 27, 2028

Tyler Bryan, award-winning newscaster, adjusted his tie slightly as an off-camera voice counted down from the commercial break. Tyler was wearing a navy suit bought specifically for this interview. He sat across from philanthropist Jacob Isaacs with an uneasy mixture of expectation and anxiousness. The show’s ratings had dropped this quarter. The producers had to pull some serious strings to get an exclusive on this interview. If it didn’t go well, there wouldn’t be another. As Tyler sat there, quickly reviewing his notes, he became aware of just how much he was sweating. He started to panic, wondering if it would show through his jacket. As a journalist, he had dealt with high-pressure interviews before, but nothing was going to top this moment. This interview would change the world forever.

And we’re live! shouted a producer.

Welcome back, folks. I could not be more thrilled to announce our next guest. From world-renowned physicist to decorated humanitarian, it would seem there isn’t much that Jacob Isaacs can’t do. But now he has gone and achieved the unthinkable. We’ve been hearing about time travel for nearly a decade, and today history will indeed be made. Ladies and gentlemen, please help me in welcoming the man who has changed the world: Jacob Isaacs!

The studio audience erupted into applause. Isaacs was wearing a dark purple suit with a soft pink dress shirt underneath. His hair was cut in a clean, tight comb-over, and his smile was so bright it was blinding. He stood up from his chair and walked away from the news table to the front of the stage, embracing the applause. He was clearly loving every moment of this, as was the audience.

This interview had been anticipated by the public for months now. All over the world, people were gathered around living room TVs, packed into bars or flooding the city streets to watch the broadcast on the many newly installed jumbotrons. Tickets to be in the studio audience were going for thousands of dollars. Some critics were comparing the hype to that of the moon landing. History was being made, and every person on Earth wanted to be a part of it.

After the applause finally started to die down, Isaacs returned to the table and took his seat. Wow. Now that is a good crowd, he said, addressing the audience, and they burst into cheers once more. Thank you for having me, Mr. Bryan. It’s a pleasure to be here.

I think I can speak for all of us when I say, truly, the pleasure is ours, replied Tyler. You look fantastic. I love your watch. He gestured to Isaacs’ gold timepiece.

Isaacs replied with a nod of gratitude.

So, let’s start with the question that everyone is burning to know: is this real? Is the machine complete? Tyler asked.

There was pin-drop silence in the studio, the audience paralyzed with nervous anticipation.

Mr. Bryan, I assure you, nothing could be more real, Isaacs said with a devilish smile, and the crowd erupted in applause once again.

How does it feel to know you have effectively changed the course of human history?

Oh, Mr. Bryan, I waste no time worrying about how history will review my actions, but instead only how my actions will impact the future. And I assure you, what my machine will do for our future will be unlike anything imaginable, he said with a charming wink.

Can you tell us how it works?

Right, of course. When you boil it down, it’s not as complicated as you might first anticipate. You see, it’s actually quite easy to time travel; you just have to go fast enough.

I’m confused. What do you mean by ‘fast enough?’ asked Tyler.

The speed of light, to be exact.

Isaacs reached behind his chair and pulled out a flat metallic ring-shaped device about two feet in diameter and two inches thick. He placed it on the table. The silver machine shimmered in the light. Around the surface of the ring were a few small controls, but otherwise the device bore more resemblance to a toy hoop than anything else.

This machine, affectionately called a ‘porter,’ can vibrate the atoms at the speed of light of whatever object is within its containment field, at which point the effects of time and space will cease to act upon it. As a result, once the atoms slow down to a regular state, the object will have been moved forward in time, stated Isaacs.

And how far into the future would that be?

It depends on how long the atoms are vibrating for. Presently, my machine has a capacity that corresponds precisely to forty years into the future; however, eventually I expect to be able to calibrate it to travel anywhere in time.

The crowd was in awe. Isaacs’ confidence and swagger emanated from the stage. The audience was hanging on his every word.

This is absolutely remarkable! exclaimed Tyler. And it’s my understanding we’re going to get a demonstration?

Well, this wouldn’t be much of an unveiling if we didn’t, Isaacs said with a grin.

He removed a tennis ball from his pocket and grabbed a black marker off the table. He wrote see you soon on the ball, placed it in the centre of the porter and pressed a few buttons. The device started to hum, and a bright gold halo formed around the tennis ball.

Now would be a good time to shield your eyes, Isaacs advised the crowd as he and Tyler put on pairs of tinted lab glasses.

The machine emitted a brief high-pitched squeal and the room was momentarily flooded with a blinding light. Once the light faded the tennis ball was gone. The crowd roared in approval.

So it’s . . . gone? Tyler asked in shocked disbelief.

Oh yes. That tennis ball now sits in this very location in the year 2068. Give or take a year or two. This is the prototype, after all.

Excuse my skepticism, but how can you prove the ball is actually in the future?

Well, I’d be happy to show you the math, but you’d need a couple doctorates and a few months in my lab, Isaacs chuckled.

Incredible. Absolutely incredible. I can’t believe what I am seeing, Tyler said, quickly changing his tone in fear of offending Isaacs.

Believe it, Mr. Bryan. You have just witnessed the first public demonstration of time travel in human history.

The implications of this are astounding. So, Mr. Isaacs, I think we’re all burning to know . . . does this machine work on human beings? asked Tyler.

The simple answer is no, I’m afraid. The tissue that makes up the human brain is unlike anything else and is very difficult to manipulate. The process of vibration that this machine uses would have a catastrophic effect on brain tissue. The machine generates far too much speed and heat for someone to survive.

I mean, I hate to sound underwhelmed by what we have just seen, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little disappointed, Tyler said with a tempered laugh.

Patience is a virtue, Mr. Bryan, Isaacs said with confidence. I have no doubt that, given enough time and funding, we will be sending human subjects to the future within the next ten to fifteen years.

Is there a waiting list started for that? Tyler asked, and the crowd laughed with him.

You’re welcome to start one, Isaacs said with a smirk.

I do think this brings up an interesting point, though. If technology does develop to allow living, breathing human beings to travel to the future, how would we get them back?

Ah yes, well, as I said before, time travel isn’t as difficult as you might think, but that’s really only referring to going forward in time. However, there are specific signatures left in the time stream whenever it is altered. If we were able to identify those markers, then theoretically it would be possible to follow a path back through time to its point of origin. Realistically we are still decades away from being close to that technology. So, to answer your question, as of right now it’s a one-way trip.

CHAPTER 1

Present Day – October 27, 2069

Detective Steven Wilson bit down on the rim of his foam cup as Officer Ryan gave him the rundown of the crime scene. Wilson was six feet tall and forty-nine years old. He was in good enough shape for the job but had barely passed the department’s physical last month. In his line of work, it wasn’t like he ever needed to chase down criminals, so nobody was overly concerned with his physical fitness. His eyes were sunken deep in his face from years of stress and all the sleepless nights. By some miracle he still had a full head of hair, but it had greyed long ago. Today he was wearing his department-issued trench coat, white shirt, black tie and black pants. It was almost always raining in New York City, so there wasn’t much else he could wear.

Today was an exception. It was an early, grey morning in the city, and the crispness of the air bit at Wilson’s face. They were down by the harbour and the birds were scarce, so the air was consumed with the sound of the Hudson crashing against the breach wall. Sea levels had risen so drastically in the past twenty years that the first four storeys of New York City were now below sea level. In an attempt to save the city, a towering cement barrier had been erected all along the coastline to prevent flooding. They were continually adding to it, trying to stay ahead of the rising tide. It was a project that started in the twenties and was only barely completed in time. They were relativity secure now, but water levels continued to rise. It was hard not to see the futility of the situation. Arguably the only thing that had been successfully achieved was turning the once concrete jungle into a concrete cage.

Where are we at? Wilson asked tiredly as he removed his glasses and cleaned them with his shirt. He felt like he had asked this question a thousand times in the past week alone.

Looks like the cause of death was blunt-force trauma to the head. As far as we can tell, the victim was thrown out of a moving car. First guess: it’s another inner-city mob hit, replied Officer Ryan.

Don’t these guys ever take a day off? Wilson said as he took another sip of his coffee.

We found some partial prints again. We’ll run it through the database. If it’s anything like the last few, it’ll hopefully be an easy ID.

All right, good. We’re falling behind. If any more of these bodies show up, we’re going to get buried.

Tell me about it, Ryan replied with a yawn. This is already my second call this morning.

Who was working the night shift? Wilson asked.

Uhm, Detective Phillips was on duty, Ryan said, thinking back to the early morning crime scene. The NTSI—the Non-Linear Time Stream Investigation Unit—was constantly expanding as more and more bodies started to show up. At the moment there were eight full-time detectives on the force and a number of uniformed officers. Detective Ethan Phillips was relatively new to the team.

Wilson rolled his eyes. Okay, well, let’s go have a look.

Wilson walked through the holographic caution tape and made his way toward the body. The Isaacs Industries news trucks had already arrived and were parked nearby. Ported bodies weren’t new. The criminal underworld of the past had been using porters to dispose of their victims by sending them to the future for nearly a year. However, the novelty had yet to wear off. What was unique about these murders was that they posed no real threat to the people of 2069, as the murder technically occurred forty years ago. As a result, the whole thing was a media frenzy. Ever since the news stations started covering portings, their ratings had never been higher, and the public’s morbid curiosity had never been greater. The world just couldn’t get enough of these futuristic murders.

Detective Wilson had spent twenty years working for the NYPD and less than one with the NTSI, which was still an affiliate with the resources of the NYPD, but its own entity. When the first ported bodies started arriving, no one was equipped to deal with them. As a result, the President expanded the Criminal Time Act and established specialized units in all major cities to investigate and handle murders and any other criminal activity that resulted from porters. Despite any previous claims for advancements, the machines never developed past their forty-year ceiling. Thus, 2069 became the official dumping ground for dead bodies, as well as any other time trash. At first, it was mostly souvenirs and keepsakes, the top one percent sending extravagant time capsules to their kin. However, it didn’t take long before a much more sinister use of the machine became apparent. You couldn’t send living humans to the future, but you could certainly send dead ones.

Wilson approached the body, crouched down and examined it. The amount of energy generated by a porter was extreme. It reacted with the skin and scorched the bodies that came through. The results weren’t always the same, as there were a lot of factors that played into the outcome. Skin is complex and unique to everyone, so each body reacts differently. Additionally, they discovered that if the porter was in a confined area the energy wouldn’t dissipate. The bodies would catch fire and come through completely unrecognizable. Other times they would come through with something like a massive sunburn. It was things like this that could make getting an ID very labour-intensive.

This victim looked to be in his mid-twenties, with only mildly singed skin. He didn’t appear to be a drug user, but they did find packets of heroin in his pockets. Fortunately, while skin reacted dramatically to the energy from a porter, non-organic matter seemed to be relatively unaffected, and therefore evidence was often preserved. Chances were he was just another victim of one of the many drug cartels that had started using porters. There were some heavy busts in 2029, which seemed to result in the cartels cleaning house, getting rid of any buyers that could out the remaining members. This was equating to a high volume of ported bodies. Many wealthy criminals and organized-crime families had gotten their hands on porters from the black market. They figured they were free and clear if they just shipped the bodies off to the future. For a while they were right. It wasn’t until recently that the NTSI was even able to devise a way to catch them.

Detective! yelled a voice from behind the police barriers.

Perfect, Wilson said to himself.

The voice belonged to Janine Elliot, a lead reporter from Isaacs Industries News Network—INN for short. Janine almost always covered portings. She had short red hair and green eyes, and today was wearing her staple navy pantsuit. Janine was a seasoned reporter with over two decades on the job, and it was clear she took pride in her work. She was one of the best and she knew it. That being said, she was well aware of the public circus that ported bodies caused and how the media only heightened that. Wilson always suspected that if there was another story to cover, she would cover it. However, neither of them could deny that at the moment there were few things the public cared about as much as a mysterious time-travelling murder.

Detective, over here! Janine yelled once more.

Wilson stood up slowly, grunted a bit and started to walk to his car, pretending he didn’t notice her. Janine ran behind the barrier parallel to him until they were so close he couldn’t ignore her.

Detective, could I get a quick comment, she asked, holding out a digital recorder.

The two of them had done this dance dozens of times. They rarely saw each other outside of crime scenes, but there were enough of those to make sure they saw each other plenty. It wasn’t that Wilson didn’t like her; she was actually one of the few reporters he preferred, as she respected the boundaries between press and police. However, the media made his