Stop the War

By Gabriel Timar

In 2071, the world is on the verge of an environmental catastrophe, leading to the extinction of human life on the planet. With the end clearly in sight, the scientific community decides to take a last desperate, alas covert action on its own. As time travel experiments show promise, an M.I.T. professor undertakes going back into the past to attempt remedial measures. According to the faculty, technology developed too fast during and immediately after the Second World War. Averting the conflict seems the only available solution. Armed with the knowledge of history, the professor takes the leap.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wings ePress, Inc.
• Release date: May 8, 2023
• ISBN: 9781613093825

Book preview

Dedication

Dedicated to all those who hope for a solution to the looming environmental Armageddon.

One

2071

The pleasant melody of Offenbach’s barcarole filled the sleeping compartment. The volume of the music and the light’s intensity gradually strengthened. In three minutes, the lights were on, and the volume reached 40 decibels. This was the morning wake-up routine of Professor Skora. He stretched and threw off the light blanket.

Good morning, Doctor Skora, came Althea’s pleasant alto. May I deliver the morning report?

Go ahead, my dear, he replied. He did not have to be polite to a computer, but courtesy was an ingrained habit of the professor.

It is February the second in the year of two-thousand and seventy-one. The time is zero-six-thirty hours. The weather in New Boston is twenty-two degrees Fahrenheit; the wind is from the north-northwest at one hundred and eighty-six miles per hour. All surface activities are suspended for the day. Your morning commute to the university through subsurface means would take seventy-two and a half minutes.

Thank you.

The spectral-check confirms your body weight at one hundred and sixty-two pounds, on target; your blood pressure at one hundred and twenty-six per seventy-two, while the pulse rate is sixty-two. I adjusted the strength of your morning nourishment capsules to maintain the status quo.

As Althea’s voice droned on, the professor entered the sanitation compartment. He was only five feet six inches tall, well proportioned, like a retired Olympic gymnast who managed to keep himself in good shape. Stepping out of the elastic pajamas, Skora set his weight on the dial, grabbed the rings of the vapor bath, closed his eyes, and lifted himself off the floor. For two seconds the vapor engulfed his body, completing the morning bath, the shave, and the application of the deodorants. Leaving the compartment, he picked up the fresh maroon-colored single layer coverall, stepped into it and he was fully dressed. The morning nourishment capsules were on the tray at the breakfast table together with a small glass of water and a cup of steaming coffee. He swallowed the capsules and sat down to have his coffee, the only luxury the professor permitted himself. His morning coffee cost him more than a week’s supply of nourishment capsules. As he took his usual place by the table, the voice of the computer broke the silence. May I deliver the morning news, sir?

Go ahead, Althea.

Breaking news from Philadelphia: although during the siege of the green compound, twenty eight people were killed and fifty-four wounded, the food riot has been settled amicably. The government’s representative negotiating with Spiritual Trevor Hoaglund, undertook the construction of additional subsurface shelters, weekly distribution of nourishment capsules and the increase of the daily water ration to two and a half liters per person.

That was fortunate. Continue, Althea, please.

Washington: at a morning press conference, Secretary of Internal Security, Ms. Theresa Couther, announced the creation of an additional security zone. The Corps of Engineers shall build blue fortresses between the green and yellow lines of fortifications protecting the silver centers. The work in New Boston will start immediately, weather permitting, of course.

Why do we need an extra line of defense? Skora mused.

To the questions of reporters, Ms. Couther said mobs often breach the defenses of the green compounds, putting undue stress on the security personnel in the yellow forts, the last line of defense to the executive centers. If the work of the Technicals and the Financials are disrupted by rioters or terrorists, the development of new food production lines and the reversal of the environmental damages would be endangered.

Dismal picture, Althea. What is the situation on the international scene?

At the monthly meeting of the Terrestrial Environmental Committee, Vice-President Holdsworth said the United States would veto any proposals banning the use of CFC-s completely, as they are the most important components of certain crowd control weapons.

Don’t we have enough armaments? Skora mused. Please continue, Althea.

The representative of the European Community suggested slowing the construction of geothermal power-generating facilities, because some of the deep shafts might damage the continental shield, causing earthquakes. The Chinese delegate declared his country reverting to coal-fired power generation, because the hydroelectric facilities cannot be relied upon due to the uncertain rate of precipitation.

Thank you, Althea. The situation is dismal, but I cannot do anything about it. The Politicals and the Financials control everything and if something goes awry, they immediately blame us, the Technicals. How about the stock market?

The Dow Jones stabilized at 75810 after yesterday’s gain of 534 points, the Nasdaq rose 25 points closing at 24505. Crude oil is falling rapidly; it closed yesterday at $759 a barrel.

Thank you, Althea. What is my schedule for the day?

You have a meeting of the department heads at 0900 hours at Dean Hargrove’s conference room. Based on the average duration of the faculty meetings in the past, it may conclude between 1023 and 1248 hours. Your midday nourishment capsules are due at 1300 hours. You have a double lecture period from 1400 hours; the subject is Quantum Physics 302, the fifteenth session. The topic is—

I know, Althea, thank you very much, the professor said, interrupting. I expect to be back by 1800 hours. Please, prepare the exercise machine. For dinner, I will have the regular nourishment caplet and an apple for dessert, Skora said. He drained his cup of coffee, picked up his pocket computer, and stepped out of the residential unit.

AT THE DEAN’S CONFERENCE room, the department heads, wearing their distinctive maroon outfits, took their places. Dean Hargrove, sitting at the head of the table, opened the meeting.

I’m sure you are aware of the memo from the president’s office, suggesting that we do not have enough white minority female students in the Schools of Civil and Mechanical Engineering. He wanted us to look into the matter.

I am looking, Professor Westwood, the Chair of the School said angrily. I see the best students switching to Technical Archaeology. It is supposed to be the best paid and most respected profession.

Crap, Helena Harkova replied. The entry level salary is much less than a civil engineer’s wages in the same category. The president growled at me for failing too many kids. He suggested that instead of throwing them out on their ears, I should direct them to Civil and Mechanical.

As long as they are female and white, I’ll take them, Westwood said.

Very good idea, the dean concluded. He changed the subject. I distributed the research fund allocations to all of you. I regret to say they have been cut by fifteen percent again.

Shit, Skora remarked. It is already next to nothing. We may have to give up research completely.

It may come to that, Westwood agreed. I just heard about Radovan Environmental Sciences Ltd. getting an extension of five hundred billion dollars to their current contract to study climatological mitigation measures.

Idiots, Jean Charette, the chair of Environmental Sciences remarked. Radovan has many good friends among the Politicals, but their technology is lousy, about thirty years out of date. I just read an ancient textbook dated in 1994 where the author categorically stated that if the current approach to environmental protection did not change drastically, the air and water quality would deteriorate by the mid two thousand eighties to critical levels. The planet would not be able to support human life.

I read it too, Harkova said. One of my students researched the environmental control policies from 1990 to date, and found the 1994 Canadian textbook one hundred percent correct. The policies remained unchanged and everything followed the old guy’s schedule within five percent.

Are you suggesting Armageddon coming in about fifteen years? the dean asked.

No doubt about it, Charette asserted. Factoring in the climatic changes, it may be a few years earlier.

In other words we have about ten years to live, Westwood concluded.

That’s about the size of it, give or take five percent, Charette replied. Whatever we do is too late. I wish I knew how we got here.

One of my post-graduate students wrote an interesting thesis on the subject, Harkova said. According to her research, the development of technology needlessly accelerated during the second half of the twentieth century, outpacing the normal evolution of society. The human race turned into a bunch of children with very dangerous toys.

How can you blame technology development for the environmental degradation? Skora asked.

Well, in addition to the population explosion, during the breakneck production of weapons, aircraft, and other equipment, they overloaded the self-purification capacity of the planet, Harkova said.

Did your student figure out why the technology development accelerated? The dean challenged.

Of course! She unequivocally blamed the Second World War. In war, technology develops much faster than in peace. Therefore, without the Second World War, we would not be facing extinction, Harkova said.

Are you sure? the dean asked.

I checked her conclusions and she is dead on. In fact, I went outside the department and asked Frank Zold, the Chair of History, to model world events without the Second World War. His preliminary conclusions are worth examining, but he needs research money to complete the model.

I saw it too. It is sad having to learn that we are a hundred and thirty years too late, Charette said. She sighed.

Although I would be most interested in Frank’s opinion, I am afraid we are strapped for cash, the dean said.

The room was quiet. For the moment, everybody was preoccupied with the frightening conclusions of the experts. Jean Charette was perhaps the greatest living environmental scientist, and Harkova had created the discipline of technical archaeology.

I may be able to help you, Skora said slowly. However, before I say anything, I must have your word that whatever I say will not be discussed outside this room.

Everybody knew Professor Skora, the Chair of the School of Space Technology. Since the death of his wife, he had lived for his research and given up his allocation of R&R at the southern biosphere.

I believe I speak for all of us, the dean said. We are going to treat the matter as top secret.

Thank you, Skora said. I believe there is a chance of sending someone back to the nineteen-thirties to stop the Second World War.

The room suddenly was as quiet as the grave chambers of King Tut.

Of course, I need considerable input from Helena’s department. I need to know if the technology in the early twenty-first century was good enough to build an ariston generator, Infolithium batteries, force field generators and a psychic force converter.

I am sure we can give you a fairly accurate assessment, she said.

I also need about four billion in research funds.

The professors looked at each other. The amount was huge in terms of research funds, but the dean could divert it from various other projects.

What are you proposing? the dean asked.

I’m sure you heard of my TX 0720 project, the time and gravity sequencing study. To put it simply, I can put things back in time.

Did you try it? Harkova asked.

Yes, I invaded Dean Hargrove’s office a week ago. I put a photographic robot back two years; I programmed it to take several pictures and come back. I have the proof in my office if you want to see it.

I am curious about it, the dean said. How could you utilize this technology in sending someone back to the mid nineteen hundreds?

I could not do it in one jump. With this technology, I cannot have a living organism travel outside its lifespan.

I see, the dean said. What do you need?

I have to build two electromagnetic force-field generators, an ariston processor, and big Infolithium batteries to deliver enough psychic force to push me back into the early two thousands. There I would build another machine, find a guy old enough to go back to the nineteen thirties and stop the war.

How? Charette asked.

I don’t know; I am only the time travel guy. You have to come up with a playbook for my operative, Skora said.

Damned good idea, the dean concluded. Helena, you should coordinate the project. I’ll look after the shaving of funds from the research budget. How long would it take?

I could make the calculations in a couple of weeks, collect the database and be ready to travel in a month, Skora said.

Actually, can you tell us how it works? Westwood asked.

It is rather complex. Let me give you an abbreviated course in time travel. The force of gravity generated by the expanding universe changes at each location. This change is what we perceive as time. Simply put, as the force changes, it rearranges our world a little. As we can redirect the force of flowing water, we may make minor changes in the force of gravity. If I recreate the gravity force field at a given time in the past within a confined block, and apply a directional force to it, it would slide into the targeted time continuum. Time travel becomes nothing else than moving bodies between two force field blocks.

That is a problem, the dean remarked.

Not really, Skora replied. Items without inertia can pass between force fields easily.

How? Westwood asked.

We use a directional thrust of psychic force to move the item. Actually we convert matter into thought.

Ingenious, Charette said. Can you describe the process?

"Certainly. First, I must calculate the strength of nature’s gravity force field at a given time at a certain point in the targeted time continuum, and recreate it. With another generator, I must set up a stable, confined force field to block off the prevailing gravity. When both blocks are operational, the traveler enters. Within a fraction of a second, we scan and digitize the body of the time-jumper and create a holographic replica in the other zone.

Next, we saturate both blocks with ariston. The radiation of this gas loosens the bond between the electrons, protons, and neutrons of the time-jumper’s body, rendering it inertialess. This may take a full second. Following the traveler’s entry into the local force field, we apply a directional thrust of psychic force, and the particles pass through into the other continuum. As the holographic pattern exists on the low end, the molecules reassemble. In essence, whatever moves from one force field to the other, actually travels in time. Is that clear?

Yes, Westwood said uncertainly. We have many miniaturized force field generators. However, I believe you’ll need a powerful psychic force generator, batteries, and an ariston processor. If you give me the specs, we can build them in the machine shop in no time.

All right, all right, the dean said, interrupting. We must consider the final impact of Wesley’s project. If he is successful, many of us may never be born. The changes could be drastic.

But humanity would survive, Charette said. I am quite willing to sacrifice the last ten years of my life to save the planet. If we don’t do the job, in ten years we are all going to die anyway. So what do we have to lose?

THE UNIVERSITY OFFERED Professor Skora an early retirement package. It was excellent, if one took into consideration the hard times and the lack of funds. According to the offer, Professor Skora could expect a little apartment at one of the brand new Blue Forts in North America, or a Yellow For, south of the Equator. The food and the medical facilities were much better in southern forts, but the heat was almost unbearable.

The desert crept northward and almost reached the Great Lakes. As the population in the Northern States grew, the union with Canada became necessary, but the relief was short lived. As industrial production slowed considerably, unemployment rose to more than sixty percent. The jobless taking federal grants flocked to the North, staked out claims for homesteads, and tried starting family farms. Most were unsuccessful, as the fierce storms hit the half-finished structures and the frequent floods washed the settlers’ belongings away before they could finish their buildings. However, if one weathered the first growing season, it was more or less the guarantee of success, since in the food production business, a sellers’ market prevailed. The settlers who could not make it and lost everything, filtered back to the cities, swelling the number of the urban poor, becoming the recipients of welfare, food, and water rations.

Professor Skora’s son had a large, well-established farm near Labrador City. The other farmers elected him commissioner of an agricultural center on the banks of the Hamilton River.

SKORA BUMPED INTO JUNE Prescott, the Chief of Security at the cafeteria of the faculty. Are you really going to retire, Wes? she asked.

Her question came as a surprise, since the offer of the early retirement package was still in the works, a ploy of Hargrove. Skora decided to play it coy. I don’t know. It is no fun living in a fort, and I have no desire to live with my son in an agricultural center. What could a physicist do in places like that?

Wait for the grim reaper, I suppose.

I am not ready to lie down and die just yet.

Would you mind joining a special project I am planning?

If I could avoid retirement, I wouldn’t mind, Skora lied.

Well, let’s go to my office and we shall discuss the matter, Prescott said.

From the tone of her voice, Skora understood the invitation being an order rather than a request.

Come in, Wes, sit down. She pointed at one of the old-fashioned armchairs as Wes entered the spartan office of Ms. June Prescott.

The professor sat down, crossed his legs, and waited.

I heard through the grapevine about the Department of Technology planning some kind of a conspiracy. Can you enlighten me?

I don’t know what you mean by that.

Well, let me tell you. Hargrove is cutting the research funds of each school. So far, he did not touch yours, but he is very hard on the others. As there is no static from the chairpersons, I must assume they concur with the cuts. This is unusual, thus, I suspect a conspiracy.

Your reasoning is sound, Skora replied. There is a conspiracy all right. We want to give up research all together, because the funding is grossly inadequate, and we cannot accomplish anything.

Isn’t Hargrove trying to concentrate the scarce funds into one department?

I wouldn’t know about that. The allocation of research funds is his prerogative.

Of course, if you retired you wouldn’t give a damn, would you? Prescott said.

I haven’t decided on retirement yet.

I could make the decision for you.

I am sure you could, but I doubt you would.

Why?

You need me.

Damn right. I have a proposition for you: keep your ears and eyes open, report to me the project Hargrove is working on, and I won’t interfere with your retirement.

If I were you, I’d ask the dean. He hasn’t told me anything, but promised to announce the final figures in about six weeks.

Now we are getting somewhere, the chief of security said. I give you four weeks to find out what is going on in the Department of Technology.

It is going to be close, but I’ll try.

Don’t try, Wes, succeed; close hits only count with hand grenades. Prescott stood, suggesting the end of the interview.

As the good old academic structure had changed considerably over the last decades, by 2071 the real power rested in the hands of the security chiefs like June Prescott. She had spies and operators everywhere to go with the power to make or break any member of the faculty.

Skora got out of her office with a bad taste in his mouth. He could not go to Hargrove immediately and tell him about Prescott’s suspicions, because he was certain of all security cameras and recorders tuned to his ID badge. Wherever he went, he considered himself under observation.

IN TWO DAYS, HARGROVE called Skora into his office.

Well, Wes, I made the changes, the dean started.

Stop it, Skora said, covering his ID badge with a piece of metal he carried in his pocket. We must find another way of financing my project.

Why?

The hyena is onto us.

I see. June either bugged my computer, or she is blackmailing Stella, my secretary.

Is there anything June could blackmail her with?

Prescott has plenty on Stella. You see, she is not really a shrinking violet.

What did she do?

Her rap sheet is about a mile long; however, she managed to get into the president’s bed and blackmailed the old man into hiring her. Nevertheless, she is the best damn secretary I ever had.

Ancient adage: promiscuous women are full of energy, and that makes them good workers.

I’ve heard that saying. What are we going to do?

Do not change the research fund allocations. I’ll let you know what I need, and whichever department can deliver it using their research budget to do the job. The hyena should not be able to figure that out.

I will try.

FACING IMPOSSIBLE ODDS of success, armed with his pocket computer carrying the historical and financial database, a forged South African passport, and a few gold bars, Professor Wesley Skora made his time-jump in the middle of the night from the front steps of Toronto’s Royal York Hotel Museum. He selected the jumping off point carefully, finding a place which had survived intact since the late nineteen nineties. He had the fate of humanity in