To Wright a Wrong: A time travel novel

PROLOGUE

What if time is a ribbon of infinite somewheres,

The present in the middle,

The past and future at ends folded neatly underneath,

Hidden from view in a fourth dimension.

And what if around the ribbon and its folds

There is woven yet a fifth dimension,

A place of in-between called Else

Where time and space are not.

And what if within this fifth dimension,

There roams an entity of pure energy,

The Guardian of Time,

Conservator of destiny.

From its vantage point at the edge of forever, Guardian sensed disharmony much like the Maestro of a symphony orchestra takes in all harmonies with a keen ear and emits with a single voice the tone of all the voices. Guardian’s Universe, the one of which our Earth is part, had brushed by the edge of another. The resulting exchange of gravimetric forces had distorted the timescape ever so slightly, altering a single event in 1920. And from that incident, a shockwave of changes begins to cascade up the timeline, leaving chaos in its wake. This shockwave, like many that came before it, would have to be stopped, its effects undone.

Guardian’s thoughts echo through the infinity that is Else, joining the eternal echoes of countless other thoughts never to be heard: Harmony must be restored, destiny preserved. Must act quickly.

Chapter One: The Shockwave Advances

Dateline: November 2nd, 1920 (Election Day): Dayton Daily News – Page Six

Unidentified Man Victim of Fire: Arson/Homicide Suspected.

Osborne Police are investigating a suspicious fire that destroyed a hangar and left one person dead Monday night. The fire occurred at a deserted farm leased only a week ago by a private air service. The body of a middle-aged man, burned beyond recognition, was found in a search of the debris early this morning. The fireman who made the grizzly discovery said the man had apparently been bound and chained to the seat of a DeHavilland DH-4 parked inside the hangar. Local resident, Bertram Scoggins, told local authorities that he saw a second airplane take off just before dusk when the fire broke out. The Osborne Police Department has determined that the person who leased the farm, allegedly to conduct experiments in the new technology of aerial crop dusting, used a bogus name. An area-wide search is underway to locate the second plane and its pilot. “The pilot of that plane is our primary suspect at this time,” said a Police official who declined to answer further questions.

Echoes from Else: Shockwave accelerating. Must jump ahead of it before memory revisions deprive me of material help, but not too far. No more than two generations removed from source event. These humans have such limited memory. Puzzling. No adults this time either. Intransigent, myopic annoyances! Closed minds. Hope youth of species will prove more useful. Must scan the timescape ahead for suitable candidates. Must have potential to be motivated.

Dateline: October 18, 2003 – Troy, Ohio, north of Dayton: Ahead of the shockwave

Theo Hathaway sprung to life at the sound of the buzzing alarm clock. It was 7:30 A.M., an hour earlier than usual for a peaceful Saturday morning in October. A perfect time to search for the lost tunnel. A shiver of anticipation rippled through her body.

According to her late maternal grandfather, the tunnel connected the basement of a 19^th century brick warehouse to the banks of the Miami-Erie canal. Rumored to lie beneath her school’s athletic field, the tunnel had been built to keep produce fresh while awaiting shipment by barge to Dayton and points south, but during the Civil War, it also served as a hiding place for runaway slaves making their way north.

In the second decade of the 20th century, the warehouse became the hub for a variety of criminal activities. Condemned in 1932, it sat vacant until 1949 when the city took the property for back taxes and demolished the building. But the tunnel, sealed off after a raid by federal agents in 1920, was never unearthed when Theo’s school was erected on the land in 1995.

Grabbing a pad and pen from her bedside table, Theo added a note to her list of report contents: Include reason for federal raid in report. “We’ll find the tunnel,” she whispered. “And when we do, our...

The word ‘team’ stuck in her throat. Her history teacher had not missed the frown on Theo’s face when he announced the names of her team members for the school history research project: Alexis Marsalis, the quintessential procrastinator, adrift in a theatrical fantasy world of her own making and John Molnar, the precocious know-it-all. JM had skipped ninth grade to start high school in Theo’s class. It was his second double promotion, making him, at age 13, the youngest 10th grader in the school’s history. The irony of his academic achievement was not lost on Theo. JM’s record was now on the list of recorded firsts her team would have to include in their final report.

Why now just two days shy of her 16th birthday, she asked herself. Why me? This was supposed to be a happy time, the week of her first solo flight, the week she could drive legally on her own license.

She pictured JM’s face and grimaced. The role of baby-sitter was not a happy thought at all, but as the designated team leader, she had no options. She would have to make it work. As her grandfather had often said: It doesn’t matter how smart you are. If you can’t get along with people, you won’t make it in this world. “Well, this will certainly be a challenge, Grandpa,” she said and made a beeline for the closet.

She flung open the double bi-fold doors, the symmetry within momentarily purging unpleasant thoughts of Alex and JM. Shoes sat two-by-two in neatly labeled cubbyholes, toes pointed out; school clothes hung from the rack in ascending order of length from right to left. She reached up and ran a finger across the clothes rack like a pianist would finger a keyboard, abruptly stopping to adjust the space between two coat hangers. Satisfied all was in order, she grabbed her navy blue terry-cloth bathrobe from its hook, slipped it on and headed for the hall. She was halfway to the bathroom when she heard her mother’s call from the foot of the stairs.

“Time to rise and shine, Sweetie!”

Theo gritted her teeth and walked faster. “I’m already up, mother!” she shouted as she shut the bathroom door behind her. She hated flowery wake-up calls almost as much as being called ‘Sweetie’.

Back from the shower and fully dressed, Theo stepped in front of her dresser mirror. Her short auburn hair, still damp, accentuated an angular, almost stoic face. But it was her piercing blue-gray eyes that oftentimes unnerved classmates less certain of their worth -- and Theo knew it.

She turned slightly, surveying with pride her trim, muscular 5’3” frame. It had been four years since she began the daily workouts, and she would continue the regimen until she exceeded physical requirements for NASA’s Space program. Becoming a NASA pilot had been her goal as far back as she could remember. Though it would be years before she could apply, it was never too early to start training. Her Grandfather, a carrier-based dive-bomber pilot in World War II, had always stressed the importance of being in top physical shape. If only he hadn’t smoked so much.

She stared down at the glass-topped jewelry case on her dresser. In it lay a silver necklace to which was attached her Grandfather’s Distinguished Flying Cross, awarded for Acts of heroism in the Battle of Midway in June of 1942. He had planned to present the necklace to her on her 16th birthday, but lung cancer intervened. “Local War Hero’s Final Flight” read the by-line on the front page of the Dayton newspaper. When the jeweler saw it, he had mailed the necklace directly to Theo with a letter telling her of her Grandfather’s plans.

Her Mother’s shrill voice pierced the silence. “Theo, Your sandwich is in a bag on the table! Are you sure you don't want some hot pancakes before you go?”

“Not enough time, mother. I told Alex and JM I’d meet them at 8:30 sharp,” Theo picked up the silver-framed black and white photograph next to the necklace. Only 24 years-old and in full dress uniform, her grandfather stood beaming with pride next to his hero, Orville Wright. Taken in 1943 while on liberty in Washington DC, the photo was one of her Grandfather’s most prized possessions. Turning it to face the mirror, she felt pride, pleased that she had inherited his strong facial features.

“Don't forget to take those Aviation History magazines back to your grandmother’s flight school.” Her mother’s voice rang out.

Theo’s eyes misted as she took one final look at the picture and whispered: “I so wanted you to be there for my first solo flight.” She repositioned the picture to give it special prominence, moving her volleyball, track and soccer award statuettes behind it on the dresser.

“I just don’t understand what you see in those magazines anyway,” her Mother’s voice continued. “Old war planes! You should be reading things suitable for young ladies.”

Theo frowned. “Yes, mother!” Snatching the conspicuous stack of magazines from her bedside table, she opened the footlocker at the end of her bed, lifted out a neatly folded nylon flight suit, and spread the magazines across inside. A perfect hiding spot, she thought. She glanced briefly at the Aviation Milestones magazine on top. Dated May 18^th, 1918, its glossy cover showed Orville Wright’s last known flight piloting a 1911 Flyer alongside the first of over 1,000 DeHavilland DH-4 bombers manufactured by the Dayton-Wright Company for use in World War I. She laid her flight suit over the magazines and closed the lid.

With the magazines hidden, her attention turned to the equipment needed for the search. She crosschecked the items in her backpack with her list to make certain she had all of them. “Camera. Garden clippers. Folding pick and shovel.” Then she remembered how wet the ground was in the secluded woods behind and below the schoolyard and added a box of hand wipes. Satisfied, she glanced at her watch. “Right on schedule,” she said as she slung the backpack over her shoulder and headed downstairs.

The firefly-sized speck of light that had hovered above Theo at ceiling height, evaluating her in ways unimaginable, gave off a sharp crackle of static electricity as it abruptly phased out of linear time and vanished. Guardian had not only found its helpers, but had pinpointed the perfect coordinates for their first meeting.

Click to Continue to Chapter 2