Tomorrow’s Yesterdays…

Endgame by ff_b

In early December of 2012, CIA Director David Petraeus arrived for a secret meeting at the White House with President Obama.

“Mr. President,” began Director Petraeus, “I have extraordinary news!”

“What might that be, David?,” Obama responded.

“Mr. President, my information regards the wreck of the ‘Titanic,’ which as you’re aware sank a hundred years ago.–Sir, the ship is…reassembling itself!”

“What is this, David…some kind of joke?,” asked Obama.

“No, Mr. President,” Petraeus answered solemnly as he placed a pile of high-resolution photographs before Obama.  “Three months ago, the bow and stern reunited.  Since that time, hull fissures have somehow been sealing themselves.  Ship artifacts and components settled across a large debris field have also been reuniting themselves with the vessel!”

“You expect me to believe this absurd story from a few photographs?,” Obama asked, his face registering his disbelief.

“I know that this strains credulity,” admitted Petraeus, “but that’s not all.  Other things are happening that are equally remarkable.  For example, Amelia Earhart has been found!”

“You mean the wreckage of her Lockheed Electra?–That’s incredible!  Were bodily remains recovered?,” Obama asked, intrigued.

“Yes, you might say that,” answered Petraeus, “in a most remarkable state of preservation!”  He removed a pager from his pocket and activated it, issuing the order, “Send her in.”  A moment later the door clicked open and Amelia Earhart walked in, looking exactly as she had at the time of her disappearance in 1937.

“It’s an honor to meet you, Mr. President!,” said Earhart, extending a hand.  She regarded Obama’s skin color, her eyes widening almost imperceptibly.  “My, how times have changed!,” she added.

“Yes, indeed they have,” agreed Obama, shaking the aviatrix’s hand in wonder.  He then sank into his seat, overwhelmed.

“Mr. President, there’s more as well,” cautioned Petraeus.  “Flight 19 has returned from the Bermuda Triangle.  The Avenger torpedo bombers flew in under their own power, and neither the aircraft nor their pilots appear to have aged since they were last heard from in 1945!,” he advised.

“Mr. Director…what do all of these incredible occurrences mean?,” demanded Obama, eager for an explanation.  

Petraeus looked first at Obama then at Earhart.  “The ancient Mayans predicted that the world would end on December 21st, 2012,” he reflected, “and it appears that their prophecy is coming true.  Remakable events are transpiring as history draws up loose ends in preparation for the new age soon to dawn,” he concluded.

“And what,” asked Obama, “would you as CIA Director advise us to do?”

“At its current state of restoration, sources indicate that the Titanic will be fully functional and seaworthy by the December 21st deadline.  I would suggest that you book passage, Mr. President…we’re going for a ride!,” declared Petraeus.

“And just where might that ride be headed?,” pressed Obama.

“The Roswell pilots long quartered at Area 51 have generously offered to guide us through a rift in the time-space continuum that will open at that time,” explained Petraeus.

“Do you suppose that those aliens might let me try my hand at the controls of one of their aircraft after we pass through that continuum?,” asked Earhart playfully.

“Of that I have little doubt,” Petraeus reassured Earhart.

“Then hot damn!–We’re headed for the future!,” declared the woman from the past to two men of the present, eager to start her journey into tomorrow…


The Artist

It was one of those unseasonably warm days in early January when the butterfly flitted onto my shoulder.  Those sixty degree days must have caused it to emerge prematurely, I thought.  Still it was strange, and I gently extended my finger for the creature to climb onto, marveling at its delicacy as it did so.  The butterfly perched on my finger as I examined it, realizing to my amazement that it was not organic!  As the tiny insect fluttered its wings, I saw that the wings were a polymer-type material, and I could see microgears meshing as the articulated legs moved.  Traces of microcircuitry could be seen running along the minuscule body.  As if aware that its true nature had been detected, the butterfly flew away, and I saw it no longer.

The technology that could create such a thing was still in the process of being created, and for what purpose had such an extraordinary thing, complex but delicate, been designed?  Apparently it had been devised just because its creator could do so, and he or she had engineered it for the joy of creating it.  Such a person lived in this time, yet ahead of it.  In all of human experience there had only been a handful of such individuals.

As a student of history, I knew that in the Hellenistic Age of Greece, there had lived an extraordinary man who demonstrated a knowledge of mechanics, hydraulics, and other technologies that was many centuries ahead of its time.  So great were this man’s capabilities that his understandings would not be approached until the Renaissance, and even then imperfectly so.  The great Leonardo DaVinci, himself a genius, could not get one of his predecessor’s machines to function, although in the present day they would, as Leonardo had incorrectly used square rather than pointed teeth in a gear design.  What if this remarkable intelligence had somehow managed to engineer around the problem of death, so that his consciousness in this world survived his physical body?  And what if that individual had continued to learn, grow, and evolve beyond a single human lifespan?

A few miles away, a most extraordinary butterfly flew through an open window.  Servomechanisms hummed and whirred as the consciousness of Archimedes smoothly extended his robotic arm to provide a roost for his returning winged creation…and a positronic brain turned to ponder other marvels that it was even then just conceiving…