Dulce Truths

“What… who…” Stu manages, but the man looking just like him puts his hand up and starts talking once again.

“We’ve started Trifecta.”

That sobers Stu up right away, and all thoughts of who this man is or what he’s doing here go from his mind. His years of training take over.

“When?”

“A few hours from now, though with the way the time sheds work it’s a little tricky to keep track.”

“Right,” Stu says, knowing exactly what his counterpart — who he now knows is his future self — is talking about. “When do I start?”

“You don’t. I do.”

“What? That was never part of the plan! How are we—”

“Plans change. You’ll find that out real quick in another…” the counterpart glances down at his watch, “…two and a half hours.” He looks back up at Stu. “Now, what I need you to do is carry on as normal, go about your business, and then when the shit hits the fan — and you’ll know when it does — you hightail it to the nearest safe spot and hold up. Then, come 1538 hours, you get your ass to the basement and the teleporter there. You’re going to Montana.”

Stu takes it all in and then a few moments after his counterpart stops talking he sits down on the bed. After a couple more moments he looks up.

“How bad is it?” he asks.

“It’s bad, but not unwinnable.”

Stu shrugs. “Then I guess I’ll do my best.”

The future Stu rises up and claps his past self on the shoulder. “I know you will, and remember… I’m counting on you.”

Stu scoffs to that. Hell, I wrote the book on the physics of time travel… I should know! He says nothing, however, and a few moments later his future self is up and heading out the door. Stu watches him go, and gives a silent prayer for his safety.

33 — Soul Catcher

Blue Lake

Friday, May 25, 1979

4:41 AM

Corporal Tommy Wynn’s body hits the cold steel slab.

“Damn it,” Donlon nearly shouts, “take it easy, will ya!”

“Relax,” Stu says, looking as calm and cool and collected as ever. He’d been happy with how the conversation with his past self went, and he’d found Donlon shortly thereafter, explaining it all to him. After that they’d caught-up with the guards escorting the Dulce Base dead. Major Fred Sayer had been with them, and knowing he could trust the young soldier, Stu allowed him to tag along to the secluded hospital wing of the base. They’d need all the help they could get in this time, he knew.

“What do you mean, ‘relax,’ doc?” Donlon says as he put his hands on his hips and sticks out his chest. The military brass on his lapel glares out at Stu. “We just got wiped out back there and Tommy here’s dead — how the hell do you expect me to relax?”

“He’s not dead,” Stu says.

“Not… not… not dead?” Fred says. “What the hell do ya mean, he’s not dead! He’s got a Goddamn piece of vat glass the size of my fist stickin’ out the side of his head, for Chrissakes!”

Stu ignores Fred’s words, not even looking up at the soldier or the stone-jawed colonel, who stands there gritting his teeth and seething. Instead the astronaut walks up to the young Vietnam vet’s body and puts his fingers near the throat, the temples, and then the eyes. He kneels down and listens at the heart, prods the stomach. Finally he looks back at Donlon. “We’ve got about thirty seconds to flat line him the way we want.”

“Flat line him, doc? We’re supposed to be saving him, not killing him!”

“Tommy knew what he was signing up for, Colonel,” Stu says calmly, though his body was anything but. He’s moving about quickly now, gathering up the needed materials and supplies. He only has one shot at this, he knows, and quite literally.

“What are you talkin’ about, doc?”

Stu finally looks up at Fred, the major standing there with his arms crossed trying to look as mean and authoritative as he could, though the confusion was beginning to creep into his eyes. He fidgets and shifts nervously — Stu was up to something, and he didn’t like it.

“Back in ’68 we started a program called “Etheria,” Stu says as he starts attaching a few diodes and clasps to Tommy’s body. “It was designed to get us as close to the Grays as we possibly could — right up to their soul catchers.”

“Soul catchers…” Fred says, trailing off. An underground alien base was one thing, but now it seemed even this was going a bit far.

“A bit much, isn’t it?” Donlon says, and Fred can only nod.

Stu affixes a final clasp to one of Tommy’s fingers and then looks back at Fred. “We’ve got to stop them, Fred, we’ve got to stop them stealing our souls.”

And with that he hits the button on the bedside machine, sending 700 volts of electricity through the Tommy’s body. A few moments later the defibrillator machine’s line goes flat.

* * *