# The Pretzel Effect. . .Proof Reading Practice. . .



## HLGStrider (Dec 18, 2003)

I posted this story once before, and since then I have re-read it and found a substantial amount of typos, puncuation mistakes, etc. . .but I still like the story and like input. . .does anyone want to try and find my mistakes? (I don't think the original thread with this story exists anymore). 

Mark was a temporal orphan: a freak, belonging in one century but abandoned in another. His "father" was Sam Dewey, a technician and an expert in time travel. Time travel was now a profitable business, and Mark was an unpleasant side effect. He had been found one morning inside the transporter. Somehow he'd been snatched from his time and transported into Dr. Dewey's machine. 
The doctor had tried hard to discover from where the infant had originated. Time travel could only go back as far as the invention of itself, and that was only three quarters of a century before, in 2052. However, it could go as far forward as possible, and so the baby could've been from hundreds of years in the future. There was a portal to every year in which time travel existed. The choices were infinite, and they would only stop when the world ended or some catastrophe made men forget the formulas that made the process possible. Dr. Dewey concluded that this had been a form of child abandonment that some desperate single mother had put into action... or perhaps Mark had been kidnapped, but if so, no attempt to recover him had been made. Mark adjusted to his situation, aided by the fact that he knew no other.
Dr. Dewey used his machines for mainly scientific purposes. Gaining technology from the future was the more profitable side of things, but the Deweys were too cerebral to think of that. When Mark was seventeen, Dr. Dewey died, leaving the time transporter, labs, and other equipment to his oldest son, Tad. Tad, ten years older than Mark, had followed his father in vocation. Mark came along with the lab, as Tad's legal ward until the boy turned eighteen and a fairly skilled lab assistant. Two years later Mark was still working in the lab, even though Tad had offered to send him to college or get him started in another line of work. The lab was too much a home and Thaddaeus too much of a family for Mark to bear leaving, however. Already twenty, Mark didn't even have a legal surname. He stayed stationary. Tad worried about his adopted brother, who seemed terribly depressed. Tad loved him very much in his own way, his instincts somewhere between paternal and fraternal. 
Life continued on. Both men, for so Mark was becoming, made frequent trips into the past and future. Business was good. Having one of the few privately owned machines in the Northwest United States, they could charge a fairly good price to transport people back and forth. Many people wished to visit themselves in the future or give a word of advice to themselves in the past. The latter did absolutely no good due to what Dr. Dewey, Sr, had called the pretzel effect. The past not only effected the future but the future effected the past. One could not use the past to change the future anymore than one could stop a waterfall at the bottom. This did not stop people from trying, and even Tad, as cool headed as he normally was, was occasionally tempted to try. Mark was more than tempted. . .
*	*	*	*	*	
"I think the problem is that we aren't making big enough waves," Mark mulled. Tad looked up from his calculations to examine his assistant.
"What's that?"
"Well, Tad, the only way people have really tried to effect or change the past is to go back to where they were and give some advice, warn their past selves against some harmful action they were going to take. The people take it or don't take it and fate magically corrects itself so it turns out that's they way it was going to happen anyway. . ."
"Fate pretzels. . . Though I think a figure eight would be a more accurate description," Tad nodded. "So? There isn't anything you can do about it?"
"Yes, there is! There are certain rips that fate could not repair... actions that are beyond fate or anything it could plan," stated Mark.
"Sounds a lot like playing God." Tad frowned skeptically. Mark shrugged.
"Call it what you will. It makes common sense. For instance, fate adjusts to us changing actions, but could it adjust to prevented actions? If we were to go back, for instance, and assassinate Adolf Hitler at say. . . age 6. We'd save millions of lives. . ." Tad held up his hand.
"Point A: due to the fact that Hitler was born before 2052, and so obviously predates time travel, this would be impossible to do. Point B: you may have killed the man who will cost the world millions of lives, but how do you know that if he hadn't have lived something worse, something beyond even WWII and the Holocaust, beyond our very imaginations, would not have occurred? You can't, and that's why 'ripping fate' as you so eloquently put it, would never work. The hardest part about playing God is that there is already a real God who may not appreciate you in the role. . .and He's more than big enough to stop what you're doing." Mark ignored the slightly older man and fingered his pencil. He bit the eraser hard. The rubber tasted sickening. 
"You don't know if you don't try. . . I sincerely doubt that there could be anything worse than what happened back then. . . unless it is what is going to happen in fifty years. . . what I want to try my theory on. . ." Tad ignored Mark. The kid was idiotic at times. "Of course, what do you care? By the time it happens you'll be senile. . ."
"That's right," Tad half growled, hoping the kid would shut up. 
"The loss of millions of lives doesn't interest you?"
"Am I mentioned in any of the wills?" 
"After this you won't be mentioned in mine," Mark scowled. 
Tad put down his pen and gazed at Mark with sharp, probing brown eyes. The youth returned his gaze solidly. Tad swallowed. 
"Mark, what are you trying to tell me?" The youth sighed.
"I was curious about where I'd be in my 'twilight years' so I set the time machine to forty-nine years and allowed it to track my DNA. I traveled and. . . To cut a long story short, I die in 2176. . . along with a lot of other people. It's a lot like what happened back in the 1930's and 40's except based on ideology rather than race. You speak up too loud and it's hello Nazi-Germany revisited."
There was no tremor of untruth in Mark's voice and yet surprisingly little fear. Tad thought he saw something. . . something foreign to the boldness in the youth's eyes. Nothing in him could disbelieve that something. Mark was obviously frightened by whatever he'd seen, be it as bad as he was claiming or not.
"And you're saying you spoke out too loud?" Tad asked, his mouth feeling dry. Mark just nodded. Tad's mind compiled the facts. Mark had made a trip in the machine in the last week. He'd gone without consulting Tad, and Tad had made no attempts to track him. When the youth had returned he'd been uncharacteristically quiet, contemplative even. Mark was Tad's responsibility. . . and Tad loved him dearly. A million people? There was no reason to lie. It probably wouldn't work anyway, but. . . a million people. . . "What's your plan?" Tad heard himself asking.
"Well, at first my plans were selfish. . . I wanted to warn myself not to speak up. . . then I remembered that customer we had--the one who wanted to tell himself not to say and do certain things by going back in time twenty years and warning himself." Tad nodded.
"I remember. . . It turned out that his warning himself was already part of the past and that he just made the same decisions. . . Pretzel effect, again." 
"Also I realized that even if I could succeed for me, I couldn't possibly succeed for the roughly 999,999 other people out there. . . and would I really want them to shut up? To suppress what they believed in? That's when the word assassination first came to mine. . ."
"Your Hitler theory in a modern day application." Tad nodded again, feeling tired. "Assassination is a pretty serious thing to contemplate. . . and difficult. How are you going to do it?"
"Truthfully. . ." Mark swallowed. "I can't, Tad. It isn't one man in power. It's five. . . plus a lot of smaller leaders, who would be just as bad if they were on top. They're all in the same family, however. The furthest relation is a second cousin. . . or something like that. What we can do, however, is destroy the whole family in one shot." Tad ignored the suddenly plural pronoun in order to get out a sarcastic comment.
"Nuke the family reunion, I suppose. . . That is easily in our capabilities. I'll just call up the Secretary of Defense. . ."
"Tad, listen to me, for gosh sakes!" Mark gasped in frustration. "Remember, they are all related. . . and not by marriage, I'm talking blood lines. . . which means that they have a single common ancestor. I have it pinned down. I know when to go back, when to shoot, and most importantly who to shoot at. We can save millions of lives, Tad." 
Tad swallowed, hard.
"I don't know, Mark. . . I. . . it's playing God. . . and taking an innocent life, for gosh sakes. This man can't help being the great-grandfather of deviants. What right do we have for punishing him for it?" Mark sat down hard and drew a deep breath.


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## HLGStrider (Dec 18, 2003)

"It's much worse than that. . . especially for someone as old fashion as you. I wasn't able to trace the great-grandfather exactly. Seems that this family stems from a pair of twins fathered by a rape. The police never caught the criminal in that age, and I couldn't pin him down in this. It has to be the great- grandmother, if you want to call her that." 
Tad's brow furrowed, and he gave Mark an incredulous frown.
"No!" he said emphatically. He then turned back to his work, temporarily disgusted with his young colleague.
"One life to save a million, Tad? Come on!" Mark was quick to recover. Tad stared at the computer screen on his desk, but that was a mistake. The monitor was off, and the dark surface made a perfect mirror. Behind him was Mark, giving him an almost frightened and definitely pleading look. The idea of his friend, his little brother, dying in some sort of futuristic prison camp. . . Tad shook his head and turned to face his brother. 
"Just leave me out of this and do it yourself," he sighed, nodding. "You can use the equipment, and you know how. . ."
"Tad, if it were that easy I wouldn't have asked you in the first place," sighed Mark. "It has to be you who does the dirty work. For one thing, if I remember, you took marksmanship in college. For another I already tried it once, and for some reason I was blocked from getting into that year. I can get into the years below it and all but the year immediately following it. . . For some reason I was blocked out of that two year span. It has to be you. . . or else I die in seventy years. . . along with a good percentage of the American population."
It was a hard ultimatum. One look at Mark and Tad knew what he was going to do, however. 
*	*	*	*	*	*
Tad went over the check list one more time. Picture of the woman, gun, a small, newer model that would be virtually undetectable by the safety devices in 2073, his target year, communicator ear piece, and fake tickets for the train he was to be aboard. He was already inside the transporter: a small, cramped area for Tad, who was a tall man. It was completely dark and though the environmental controls kept fresh air circulating in and out, it managed to seem stuffy. The traveling process had yet to begin. When it did it would feel instantaneous to him, though he knew from being on the opposite side of things that it took a good five minutes to get someone from the present into another time. . . and double that to retrieve them. There were even horror stories about teams being unable to recover someone. Tad made sure that he not only had the capabilities to bring himself back, he also had a date set, three days from arrival, in which Mark would forcibly draw him back into good old 2127. 
"Ready, Tad?" Mark asked, his voice coming in almost metallic over the tiny microphone. 
"As ready as I'll ever be," Tad sighed. A slight tingling sensation spread over his body followed by a blinding light. Even Tad still winced at its intensity. It never did any permanent damage to the eyes, but it was always shocking to behold, a sheet of bold, shining white. 
Tad found himself standing in the middle of a somewhat crowded station. He recognized the machine before him as the "Sonic Train:" a large, streamline and spacey looking choo-choo. It had become obsolete only ten years after its introduction. This, however, was its heyday, the fastest way to travel on the ground and the joy ride of the truly fashionable. Soon faster, more efficient things would take its place. That was the way the world worked. Tad showed his ticket to the man in the little booth. This man scanned the ticket with a hand held device then waved another one up and down Tad's body, checking for weapons. Nothing registered, and Tad boarded the train. According to Mark's research, she was somewhere around here: a small, somewhat attractive woman with light coloring. 
Tad took a seat in the already crowded dining car. Dinner would be served about five minutes into the ride and good seating would be scarce; in fact, judging from the throng of people sitting or being seated, seating would be a lot more than scarce. Things started to calm down. The engineer's voice came over the intercom.
"We will be departing in five minutes. Please have an attendant show you to a seat and strap yourself in. As room is limited we have opened up the sitting cars in front and in back of the dining car. Due to this unexpected over crowding we will be doubling the normal dining time. Thank you."
Typical, Tad thought. Over crowding and inconvenient seating had been one of the reasons the Sonic Train had gone out of business. This was a prime example. 
People rushed to get their seats. Tad buckled his safety strap in place, hanging onto his small backpack with one hand. Things started to quiet down. 
"Two minutes until departure," the intercom, now a feminine voice, probably the head attendant, announced. Now everyone was seated. Only two attendants, both young men, still roamed the aisle, checking to make sure everyone was buckled in and politely admonishing the ones who weren't. The atmosphere was quiet. Tad shut his eyes and tried to forget what he was there to do. 
"I'm so sorry," a voice half laughed half stammered. "I was late and. . . well. . . you know. . . I really don't have to sit in the dining car. . ." 
"No, no trouble at all. . ." assured a male voice. "You said you felt faint, right? Should I get you a doctor?"
"No, I really just need to sit down and maybe have a glass of water..." 
Tad looked up and saw an attendant bringing a female passenger down the aisle as fast as he could, scanning for seats. The girl's face was obscured from Tad's view, but she had what could be considered a nice shape, and the attendant obviously found her attractive. Tad was not a ladies' man and had always found the members of his sex who pandered to girls in order to impress them slightly ridiculous. Almost all the booths in the dining car were filled to their four person capacity. There was no way that girl was going to get a seat in this car. 
The attendant stopped in front of Tad, practically glaring at him. Tad suddenly realized that he was the only person in his booth. Tad straightened up.
"Hey, buddy," the attendant asked. "Could you spare a seat for the lady here?"
"Sure," Tad frowned, concentrating on the pipsqueak's eyes. Hey, buddy? That form of addressing passengers could not be company policy. Another attempt to impress the woman, Tad supposed.
The girl slid into the seat across from him. The attendant reached down and actually buckled her in. Tad raised his eyebrows and concentrated on his glass of water. The girl blushed, pushing her sun glasses up her nose. 
"I have to get seated, but I'll be back to take your order as soon as we've started." The young man's voice dripped with honey. He gave her a smile. She smiled back with shyness that might've been faked and slipped off the sun glasses. Tad stared.
He didn't dare to check the picture, but he knew the face. Just his luck. . . This might make it easier on the action side of things, but how could he kill someone after eating with them? He'd wanted to avoid personal contact and get the shot from across a crowded courtyard or at least from the other side of a train car. He finally shook himself out of it. The attendant was gone and the intercom giving the final warning. 
There was a slight jerk, a loud whirring noise, and the train started moving, shaking like crazy even inside the highly controlled train environment. The transportation systems in Tad's time had gotten past these "ground turbulence" difficulties, but now he almost wished they hadn't. It was exhilarating, like the beginning of a theme park ride. Finally there was a snap as the train passed the speed of sound, probably causing a "boom" outside. The shaking stopped. The faster the ride the smoother it was, and this was the fastest earth-bound vehicle in this century. 
His target laughed and smiled at him. 
"Hi, I'm Rachel Hamilton. You?"


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## HLGStrider (Dec 18, 2003)

"Tad Dewey," Tad swallowed. Since Tad Dewey did not exist in 2073 it was as good as an alias. If he had to hurt her he would at least abstain from lying to her.
"Tad? Is that short for something? Thaddaeus?"
"Yes, actually, but that is kind of long." He took a sip of water, glad that his hands weren't shaking.
"And hard to spell... Call me Chel... Hey, that rhymes, doesn't it? Is this your first time on the S-Train? It is mine. I could've flown home quicker, but I thought I'd be adventurous."
"Yes, it is." He nodded.
"Business or pleasure with a follow up of what is your business?"
"Business... I'm a research scientist."
"Biology, chemistry, geology?" She sent out some feelers and took a sip of water.
"Tempology." The term would be invented for another twenty years, so it was probably safe. 
"Never heard of that one." She shrugged. "Temp. . . Time? Are you working on one of the time travel projects? I was reading a few articles about those. My writing teacher assigned us a short story saying that we had to pick a scientific phenomenon and elaborate. It had to be scientifically accurate to at least some degree, and I chose time travel because I'd just been reading about the projects. The idea was that a man goes back in time to try and kill the man who'd killed his father before he could do the deed. . . Well, in the end it turned out he just made things in the future worse. I got high marks. . ."
Tad felt hot and cold at the same time. Now his hands were shaking. . . so much that when the attendant returned he ordered a glass of cheap wine along with his meal. It had been a long time since he'd had any sort of alcohol, but he could vaguely remember that one glass had a somewhat mellowing effect, and he needed that right now. 
She talked on, not really noticing the brevity of his responses. She was a college student, majoring in English, minoring in literature. She wanted to be a poet. She jabbered about this and that. . . He tried not to study her, tried to phase her out, concentrate on what would come out of her, not on what she was, a distinct individual with a right to live and a friendly manner that made him want to let her live. He felt fairly miserable. 
Their separate dinners arrived. He resisted the urge to pay for hers, knowing he was just trying to make up for what he planned to do and the price of a dinner and the price of a life were fairly incompatible. The wine was bad, terribly bitter, but he swallowed it down anyway. His hands stopped shaking a little. In fact, by the time the glass was finished he felt fairly calm, if still a little guilty. . . He checked the house limit, if the phrase applied to a S-train. He could still order one more drink, and he did. 
"Could I buy you one?" he asked, not sure why he was doing so.
"I've never had any before. . . sure. . ." She smiled shyly. "Nothing much, however. I probably won't even like it." 
She didn't. One sip and she winced and pushed the glass subtly onto his side of the table. They then continued to talk. 
Tad wasn't sure why he was responding or even listening, but he was. He told her about Mark, not that he was a temporal orphan, something unheard of in 2073, but that he was his little brother and they worked together. He related a few funny but non-specific stories of things that happened in the lab. Mark could be a prankster when the mood struck him, and he had once convinced a reporter that the microwave they kept in the lab for heating coffee was part of the lab equipment, more specifically an age determiner. He then convinced the reporter to put a metal object in the machine to "date" it. Microwaves still reacted the same way to metal, even in the 22nd century. 
She told of events in her writing class, how some people's writing was soooo terrible and how once a cheeky student had wrote a satire of the class, focusing mainly on the teacher's mannerisms. Her teacher was a good natured man, however, and the fellow managed a B+.


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## HLGStrider (Dec 18, 2003)

She told him about the things she wrote, mostly poetry, and recited a little of her humorous verse for him. He laughed; he couldn't help himself. 
There was nothing in her deserving of death and so much deserving of life. They were friendly together. He liked her even. His conscience was punishing him harshly. He didn't quite realize that he was slowly sipping down her wine glass. He didn't realize that when the attendant, still the beaming eyed fellow from earlier in the evening, offered her a glass on the house that she'd accepted. He didn't realize that he'd also downed that drink. He did realize that he was getting dizzy. After awhile he even figured out why. She had known for awhile and was looking at him worriedly. Four glasses for someone unaccustomed to drink was just too much. . . 
"Mr. Dewey," she swallowed. "Are you feeling all right?"
"Please, call me Tad," he said, trying to unslur his voice. 
"Tad. . . You've had too much. . . I'll have an attendant see you to your room. What number is it?"
"I only had two glasses," he murmured defensively.
"Tad, you had your two plus my two." She frowned, reaching across the table and laying her hand on top of his. For some reason that action felt exciting. He stared groggily down at her hand. "Now where do you belong?"
"2127," he mumbled. She sighed.
"Thaddaeus, according to the brochure there are only two hundred private rooms on this train, so I doubt that there is a room 2127... Do you have a room?"
"2127," he murmured again. She sighed. 
"Attendant!" she called. He hurried over, smiling. "Would you please escort Mr. Dewey to room 108?"
"Tad, please," Tad Dewey heard himself state, knowing somehow deep inside him that he was behaving like an idiot but not really feeling in control of things. 
"Tad, this man is going to take you to somewhere where you can lie down until we can find out where you belong," she soothed, not sure exactly how to deal with this and having a hard time avoiding laughter.
"2127," he murmured again. 
"Yes, Tad, you said that, and I'm sure I'll eventually figure out what you mean." She smiled. Tad was ushered off. She followed in a few minutes, leaving a small tip, probably not enough but more than she could afford, on the table. She entered her room and found Tad in the fairly undignified position of bent over the tiny sink. She shut the door and started going through his bag, hoping that he'd hid his ticket stub in there. She found a few technical looking gadgets which she could not identify, two changes of clothing, a razor, a book, the author and title of which were unfamiliar, and his wallet. She opened this. There was no ticket stub. . . there wasn't even much money. . . Strange looking money, a little different than what she was used to seeing. She removed a bill and held it up to the light. The date seemed to glare at her-- 2125. She almost dropped it. 
Unable to believe what she was seeing, she started to rifle through the wallet. Every bill and all the change had a date within ten years of the first date. The newest bill. . . new? It wouldn't even have been minted yet! . .. was 2127. . . 2127. . . The drivers license, totally authentic with his picture and the name Thaddaeus J. Dewey gave his birth year as 2097. . . This man hadn't even been born yet. . .
Chel was not a cynical person, but this was too mind boggling to believe right away. Time travel had been proven to be possible, she knew that. Still could this really be a man from over fifty years later? A man who wouldn't be born for two more decades? She studied the book, last of all. Sure enough, it was copyrighted 2118. She couldn't believe that any con artist would be that thorough, and she didn't want to believe that this nice looking man who had been so kind to her was a con man.


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## HLGStrider (Dec 18, 2003)

His behavior hadn't been exactly exemplary, getting drunk and regurgitating in her private bathroom, but he had said he was a tempologist. That went along with all these dates. Also there was that number he kept giving, 2127. Could that be his starting point? If so why was he here, and why was he so nervous? She heard water running. The door opened, and Tad emerged. His the top three buttons on his shirt were undone, and he looked absolutely terrible. His hair stood up in unruly tufts. He'd obviously been splashing water on himself.
"Feeling better?" she smiled sympathetically. He nodded with a sheepish grin. 
"I'm sorry... I suppose I was intoxicated. That was the first time it's happened to me. I just I didn't know when to quit. May I sit down? I'm still woozy." She nodded, and he took a seat on the edge of the narrow train bed. 
She had to ask. She still held his wallet in her hand, though she'd kept it carefully behind her back 
"Tad... You said you belonged in 2127... What'd you mean by that?" she began cautiously. He swallowed. 
"My apartment number in New York, where I'm headed," he lied. 
"That makes all kinds of sense considering this train stops in L.A.," she frowned back. She then tossed his wallet into his lap. He stared first at it than at her. "Who are you?"
"Tad Dewey," he replied, his mouth suddenly dry. He didn't know one could sober up this fast, but the emergency somehow made everything very clear. "I'm a researcher in tempology at a small lab. Everything I've told you tonight has been true." She swallowed. 
"I suppose you can't go around telling girls you are in the wrong century... So time travel is possible... I'd heard, but the thought... What's it like?... I mean the future?" 
Tad's thoughts rushed to the gun that was in his jacket pocket, a small but lethal firearm. The jacket was sitting next to his back pack, next to her. He could probably get to it. He could probably get the shot off, at this range a child could kill instantly. That was the idea, a quick shot so that she'd never knew what hit her... but somehow he couldn't. Not now, he told himself. You'll have another chance... a better one where you won't have to look her in the eye.
"Faster... this train is obsolete. The only two remaining ones are in museums in my day... The medical advancements are better. We've solved two types of cancer but not Aids yet. We're still working on the common cold. Time travel is very business like, but we're on the research end of things. We don't allow civilians to travel in our machines, things like that. Food's about the same. Style is actually more conservative... We sort of went back to suit and tie for men, skirts for women and girls about the turn of the century. It isn't much different. Just wait until 3057! I traveled up to then, and that is like something out of a science fiction novel."
"This is like something out of a science fiction novel. I don't think I'll make it to 3057."
No... you won't, Tad thought sadly. I'm so sorry, Chel... I wish I hadn't signed up for this... 
He swallowed and continued the conversation.
"I guess the best part was invented like three years ago... fully interactive movies. They've started going back with computers and holograms and doing all the old classics. You can goof off with Luke Skywalker... in that one, the old Star Wars movies, you can actually use the force. It's really neat. I have to admit that my favorite is the version of Ivanhoe... that's an ancient movie, but the tournament is excellent."
"That'd be amazing... or the movie versions of the Lord of the Rings books? Those are my favorite books."


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## HLGStrider (Dec 18, 2003)

"Hey, mine too," he smiled broadly. "Don't you just love how Aragorn..." He stopped short. What are you doing? This is no time to be buddy-buddy... He shut his mouth and stared at her, feeling like he was the one condemned to death... wishing that it was his bloodline that would kill off all those people and not poor Chel's... She was younger... under twenty-five... and so beautiful... He shook his head. It had to be the wine mixed with just not wanting to do this job. 
"Well, I love just about everything about him," she laughed. "I was practically in love with him.. the book character, not the movie version... You know, my version of the book character would look more like you do, Tad... except with gray eyes... of course..." She blushed and looked away. 
Something was screaming at Tad that it wasn't just the wine... that somehow it was something new and special and that she felt it as well. 
"Tad, how's it going, brother?" a voice in his ear made him start. He'd forgotten all about Mark's link to him. He coughed, the signal they'd worked out for if there was someone in the room and Tad couldn't talk. "Oh... Okay, call back in an hour." Mark disappeared from Tad's head. It had been just enough to remind him about his mission. 
He had to do it now, before he grew any closer to Chel or she grew any closer to him. Unfortunately she was now sitting on his jacket. 
"Did you read the Silmarillion?" he asked. She nodded. Her eyes were glowing. "There's the story about Luthien and Beren in there... Well, they made that into a movie and did a stunningly good job. It's animated, meant kind of as a kids' story, so they don't show Beren lose his hand or any of the real violence, but it was good anyway. Took me right into Middle Earth."
"I hope I live to see that... What year does it come out?"
"2120,"his conscience kicked him hard.
"You'd be twenty-three then, according to your license... Let's see. I'll be almost eighty... Maybe I could look you up, and we could go together. It'd be a very romantic date... despite that I'll be old enough to be your great grand mommy." 
If only you could, he sighed inwardly. He glanced at his watch. 
"What time is it?" she asked, catching the movement.
"Huh?... oh, about nine thirty," he stated. She bit her bottom lip. 
"I suppose you'd better get to your own room... It's not that I don't trust you, but it isn't exactly proper... it's getting late, and... you know..." He nodded. He stood up. She stuffed his jacket carefully into his back pack, zipped it up, patted the whole package lovingly, and handed it to him. He couldn't get the gun out now without a lot of shifting, and she was at least making a show of being eager to get rid of him. "Perhaps we could have breakfast tomorrow? How about eight thirty?" her eyes looked at him pleadingly.
"Sure," he heard himself say. With that he was out the door. He lingered a moment, just long enough to hear her lock it behind him.


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## HLGStrider (Dec 18, 2003)

Mark had been very careful in arranging his brother's quarters. The ticket stub, which was with the gun in Tad's pocket, was for a room that would've been otherwise empty according to Mark's research. He stumbled into it, sat down, and started to unlace his shoes. Rachel Hamilton wouldn't leave him alone, however. She was in his mind. He couldn't stop thinking about her. He slipped off his shirt and entered the tiny bathroom. There he shaved and took a quick shower. It had been a long day, and he had a headache, probably because of his own stupidity over the drinks that night. He finally curled up in bed.
Mark's call came just as he was finally managing to overcome thoughts of the day's events and get to sleep. 
"Have you done it yet?" was Mark's first question. 
"No... Mark, things have been going rotten! Guess who they put at my table during dinner?" he snarled.
"You're kidding," his brother breathed into the ear piece. "Well... then how come you haven't done it yet? You were obviously close enough."
"Close enough to have her talk to me for what felt like forever... close enough to need a drink, and I didn't just have one, I had four. Close enough that she figured out I was a time traveler. Closer than I ever wanted to get! Mark, I don't know what kind of a guy you are, but I'm the kind who can't just plug a woman after having dinner and a friendly conversation with her... Mark, can't we find someone else to do this? I'm miserable..."
"Tad, you know there is no one we can trust with something this big? What we're doing is bound to be illegal, no matter what the justifications. Just get it over with. It can't really be that bad."
"It is that bad!!!" If Mark had been in the room Tad would've tried to take his head off. Instead he flung back his covers and sat up in bed. "I got drunk for the first time in my life. I told her what my favorite book was... the same one as hers, believe it or not... and my favorite interactive movie. She wants to make a date in sixty years! I don't know whether I am going through Heaven or Hell and to top it off I have a hang over. Mark, it is that bad." There was a long silence. 
"Tad... you... you aren't in love with her?" Mark's voice finally stammered.
"Of course not... well... I... Yes, I am," Tad sunk back into bed, the admission taking the last bit of fight out of him. "Mark, I think I am. We're perfect for each other. I can't do this... I can't..." 
Another silence. 
"Then don't," Mark finally stated. "Tad, I'll start the transporter and get you back. You'll get over her, and after awhile we'll send someone else to do it."
"Do you think who kills her makes any difference to me, Mark? Doing it myself is harder, but having someone else do it... No, it's me or nobody." Mark drew another breath, then exhaled, making the line hiss a little. 
"What if we don't send anyone? Maybe you were right about playing God. We'll just let history take its course..."
"And send you and a million others to your deaths? No, I can't be that selfish... I just wish there was another way. I'll do it tomorrow... after breakfast. We agreed to see each other. I'll just have to tell her the truth. It will only make things harder, but I can't lie to her. She deserves to know why I am doing this. Maybe she'll even understand... More likely she'll think I'm some sort of sick, serial killer who is just making it all up, but I have to do it anyway. Maybe we'll have a good laugh at it in Heaven some day... though I won't deserve to go there... Let me try and get some sleep, Mark. I need it bad."
*	*	*	*	*	*


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## HLGStrider (Dec 18, 2003)

There she was, sitting at the breakfast table waiting for him. She was the most beautiful creature he'd ever seen or hoped to see. He slipped in across from her, his heart aching. 
"Hi," she smiled. "Did you sleep well?"
"Miserable, couldn't sleep at all... I just kept thinking..."
"Me too!!!" she burst out. "Well... I slept like Heaven, but I couldn't stop thinking. It was just so wonderful... Tad, I know nothing happened last night. I know that we just met, but... everything seems so right. Am I making any sense?" 
"Yes... you're making all the sense in the world," he sighed. "Chel, I feel... well, I don't know how you feel, but I think I feel the same way. I love you."
"I love you too," she said with a happy blush. "This all happened so fast... It's wonderful, isn't it?" 
"No, it isn't," he frowned, gazing down at the table top. Her face fell. "Rachel, I can't become involved with you. I'm sorry that we have become attached. I didn't want it to happen." He stopped talking when the attendant arrived to take their order. 
"The special today is blueberry pancakes," he stated.
"I'm not hungry," Rachel whispered, her voice sounding hoarse.
"I'll just have a cup of coffee," Tad stated. The attendant looked them over, nodded, and walked away.
"You're married aren't you?" she asked weakly. "I should've known..."
"No, it isn't anything like that... I wish it were something that simple, but it isn't. It has to do with my work."
"Are all time researchers celibate or something?" she tried to laugh. He didn't even look up. "Well, I can understand why you probably don't want to marry a girl from fifty years before your time... Just my luck. I finally meet the right guy, and it turns out he's from the wrong century. I guess you'll probably be going home soon."
"Yeah. Rachel, can I talk to you somewhere a little more private?" he then asked, the tiny gun feeling terribly heavy in his pocket.
"We could go to my room," she suggested.
They left before Tad's coffee could arrive, leaving the attendant to think they were feuding lovers of one sort and another. He spent the rest of the day wondering if they'd gotten back together or not. 
They reached the tiny room and stood for a moment in silence.
"Please sit down," swallowed Tad. He fingered the gun in his pocket. Oh God, please let her understand or get me out of this somehow, he prayed. "I don't think you are going to believe what I'm about to tell you, but do you remember the story you wrote in class? The one about time travel?" She nodded. "Well, I came back to this year on a mission a lot like your main character's in that story... Except on a national level."
"You... you're an assassin?" she stuttered, taking a seat on the bed.


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## HLGStrider (Dec 18, 2003)

"In a way... My brother took a trip to 2176 and discovered that America in that year is a lot like Nazi Germany, up to the prison camps. The way Mark put it was that millions of people were killed, including Mark's future self. We discussed it and decided we'd have to stop it from happening. The only way we could was to kill off the common ancestor of the family that would cause all this. We traced it back to this year." She swallowed.
"I wouldn't want your job," she whispered. "I guess I can see the logic, but the morality of this situation... One life to save a million... I wouldn't want your job. Have you done it yet?"
"No, nothing's gone according to plan, and I'm not sure about doing it now," he frowned. He took his hand from the gun, his heart throbbing against his chest. 
"What's gone wrong?" she asked, more curious than frightened.
"I wasn't supposed to have dinner with the intended victim. I wasn't supposed to get to know her. I wasn't supposed to like her, let alone fall in love with her."
Chel's eyes grew wide. 
"I don't believe you," she then whispered. "This is all a terrible joke..." Tad reached into his pocket and pulled out her picture along with the page of carefully typed instructions Mark had given him. Chel took them. She then started to shake. "Are you going to do it?" she shuddered. 
"I don't want to, Rachel. I didn't want to even before I knew you. Now I'm absolutely dreading it," he breathed. "This is playing God, changing the future, not accepting or trusting his plan..."
"It's hard to trust a plan that kills off a million people..." she breathed. "I understand, Tad... and I don't blame you. Are you going to do it now?" 
"I... I guess," he stammered. "Aren't you going to try and get away?"
"Would it make it any easier if I did?"
"I don't know," he swallowed, taking the gun out. Despite its tiny, modern appearance, Chel could tell immediately what it was. She bit her bottom lip, wanting to scream. This couldn't be happening. Only last night she was dreaming about possible matrimony with this man. She'd never get married now. She'd never even been kissed... 
"Wait!!!" she gasped. "Could you kiss me first?"
"Kiss you?" he questioned. 
"I've never been kissed before, and I'd like to find out what it feels like before you kill me," she explained, her voice shaking. She tried to stand, but her knees buckled. "Could you help me up?" she blushed. Instead he sat beside her, staring into her eyes. 
"I haven't kissed a girl in a long time," he whispered, moving closer. Their lips touched. His arms strayed about her as she melted against his chest, fitting perfectly in his embrace. They held each other closer and kissed again and again and again. She was trembling, and Tad didn't feel exactly steady himself. She reached up to finger his hair as they fell into a horizontal position. That was too much... Tad sat up. "I can't do this," he swallowed. She sat up too, blushing and breathing heavily. 
"What?" she asked. 
"For starters I am not going to seduce you this way," he frowned.
"I wasn't going to let you seduce me," she scowled back. "I was just... well.. It felt good, and... well, I guess I might not have been resisting as much as I should've." He laughed quietly and put his arm about her waist. 
"The other thing I can't do is kill you," he sat the gun down on the bed beside them. "The things is, I don't know how to tell Mark that I've refused his mission or how to prevent him and a lot of other people from being killed in a century or so."
"I can't see how I could hurt all those people," she frowned. "Especially since I'll be dead before that time." 
"It isn't you, it's your great great grandchildren. According to Mark's research sometime this year you would have been raped and as result of that rape a set of twins would've been born who would in turn father a few more kids, who in turn would destroy civilization as we know it, or something like that."


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## HLGStrider (Dec 18, 2003)

"I don't suppose there is a way to prevent me from being raped, since I wouldn't want that to happen anyway?" 
"I suppose there must be a way to do that," he frowned. "What if I can't, however?"
"Then I suppose you'll have to kill me," she mused. "I bet you can prevent it." 
Tad thought for a while. He loved Chel so much. Any way he could find to save he would be more than acceptable. He gazed at her, thinking hard.
"Chel, what plans do you have for the rest of your life? I mean, what were you hoping to do with it?" he then asked.
"I wanted to become a writer, get married, and have about six kids, but it looks as if me having kids could cause the end of the world," she sighed.
"Not really," he mused. "The ones that would've destroyed the world were only half you and half their father... If another man were to father children through you they'd be totally different children." She returned his gaze.
"Do you have a man in mind?" she asked, suppressing a smile. 
"Yes, as a matter of fact," he said. "Also this man has the added advantage of taking you out of this all too dangerous century and into the next. Would you go with him?"
She reached over and took his hand. 
"Willingly, Tad," she murmured. They kissed to seal it. "We're engaged now, aren't we?" she breathed.
"I'm sorry, I don't have a ring..." he started digging through his stuff and soon came up with a small, hypodermic needle, still in its plastic, manufacturers' wrap. "The way we transport people is by tracing their DNA... I'll need to take a blood sample," he explained. "This will hurt just a little bit." 
She winced as the needle pricked her skin, withdrawing a tiny amount of her blood. He place it in a small, plastic bag which automatically sealed itself, air tight.
"Handy little invention," she mused. "Do they make them for kitchen use?"
"Yes, actually, I got this one in the Tupperware section. Their primary function is as a sandwich bag," he smiled. "Now I'll have to explain things to Mark." He tapped his ear lobe gently with his index finger. "Mark, would you transport me and then immediately lock on the time I left?"
"It's done then?" Mark's voice asked. 
"As good as done," Tad smiled. 
"Starting the process... okay... done..." 
Chel stifled a cry of surprise for Tad was no longer beside her. She was sitting alone in her room. Then, for a single instant that for her lasted the rest of her stay in 2073, time froze.
*	*	*	*	*	*	*
Tad was instantly in the cramped, dark space he knew to be the transporter. He grabbed the door handle and literally sprang out. Mark was awaiting him. 
"How'd it go?" his little brother asked, his face anxious. 
"We're not done yet," Tad frowned, handing Mark the blood sample. "Get a lock on this DNA in the time I just left and start the transporting system." Slightly confused, Mark obeyed. "Mark, I found a way to complete the mission without killing Chel. I'm going to transport her into this time. If she's not in the same century as the father of those children we should be safe." 
The young lab assistant stopped in his work, obviously thinking it over. 
"Yes," he swallowed. "I guess the results will be the same... but what is she going to do in this century?" 
"Become my wife for starters," Tad smiled blissfully. "Want to be my best man?"
"I'll consider it," Mark whispered. "The transport is locked. You can start it now. Just push the button." Tad reached over and gave it a quick punch. Mark walked over to watch, his face pale.
"Is something wrong?" Tad asked.


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## HLGStrider (Dec 18, 2003)

"I'm glad you're happy, that's all," Mark sighed. "Tad, I lied to you. I can tell you now that this is all over with... that whole story about what happens in 2176 was made up to make you go back and do what I sent you to do." Tad turned on his brother.
"What???" he growled. Mark just hung his head. "Why... Why'd you do that to me?" Tad stammered. 
"You'll start to see in a minute... and I wrote you a letter about it. It's on the desk over there," he motioned towards where he'd been sitting. "I'm glad it ended this way. I wouldn't have had anyone hurt... It's just I didn't think there was any other way."
"Any other way to do what?" frowned Tad. "Mark, I can't see that you've accomplished anything." Mark smiled weakly. He was starting to tremble. "Do you need to sit down?" Tad asked, forgetting his anger long enough to be anxious. 
"No, it'll all be over in a few minutes... You know how I've always obsessed over where I came from? Well, I did a DNA track to find out. I couldn't find my father, but I found my mother... Her name was Rachel Hamilton, and all I could find out for sure was that I had to have been born somewhere around 2074 and the information I used to get you on the right train." 
Tad stared at his little brother, going over the features he'd thought he knew so well. He did have some resemblance to Chel, but not enough to believe that... not enough that Tad had noticed Chel looking like Mark. 
"Why would you want to kill your own mother?" Tad frowned. 
"My letter explains everything because I don't have time," Mark's voice was now quavering. "Tad, please don't be mad at me... I don't want to leave you mad at me..."
"Leave!?!?!?" Tad cried in horror. "Mark, what the heck are you talking about???" 
"I... I need to sit... down..." Mark started towards the nearest chair but collapsed at Tad's feet. In a moment Tad was holding his little brother in his arms. Mark nestled into him like a frightened child. "I didn't think I'd be this scared..." he murmured. "Please don't leave me, Tad... I won't be here for much longer... Please don't leave me..." 
"What have you done?" Tad questioned. 
"I didn't want to exist anymore," Mark whispered, closing the brown eyes Tad could never forget, his mouth pinching shut. 
"It was all you trying to commit suicide," the realization dawned painfully into Tad's mind. "Oh Mark... I've destroyed you. Forgive me."
"No, I destroyed myself," Mark breathed. He was growing thin and deathly pale. He was now ethereal, no longer a man but a swiftly fading ghost. "I didn't want to exist... I didn't belong... If you love her she must be wonderful, but I never had a family... I wasn't worth one... and... Tad, you were good to me, but I don't deserve it..."
"Mark, you deserve everything, and you're my family," Tad choked out. "Please hang on... Please..." Tad closed his eyes and reached down to draw Mark closer to his heart. Nothing was there to hold. Tad gave a cry of anguish. His brother was gone. He no longer existed. He had been destroyed. 
With what remained of his strength he stumbled over and sat down at the desk. The letter was there, just as Mark had said it would be. Tad swallowed his tears and read.
"Dear Tad,
I'm glad you are reading this because you deserve a full explanation. The first thing you'll probably want to know is why. Why did I destroy myself? Why didn't I want to live? The answer is quite simple. I didn't belong among the living. I have always felt out of place, and despite your father's best efforts I always knew I was not his son. In all ways I was closer to you, which is why I apologize for what I've done. You are the only one who will miss me. My life is and was wasted. Nothing gives me a reason to continue.


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## HLGStrider (Dec 18, 2003)

It would've been easier to just slice my wrists, but easier isn't always easy, for all the sense that makes. I believed in God and eternal life. I believed that if I slit my wrists or otherwise took measures to destroy my life I would have to stand before God and be accountable for my life. I couldn't bear to be accountable for it in front of you, so I imagined that the shame before God would be torture. That is why I decided that I must avoid it at all costs. I decided to unmake myself, to destroy myself before I could become myself. You have just carried out the method I chose to do this. By destroying my mother you have prevented my birth, and so you have saved me the trouble of an afterlife. 
I am sorry, and I know you will mourn for me, but it isn't needed. I no longer exist. There is nothing to cry over or about. I hope you have a good life. I hope you can find a lab assistant who can replace me. You were all that kept me going through the few years I did stick it out. You are the greatest man on earth, the greatest brother anyone could ever have. I am sorry I didn't deserve you. Good night and good-bye forever.
Forgive me,
Mark"
Tad stroked the letter lovingly. He then rested his head atop the desk and started to cry. 
A banging from the transporter snapped him out of it what seemed like a second later. He hurried over and opened the door for Chel. She was shaking.
"You could've warned me that it would be so dark and cramped in there," she smiled. "I tried to stand up and bumped my head pretty hard." She rubbed the top of her skull delicately.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. Now he could see Mark in her, Mark's soft smile and rounded features. He didn't know how he'd been so blind, but some things you have to look for in order to see. She gave him a quick hug before gazing up adoringly into his eyes. Her face clouded and her brow furrowed. 
"Tad, darling, what's wrong? You look so sad. Did I do something?" she swallowed. 
The whole story escaped from his lips. Mark was gone, leaving only the letter. Chel read it once and then sat down hard. 
"He was my son? I never... but how? Even if I had a child I wouldn't abandon it. I've always wanted children. There would be no reason for me to have thrown him away like that... Tad, there must be some mistake," she stammered.
"No, it isn't a mistake. He's gone, Rachel. That alone proves his story," Tad sighed, gaining some control of his emotions. "We don't know what would've happened in the future. I can't see you abandoning a child either, and it might not have happened that way. Perhaps he was kidnapped or just plain lost somehow. All that we can be sure of was that he was your child and that he is now gone." Chel placed her head on Tad's shoulder and leaned into him.
"How would you like to name our first son Mark?" she asked weakly.
"Yes," he nodded. "I would like to very much." 
"We need to have him soon," she kissed his cheek. He held her back. 
"Yes, we do."
*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*


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## HLGStrider (Dec 18, 2003)

Tad and Rachel's marriage was a simple affair. Rachel had no relatives in that time, and Tad's parents were both deceased. Tad's biological sister and her husband were the witnesses. Chel managed to wear white, but Tad didn't wear a tuxedo. It was at a court house instead of a church. They tried to get things done as quickly as possible, but there was no way to do it instantly. Chel accordingly spent a few days at Tad's sister's house where she was less of a temptation. Their honeymoon was a two night trip to a nearby resort. 
Somehow the speed of things didn't effect the romance. Deep inside her it seemed that she'd always known Tad. It seemed that this was the way it was supposed to be and this was the century where she truly belonged. The only difficulty was Mark, who Tad could not stop mourning. He was depressed, and Chel knew it. There was nothing she could do. She could not bring his brother back. She could not console her new husband. She could not erase the loss or the sense of guilt that came over both of them in waves. It was worse for Tad who'd actually known the man. 
Things worsened when they returned from the honeymoon. The lab was full of reminders screaming at Tad that Mark had once been there but would never be again. He sunk himself into his work and tried to put on a smile for Chel. He promised himself that things would someday return to normal, if anything could be considered normal with his brother gone forever. 
One night, about a month after the wedding, it was especially bad. Chel had been feeling ill all day and was thoroughly exhausted. Her husband babied her a little bit, finding that it made him feel better to take care of Chel. It was a selfish motive to something he probably should've wanted to do anyway, and he chided himself for it. Now she was asleep, soundly so. She didn't stir when he lay beside her and kissed her lips. He gazed into her eyes before turning off the light. She was so precious. He stroked her face lovingly and lay his head on the pillow. It felt good to rest, and he was tired. He closed his eyes but sleep wouldn't come. His mind wasn't ready to retire no matter how much his body was pleading for the action. He stared up at the ceiling, occasionally reaching over just to make sure Chel was still there. 
Finally he gave up and crawled out of bed. He left the domestic side of the house and unlocked the door to the lab. He flipped on the light, immediately illuminating the entire room. He started to rifle through his papers, looking for something to keep him occupied. There wasn't anything, however. Finally he just sat down, staring at nothing and thinking about even less. Voices and pictures flitted through his mind in no particular order. He could see Rachel saying "I do", just as she had that wonderful day a month before. He could see her sitting across the table from him, the first time he'd ever laid eyes on her. He could see Mark, doing small tasks about the lab. He could see the kid in cap and gown on his graduation. He could see him playing outside as a child. Tad had gone through stages of ignoring the kid and bullying him, but he'd always loved him. How could he have been so blind? He should've known that Mark would try something desperate after awhile. The kid had always been a mercurial mess, as unbalanced as they came. Still, it had never occurred to Tad to watch him with more keenness, to pay attention to the little details that just might've warned of the action Mark was plotting. Tad shook his head. This was no time to regret the past. Changing it only made things worse, as he'd learned with Chel. He'd gained a wife at the cost of a brother. He'd played God and been punished accordingly, dealt a cruel blow by vengeful fate. 
He bit his bottom lip, considering making another attempt at sleep. He didn't want Chel to wake up and find him gone. He vaguely heard a whirring noise but didn't bother to investigate. He started to put the papers back in order.


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## HLGStrider (Dec 18, 2003)

"Hello, Tad." 
The scientist leapt up and whirled around. Mark gave him a soft, sheepish smile. Tad stared. He could feel himself starting to tremble. He swallowed hard.
"Mark?" he stuttered. "You... you're alive???" Mark nodded and stepped closer.
"Are you all right?" he asked. 
"Am I all right? You're the one who's been dead over a month!!! I'm fine if you are."
"Good," Mark smiled laughingly. "You'd better sit down, you're a little unsteady, and I don't blame you. I've spent the last twenty-three years learning the lesson I'm about to give you."
"Mark, you're only twenty, how could you have spent twenty-three years doing anything?" Tad frowned. Mark laughed again, for he seemed to be in an uncharacteristically good mood. 
"In 2127 I was twenty. In 2151 I'm twenty-three. I decided to wait a few extra years to come back and tell you since I knew it wouldn't make any difference to you, and I wanted to make something of myself first... and I think I have," he sat down in the nearest chair. "Please sit down, Tad. I'm going to have enough trouble explaining it all. You're legs will probably get tired in that time." Tad finally obeyed. "You were right all along, Tad, but it was destined that I wouldn't listen to you. You can't mess with it... time that is... I tried, and I thought I'd succeeded, but all I did was further the plan that was there in the first place... Am I making any sense?" Tad nodded.
"You're saying time pretzeled on you again, just like it does with everyone else," he stated. "How'd it work?"
"I could've figured it out, but I only tracked half of my DNA, the maternal half. That's what led me to Rachel Hamilton in 2073. I couldn't find my paternal DNA in any of the times around there, and I was absolutely stumped... I never thought to check 2127... to check you." Tad sat up a little straighter.
"What?" he frowned. "Mark... you aren't... That's... well..." 
"If you're going to say impossible it isn't, Tad. I'm your son. I always was... Forget the fact that you think you're only ten years older than me. It isn't a fact. It's just one of the crazy things this pretzel effect does. I chose to come back before I was born... In fact, this is a little bit more than eight months before I will be born, so I figure I'm already on my way, as uncomfortable as the idea makes me." 
"So it was your fault that Rachel was sick today, but how were you here for all those years?" Tad swallowed. "How did we lose you?"
"That's the only thing I can't figure out. I can remember being raised as your brother, but I can also remember being raised as your son. When I hit twenty the two lives sort of combined and I faded from this one into the one I'm living in now, in 2151 as your son. Apparently I was here just so that I could send you back to get my mother and I sent you back to get my mother so that is why I'm here... Time is full of things like that. Any questions?"
"No, none that I think you could answer. Just a simple 'why', perhaps?" 
"The only answer I can give you was that it was meant to be, Dad," Mark shrugged. "You were meant to find mom, and I was meant to be your son. God wanted it that way. You thought you were saving the world and had failed at it, and all you were really doing was getting a wife... and successfully. I thought I was destroying myself, and I thought I'd done it, but all I really did was transport myself to where God wanted me... I feel like I tried to throw His gift back in His face, and He dusted it off, rewrapped it, and handed it back to me new and improved... With a mother, father, and five sisters..."
"Five sisters?" Tad gulped. 
"Trust me, I feel the same way... if for different reasons," Mark chuckled. "I'm also engaged, and she's great. Her name's Bethany, and she's... she's wonderful."
"What century is she from?" Tad asked laughingly. 
"The right one. I'm going to be marrying her right after I get my degree."
"Tempology?" Tad questioned.
"What else? It's in the blood."
"My blood," Tad breathed.


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## HLGStrider (Dec 18, 2003)

"I'll see you in a little while, Dad. Of course, I won't realize that I'm me until my twentieth birthday, but that'll be all right. It'll justify the times I think you're old fashioned or cruel or that I was really adopted or something like that," he chuckled. "I'm afraid I'm not exactly appreciative... Not until when I remember what it was like... well... You'll see." 
"Good luck," Tad nodded. 
Father and son hugged for one moment that spanned time and space, one moment that meant the world. Tad knew he'd never understand what had happened, but he knew God had blessed him, doubly so, no more than that... perhaps ten or a hundred times more than what he'd ever hoped or dreamed. He knew that somewhere in the future things that he'd never planned and could never have planned were working towards his happiness. He let go of Mark who swiftly disappeared back into the time in which he belonged. Tad knew that there would be a few rough years ahead, but he could face them. He said a swift prayer of thanks and returned to his bed. Chel still slept. He kissed her gently and put his arms about her. She opened her eyes... beautiful eyes. He hoped his daughters would have them. 
"Hi, what is it?" she smiled. 
"I just need to tell you that I love you and that the future is going to be great," he smiled back. 
"I know and I'd suspected as much," she replied. "Why did it take you so long to figure out?"
"There was a piece missing, but it just showed up... You'd better get your sleep..." he kissed her again and lay down. He was asleep as soon as his head touched the pillow. Chel fingered his hair lovingly before curling up beside him. Outside the fabric of time and fate was uninterrupted, guarded by a plan that no mortal could change. God quietly guided the threads as they twisted together, working for the good of those who loved him, no matter how it seemed at the moment.


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## HLGStrider (Dec 20, 2003)

*THE END*

Well, that's it. . .

My whole story. . .now for your opinions and proof reading. . .I need to take out all those excess exclamation points. . .blah. . .

What do you all think?


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