Returning Randall
Randall didn't fully understand the logic, but was apparently going to go back in time.
He'd responded to the call when it had been put out to the GI's since it sounded like a good way to get out of another round of physical conditioning. With the war safely in hand on the second continent, the government had little to do with squads like his except make sure they were ready in case something went amiss, and he was tired of running the same obstacle courses and hefting the same weighted backpacks.
The egg-heads had been looking for someone bright, but not that bright, and Randall knew he fit the bill perfectly. They wanted someone physically fit, someone who could take orders and would know enough to respond the right way if something went awry, but also someone who didn't know as much as they did – risking one of their large brains wasn't something they were willing to do, even for an advancement like this.
Randall shifted in the strapping that held him; a twist of his wrist and he could be free, but he'd been warned not to do so until either the experiment had been concluded or his life was in danger. They'd been deliberately vague about what exactly was going to happen to him – something he was used to in his line of work. Sure, they'd talked about “flash freezing” and “cryo-deceleration”, but when he'd asked exactly what those terms meant, he got the standard response about the answer being above his pay grade. He'd nodded; he knew what he was to these men and women, and he could deal with it.
He could see them bustling around outside the capsule, punching buttons and twisting knobs. None of them seemed concerned, though a few of the older ones had worried looks on their faces. They'd had those same looks from the moment he walked in two weeks ago, and he'd easily figured out there was some disagreement over the project.
Hell, when it came to time travel, he wasn't surprised – genetic engineering had taken long enough for the government to ram through in any meaningful form, so time travel was going to be a hard sell. It appeared that for the moment, the military was running on the “do, don't tell” model, something Randall was very familiar with. He was good at keeping his mouth shut – which was probably why Sarge had recommended him for this.
The air in the capsule was rapidly cooling, and Randall shivered in his short-sleeved uniform. They'd assured him he'd experience no physical discomfort during the process but that the last moments of the time dilation would be “unpredictable”, which really meant that it would hurt on the way in and hurt a hell of a lot more before the whole thing was over. Randall knew they couldn't say that out loud, though, so he'd just nodded and said “yes, sir” as much as he could.
All of the young ones seemed to take to him, and the few lady scientists in the group were especially appreciative of his physical form. He'd attracted his fair share of females over the years, but had never found a relationship that could hold his interest for more than a few months. He was a solider, through and through, and ten years in the force had taught him that nothing else could take its place.
The cold had spiked, and he felt his teeth starting to chatter. The gauge he could see outside put it at halfway to absolute zero, but the degrees seemed to be dropping faster as the minutes went by. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on simply breathing, on letting the hum of the machinery around him soothe him as he waited. A great deal of combat was waiting; making sure that you were ready when the enemy came, but not knowing exactly when they would come, and Randall had perfected a state of calm alertness in which he could be both aware and at peace until the moment arrived.
The temperature dipped, then leveled off, but Randall refused to move. Sound rushed at him, the whirr of spinning cogs and clicking of relays pounding into his ears, and then it stopped.
Completely.
Randall twisted his wrist and opened his eyes, stepping forward as the strapping popped off and taking a quick look out the capsule window. Nothing had changed about the room outside, although the temperature gauge clearly showed they had reached the bottom end. Obviously, something had gone awry.
Pulling the hatch release brought no squeal but the metal bar twisted in his hand as the door fell outward, landing softly on the tiled surface of the lab floor. Around him, scientists stood in a frozen tableau, faces awash with experimental glee.
Interesting.
Randall glanced down at the chronometer they had given him; it was analog on the timeface but with a digital date readout along the bottom edge. The date still showed as the same as when he had entered the capsule, but the analog second hand was no longer moving. The capsule had reached the required temperature, but instead of going anywhere had remained exactly where it was, apparently freezing Randall at that moment. Even breaking the seal on the door hadn't reversed the process; the egg-heads had been vague on just how they would get him back anyway.
Stepping to a bank of controls, Randall looked for an “abort” button. The military insisted on such things in case all of the geniuses got caught in a fireball of their own making and one of the “regular people” had to end an experiment for them.
Thankfully, it was large, red and clearly labeled, and he jammed his index finger down on it.
He recoiled quickly, pulling his arm out of the battered control panel and its hanging wires, and marveling at how much destruction a simple finger push had caused.
“Gemini, Gemini,” a voice came from behind him and he spun to see a woman clothed in white – a shade far too bright to naturally exist, “I had wondered how they would send you back. I'm glad they followed my instructions and made you this stupid.”
Randall knew an enemy when he saw one and despite her looks, the blonde-haired vision in front of him was it. Drawing his pistol, he ducked behind a still-standing console and pulled the trigger on the way there.
Nothing happened, and in the next moment the woman's face appeared in front of his. “Don't do that, Gemini – it encourages my anger.” Thin arms came toward him and he moved, but they shot out with impossible speed and length, snaking around his throat.
“Shhh, shhh,” her voice said, “you'll understand soon.”
- D
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