The Sassquatch's Lair

July 29, 2006

Bill Livingston was a happy man. He had just successfully supervised a massive project that resuscitated the extinct humpback whales species. He had dealt with the constant interference and opposition of Bob Plucket the head of WOMEN (World Organisation for the Management of Ecological Niches). That man and the mostly conservative elements that ruled the ecological group -which was a joint effort of the EEC (European Economic Community), UAO (United Americas and Oceania), MESA (Middle-Eastern States Association), FEEC (Far-Eastern Economic Community), and the OAC (Organisation of African Countries) under the jurisdiction of the World Parliament- had tried to deny the massive funds that permitted the use of new time travel technology to go back about forty years and capture two breeding pairs of humpbacks.

On this beautiful early spring day, Bill did not worry too much about past problems. He concentrated on the future. With the new technology available to him, he would be able to reconstruct much of the ecological niches and species that were destroyed in the last hundred years. Before a more enlightened political climate permitted saving the environment on a more global scale.

He just wished that scientists, like himself, would not suffer the constant interference of politicians like Plucket who did not understand that every species and microhabitat had the right to be saved. They always argued that if all species were saved there would be no mechanism by which evolution could work to adapt species to new environments. They could not envision his conception of a perfect balance between Man and nature.

As Bill was ruminating, his eyes slowly took in the glorious scenery that unfolded behind the thick glass of his office’s window. The early morning sun created some long shadows on the WOMEN’s Institute grounds. Far away over the horizon, the glitter of the sun reflecting on the landlocked sea, where they were breeding the whales, caught his attention. It reminded him of his youth in New England, where his grandfather taught him to sail, in the old fashion way, aboard his motorsailer. During those months spent at sea, his interest for the conservation of the marine habitat grew to the point of determining his future path. Now as head of Marine Ecology for the WOMEN’s Institute he could fulfill his lifetime goal of restoring the world to its previous glory. More species would be saved and the world would be better for it.

The chimes of the comlink, on his desk, interrupted his train of thoughts. The basso voice of Greg Fleming, his second in command, erupted anxiously when he acknowledged the transmission.

“Bill…! If you are coming to the meeting with Dr. Osbourne, you’re already late. I will wait for you in my office for five more minutes. If you are not here by then, I will go alone.”

“Don’t worry Greg I will be there. I only have to put on a tie and comb my hair.”

“Are you still trying to impress the good doctor?”

Ignoring the question Bill replied. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

He unfolded his lanky frame from his easy chair and fetched a necktie from his locker. While he was tying his knot he gazed at his image reflected in the mirror. His mop of unruly red hair looked like an abandoned field in need of mowing. His wide set eyes and narrow mouth made his face look unbalanced. His rumpled brown, baggy suit hung on his shoulders like a coat on a hanger. Although he was in his mid-forties he looked at least twenty years younger, a family trait. His mother was in her early seventies but did not look much older than fifty.

With a mischievous grin on his face he passed, with great difficulty, a comb through his hair. The end result was not evident. Bill exited his office and locked the door behind himself. He took the long glass passageway that would take him to the adjacent building across a catwalk hanging fifty stories high, over the Institute’s grounds. He always suffered from a touch of vertigo when he used the narrow walkway. Today was no different.

He soon reached Greg’s office, where the small-statured man was impatiently pacing the floor. He always reminded Bill of a miniature version of a traditional banker, dressed in his neat blue pinstripe suit. His deep voice contrasted sharply with his four foot ten height. People meeting him for the first time, always had to suppress their laughter when they heard him talk. As usual, when he was under pressure, Greg was in a bad mood. He gruffly mumbled under his breath.

“Here we are, late again for an important meeting. This man is the oldest teenager that I have ever known. He his totally unreliable.” As if not noticing Bill entering the room, he continued. “He might be my boss but he has no reasons to make me look bad in front of others.”

“Don’t worry…” Bill said. “…Dr. Osbourne will not be mad at you. A specialist in time travel will not mind a little lost time. We can always get it back later if we need it.”

Greg gave a murderous look to his boss and followed him to the elevator. The two men entered the glass cubicle and the pneumatic system quickly whisked them deep underground. They each stood silently looking at the scenery during the short trip. Bill was used to his friend’s outbursts. He knew very well that everything would be back to normal in a few minutes.

They were greeted by the joyful voice of Marjorie, the building’s transportation dispatcher.

“Drs. Fleming and Livingston where may I have the pleasure to transport you.”

Before Bill could reply with one of his usual puns, Greg said rapidly. “We are in a hurry. We had to be at the Institute for Advanced Physics, ten minutes ago.”

The young woman replied. “You can take capsule number four. It has just been overhauled, it will get you there the quickest. Dr. Livingston…, I presume that you are the one that is late, as usual. You should stop daydreaming. A man in your position should not waste his time like that. ”

Grabbing his confrere by the sleeve, Greg dragged him to the waiting capsule before Bill could reply. He shouted over his shoulder, his voice making the windows tremble.

“That is what I always tell him. But this big kid does not want to listen to me. I am so misunderstood.”

Marjorie looked on, as the two men entered the capsule. When the door closed and the capsule silently sped away, she shook her head and a smile crossed her face. There went two of the most respected scientists at the Institute, and they were always acting like Mutt and Jeff.

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

From 1990: A Time Conundrum

The Sass

July 18, 2006

It is night and I am alone sitting on a rock surrounded by water. The moon is big, full, shiny and lights the world around me with an unreal aura of serenity. The air is warm and slightly moist; the only sound heard is when I take a breath full of this warm balmy air. I am alone and proud of being here, I am man in communion with nature. I close my eyes and listen to the silence of the night. Far, far away I hear a wolf calling, he is there and I am here. I try to reach to him and find his purpose; he too is the master of the night. I open my eyes and look to the sky. The Milky Way looks as if someone had shaken in a long arcing motion, a paintbrush laden with milk at a black velvet ceiling. I hear the flutter of a bat passing behind me, endlessly searching for whatever a bat searches in the night. I close my eyes, again, trying to get in touch with myself. As my thoughts drift in the night, time passes by in a flash. The air feels warmer and damp when I come back to reality. I open my eyes. It is still dark, but I can catch a glimpse of shimmering orange light on the eastern horizon. Before long, wispy tendrils of fog rises form the calm surface of the water and mate together to form big banks of cottony softness. I am alone with a sleeping nature awaiting its arousal to consciousness. I can feel the dampness of the fog entering my lungs, and can taste its sweet aroma. I pick up the faint sound of a beaver swimming to its daily chores. Finally nature starts to wake up. As if it is a signal the blood curling laughter of an Oldsquaw is heard. From that moment on, nature’s awakening speeds up languorously like someone stretching to activate its circulation. First the enchanting songs of small birds, closely followed by the patter and chatter of squirrels running in the trees. I am surrounded by a universe of pearly white fog, boxed-in with my thoughts. The temperature is slowly rising, as are my hopes for a glorious day. The sun is illuminating the fog from above, and humidity starts to rise from the surface of the water surrounding me. It is warm and comfortable. The fog as a life of its own and shines with an incandescent whiteness as it slowly starts to rise above the surface of the water. I feel like I am flying down through a big white cloud on the wings of my imagination. I am coming back to reality as the first beautiful, bright, yellow, hot sunray hits me square in the face. I drink in its energy like a thirsty man in a desert drinks water after reaching an oasis. I am now confident in life, I am alone and happy in communion with nature. I want to shout at the top of my lungs that I am Primeval Man, the King of the Creation. I am full of energy and feel that I could reach to the sun with my hands.

Suddenly the illusion is shattered; I hear a dog barking and a voice. I am not alone. I have to go back to a world where you have to be what people want you to be, instead of what you really are. Why? I was alone and King of the Creation, now I am just an ordinary man!

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

From: May 7, 1980

The Sass