Was he … in the future? Was that even possible?
Chewing curses at his ignorance, Bantam pulled a card from the deck.
«Don’t show me! But do tell me, Benjamin Bantam, United States Army: where are you stationed?»
«Fort MacLaren,” Bantam said. He’s going to say he’s never heard of it.
«That’s curious.»
«Why is that?»
«Because this is Fort MacLaren,” Hardin said.
«What?» Bantam said, genuinely surprised.
«You didn’t know that. You genuinely didn’t know that,” Hardin replied studying him. «I can tell about people. I’m very good at it.»
«No. I didn’t. I’m … I’m not sure … well, if this really is MacLaren, I can save us all a lot of time. I need to speak with General Coralbee. Is General Coralbee here? He can clear all this up.»
«Your card,” Hardin said. «Slide it back into the deck. Anywhere.» Bantam did so. Hardin shuffled the deck — fairly, as far as Bantam could see — and placed the deck behind his back. In a jiffy, he produced the Ten of Spades. «Is this your card, sir?»
Bantam nodded. «It is. But I already know how it was done.»
Hardin’s eyebrows shot up. «You do? Really. Usually it’s just the ‘Tons that know these things now.»«Well, I don’t know no … ‘Tons. But I do know magic. Here. Give me the deck. I’ve got one for you.»
Hardin obliged.
«Pick a card, any card.» Then he stopped short. «Ah. I can do better than that.» Bantam ferociously shuffled the deck. «Here, you want a shuffle?» Hardin declined, seeming to think Bantam was doing a fine job of it.
Bantam set the deck down. «Jack of Diamonds,” he said flipping over the top card: it was. «Three of Hearts. Seven of Spades. Ten of Spades — again …» He flipped each topmost card of the deck off as he declared what they were. «See? Easy. Want to know how I did it?»
«First you tell me how I did mine,” Hardin replied, amused.
«Easy. Shaved deck. One side’s slightly narrower than the other. All you have to do is line up all the cards in the beginning and then make sure I insert my card opposite all the rest, which you do by turning your deck at the last minute if needed. Then you just strip it by sliding your fingers along the side of the deck and boom! You’ve got my card.»
«Excellent,” Hardin said. «And you no doubt noticed the subtle markings on the back of the deck, buried deep within the intricate design of the back of the card — the number of leaves indicates value, the shape indicates suit. You are very observant.»
«As are you,” Bantam replied. «That’s what this is all about, right? The cards. The lollipops. You want to see what I catch and what I miss.»
«Why no!» Hardin protested, genuinely insulted. «This is about magic!»
«Magic,” Bantam repeated.
«Yes,” Hardin said, growing very serious now and leaning forward. «The magic that you do. The magic that you know how to do that I don’t — and that is saying something.
«Tell me, Benjamin Bantam: How does one make a space-pod appear out of thin air deep inside the most secure Army Base in America — the very same base that serves as headquarters for the American space program?»
American space program? Bantam mouthed. Another surprise. Maybe he was actually in the 1960’s?
That might explain why nobody reacted to Coralbee’s name. He was probably dead or retired.But that didn’t seem right either. The clothes were all wrong: these weren’t sixties uniforms. Hell, everything was off.
«Ah. You didn’t know that either,” Hardin observed, eyes narrowing. «I can see it in your eyes. But here we have a deeper conundrum — If this is a surprise to you, then why did you come to a spaceport wearing a spacesuit?»
«Ah. Well, it’s not exactly a spacesuit,” Bantam replied. «I’m not an astronaut. I’m a chrononaut. I don’t travel in space, I travel in time.»
Hardin raised an eyebrow — the one over his monocle.
«Okay, listen,” Bantam said, taking a deep breath and knowing how insane he sounded. «Here’s the truth, and I can prove it. There are things in my capsule, things I brought with me. They’ll prove what I’m about to tell you is true. And if General Coralbee is here, or if he can be reached, he’ll corroborate what I’m saying.
«So here it goes: I’m from the future. Yeah I know what that sounds like,” Bantam added quickly. «Just hear me out.»
Hardin only nodded.
Bantam continued, talking nervously like a machine gun: «The difference between me and a kook is I can prove what I’m saying. I’m on a mission for the United States Army, from the future. We need your help. There’s a disease we have there that you have a cure for here. Or at least — they did, back in 1944. I realize this isn’t 1944, that something went wrong. But if this is the 1960’s, then the things I have in my capsule will still prove to your science guys that I’m from the future, just like I say I am. It’s way beyond anything that you can make here and now. And maybe — just maybe you still have the cure we need. By my time, it’s lost. But it just might still be here, even in this time.»Hardin just nodded again. «That’s you’re story.»
«Yes. And I swear to God that it’s true, every word of it. And I can prove it. Bring me my things from the capsule. I’ll show you.»
«Yes. Your capsule. I’ve looked it over,” Hardin said. «It’s very elaborate and very odd. But it is an impossible thing. It can never work. And that is what I cannot understand. Why go to so much trouble to make an impossible thing? I am familiar with many of the materials, and there is a certain … logic to it. The cost to create it must have been astronomical. That in itself makes no sense.»
«Oh, I promise you it does work,” Bantam replied, rolling his eyes. «I’m here. But the capsule is just a part of it. There’s a type of energy… It’s sort of like electricity, but much more exotic and powerful. That’s what really sent me back in time.»
«Yes … about that,” Hardin said thoughtfully. He really is an odd looking fellow, Bantam thought. I feel like I’m talking to a Martian. Or a leprechaun. «One thing confuses me, Bantam. You said, back in 1944. Exactly what year do you think it is right now?»
Bantam shrugged. «I’m — I’m not sure. Something’s gone wrong. I was supposed to end up in 1944. During World War 2. But if you’re starting work on a space program, it has to be, what, the 50’s? Or maybe the 60’s? I’m not really sure, to be honest. I didn’t study this time period during my briefing for this mission.»
Hardin said carefully: «Benjamin Bantam. This is 1944.»
What?
Hardin didn’t look like he was joking.
Now it was Bantam’s turn to stare in disbelief. «No. That’s impossible.»
«I assure you it is true,” Hardin continued.
«You’re not in the 1960’s. This is 1944. April 8, 1944 to be precise.»
Bantam eyes widened. «I think my head just exploded a little bit in my mouth.» Then, getting a grip on himself: «Things are … different though. Something has to be wrong.»
«Different? Different how, exactly?» Hardin leaned in, genuinely curious.
«Everything. Your clothes. All the twirly moustaches. The fact that you’re even doing some sort of space program. Where I come from, there is no space program in the 1940’s. Everything is sort of … off here.»
«Alright. Let that go for a moment,” Hardin said. «You say you’re from the future. You want to gain our trust. I have a simple test for you. Can you tell us anything about our immediate future that could confirm your story?»
Yes, Bantam breathed. Yes of course. His brain was moving too slowly. They’d prepared him for this. His iPad had a full copy of Wikipedia on it — heavily encrypted and with a password a mile long, of course. If he could get to that, he could really wow them. But they’d also required him to memorize huge amounts of information, in case he was separated from his capsule or equipment — exactly like what had happened.