Chapter 16
“How was the funeral?” President Reagan asked me as we sat on our horses, looking over the mountain vista. The fact that we were here, just like in the last time line after a funeral, was a subtle irony of both the similarities and differences in time lines. We were dressed in jeans, western-style shirts and cowboy boots. He was wearing one of his cowboy hats while I was bareheaded. In the distance, the sun was setting on a February day that had been rough for me.
“It was a funeral.” I answered with a shrug of my shoulders. I’d been to so many of them in sixty years of life that they no longer had quite the same impact on me. Even this one.
“Your father…” President Reagan began to say and then paused before clearing his throat. He turned to look at me instead of the sunset. “What your father did was the right thing to do. It has stopped the insanity that was escalating after the Quarantine policy was established. People are calming down, and centers across the country are reporting huge influx of visitors, and few if any negative incidents. He saw an opportunity there, and he took it, and after what happened, he’s changing the minds of millions.”
“That was something he never accomplished in my previous life times.” I admitted with a shrug. The President’s words didn’t really make the knot in my chest go away, but he was absolutely right.
“The bad news is that the quarantine won’t work as well as we thought it would.” President Reagan admitted softly. “I never should have listened to them again when they insisted it was the right thing to do.”
“I thought they were going to pay for what they did to me.” I said softly, but with an edge. He looked at me long and hard before turning to stare at the sunset again. The sun was slipping closer to the distant mountains, and I thought I could hear the wail of a bagpipe playing Amazing Grace in the background. During my first lifetime, I’d watched his funeral on television. The second time around, I had been one of the speakers here, standing in my dress blues with the Medal of Honor on my chest plus another dozen ribbons and awards pinned there. I had spoken of his leadership in war and his respect for people from all backgrounds before being hustled off to act as an observer for a US-Taiwan military exercise. Less than three weeks later, the Battle of Taiwan had begun, and I was taking command of another fleet.
“Everyone but the politicos are gone already.” President Reagan admonished me softly. “As for the ones in political office…they’re being phased out quietly. Later this year the first of them will resign for personal reasons. As for the man at the top of it all, especially with him pushing me so hard for this Quarantine policy, well, let’s just say I’m keeping an eye out for a good Vice-presidential candidate in ’84.”
“I bet he’s not happy about that.” I said with a chuckle and the President actually chuckled himself.
“No, he’s threatening to run against me in the primaries.” Reagan told me and I shook my head.
“Kick his ass!” I said vehemently, earning myself a full belly laugh with that comment.
“I see you inherited you mother’s viciousness.” President Reagan said as his horse stamped restlessly. The sun was now below the mountains, and by unspoken agreement, we turned the horses back towards his ranch. The Secret Service agents were out patrolling the property, but largely unseen on this trip.
“Yeah, sorry about her behavior.” I said softly. “She’s mad at me ever since she found out the truth about me being a ‘time traveler’.”
“What has her so upset?” President Reagan asked me.
“Part if it is that a major change happened in me and she didn’t catch it.” I answered. “She prides herself on knowing her family, and missing something like that is a slap in the face. Another part of it is that she feels she doesn’t know me anymore, and finally she blames me for Dad being there that day and getting shot.”
“Well, I asked Nancy to have a long talk with her.” Reagan said. “If anyone can calm your mother down, it will be her. At least your sister is taking things better. I heard her and Maureen went for a long ride today.”
“She’s a much better rider than me.” I said with a shrug. “To her, unless it has to do with horses, it’s not that important.”
“Kind of makes you wish you were a kid again?” President Reagan teased me and I laughed.
“I am a kid again and it’s not all that nice.” I responded and he continued laughing.
“Well, before we get back to the ranch, I want to discuss what you’ll be talking over with Margaret Thatcher.” He told me and for the rest of the ride we discussed what the head of a foreign government, our closest ally, could and could not be told. I was nervous about this meeting, but being able to talk it over with him directly helped to calm me down. One of his grooms took the horses from us as we dismounted near the corral. We’d finished talking about the meeting with Thatcher and had started to talk about the planned dinner tonight when we came across a familiar figure sitting on a comfortable porch lounger and looking out at the darkening night while sipping some decaffeinated coffee.
“I see you made it back in one piece.” Dad told me with a wry grin and I sauntered over to give him a light hug. His chest was still bandaged up under the western shirt he wore, and he’d shaved off his mustache, or had it shaved off, in the hospital. He still looked pale, and tired, but he was much better since he’d been released last week. It had been a close call back in December. My father had nearly died and was still very weak.
“How are you feeling today?” I asked him softly as I straightened back up.
“Better.” Dad said. “I had that meeting with Prime Minister Thatcher about the AIDS centers they’re establishing over there. She wants us to come visit her this summer.”
“I’m sure that will be no problem.” President Reagan said. He was speaking about the security of course, and me going outside the country, but I chose to make a joke about it.
“You’re not the one who has to pay for plane tickets
and I refuse to fly anything but first class.” I said with a shrug. “On
my meager government salary there isn’t much room for jaunts across the
pond.”
“Oh please.” President Reagan said with a laugh. “I know for
a fact that the revenue from your patents will earn you more than you had in
the last lifetime. It’s been suggested we just take you off the payroll
now that your patents are straightened out and you’ll be getting the money
from them.”
“What patents?” I asked with a frown. This was all news to me. Reagan looked surprised and then he chuckled.
“Oh, I guess I forgot to tell you. It started right after Christmas when you were focused on whether your Dad was going to make it or not.” He explained. “I told the AG to just act on your behalf since the whole matter was classified anyway. You’ve been giving us a lot of technical drawings and stuff like that. When we release it to defense contractors, or for some of the AIDS stuff, medical contractors, they’ve been going and filing patents on them, and then modifying them a bit so they can add R&D costs to any government contracts. That’s been as high as nearly twenty-percent. When it was brought to my attention, my Attorney General and I agreed it wasn’t fair to you. They’re making millions off your drawings that we gave them! Now, normally, since you’re a government employee, those patents should belong to the US government, but we made an error when we set up your paperwork.”
“I signed the standard consultants paperwork.” I said and then paused. “Oh, that gives me ownership of all patentable material.”
“Exactly, so the AG had all the patents that have been filed redone with recognition that the original design was created by a classified source…you.” The President said. “You should start getting your residuals the AG negotiated in a few months. Compared to what you’re getting now, I think you’re going to be very happy.”
“So Davey’s going to be rich?” Dad said with a slight grin. “Good for him.”
That alone told me how much Dad had changed in the last few weeks. It use to be, he’d make some comment that would tell me he was thinking of how to use that money for his purposes. Now, he just sounded genuinely pleased for me. “Just remember son, that you should tithe your ten percent to a church. It doesn’t have to be our church, just some church.”
“More than likely he’ll need to split it over several churches.” President Reagan chuckled softly. “I don’t think a million dollar tithe would go unnoticed. That figure set Dad’s eyebrows rising into his hair and I tried to hide my own wide eyes. Okay, I’d have to consider all outstanding disputes between me and the President for past events paid in full. “David, you might as well go inside and get ready for dinner. Nancy won’t let us come to the table still smelling like horses. I’ll help your father inside.”
“Thank you, Mr. President.” I said softly before nodding at Dad and heading inside to my room. After spending a lot of time here in the last time line, I knew this place fairly well and had no problem navigating my way around. It was filled with agents from Diplomatic Security, MI5 and the Secret Service, plus the numerous staff members the Reagans had employed at the ranch. Tonight wasn’t a state dinner by any means. Cowboy boots, nice jeans, and a nice, clean, fresh shirt crisply ironed would be the attire for dinner, but since a foreign Head of Government would be there, it would be well-prepared by that staff and me smelling like a horse wouldn’t go over too well.
The bedroom I was using shared a bathroom with my sister’s room. Luckily she wasn’t in there so I quickly took a shower and wiped off the grime of the day. Under the hot water of the shower, I began to reflect on how the last few weeks since Dad had been shot by Jeremy Wilks, the protestor in the brown jacket, had changed not only my personal interactions but the direction of the country. While the incident played out over and over again on national television and helped to bring about a national unity that I had not expected, it had all but torn my family apart.
For three days after the shooting, while Dad underwent two surgeries and hovered on the brink of death, Uncle Phil acted as spokesman for our family. Mom and the rest of the clan flew from Modesto on a government-charted plane sent by the President personally. San Francisco Police and California National Guard troops escorted the entire family that had been in Modesto to the hospital, twenty-three people in all. Mike Andrews, the CIA agent who acted as my ‘handler’ showed up two hours later and pulled me aside. He wanted to remind me that while this was the first story on the evening news and every news agency in the world wanted interviews, we were to try to keep it as low-key as possible. Under no circumstances was I to appear in front of the cameras alone, and whenever it was possible I was to do nothing but hang around in the background.
Hotel rooms were found for all of us, paid by the government, and it was no coincidence that the room next to mine was occupied by Mike. After he gave me his warning, we went back out to meet with the family. Mike introduced himself as a representative of the President sent to help us deal with the media and to maintain our privacy. Mom was too busy glaring at me and crying on Nanny’s shoulder while Jenny cried on Grandma’s to pay much attention toanything, so Uncle Phil and Uncle Billy were drafted to help deal with the growing demand for some news. Uncle Phil, as a preacher and constant public speaker received everyone’s nod to be the family spokesman, and he went downstairs to deliver the first words from the family.
“The Jones family thanks all of you for your concern.” Phil had said. “During this trying time, we ask for your prayers on behalf of my brother-in-law, for the man who shot him, and for those people we were visiting earlier today. When there is more news of the condition of Brother Jones, we will inform you.”
Under heavy escort, we left for the hotel around eleven that night. Mom didn’t want to leave, but Nanny insisted. At a late dinner, we ate in an area of the hotel’s restaurant that was roped off and guarded by more troops. Mike informed the family then that while we were in the city, and while Dad recovered, we’d all be required to have escorts for our own protection. That was when Mom recovered her voice enough to blame me for everything. Those first few days had been very difficult for everyone, especially me. Mom, Nanny, and most of that side of the family, including my sister, all blamed me. The best news was that Grandma, Aunt Beverly, Uncle Billy, and Uncle Phil did not.
Reminiscing about the start of the troubles with my mother wasn’t getting me ready for dinner, so I shut off the shower and got out. While toweling off, I remembered how…fair Uncle Phil had been. He still had reservations about Dad’s position, but he stuck to making his voice an advocate for the viewpoints Dad had expressed, and as Dad’s health improved, so did the mood of the nation.
Once I was dry, I put the towel on the fancy sink and looked at myself in the mirror. I’d lost a little weight, a little muscle in the weeks since the shooting. My eyes held a slightly more haunted look than before, and my hair was longer since it hadn’t been cut in a while. I ran some water in the sink and brushed my teeth before flossing. Then it was time to put some deodorant on (and count the new hairs that were growing in – I was thirteen now, after all) and head into the bedroom. It was a good thing I took the time to wrap my towel around my waist because Mom was waiting for me in the luxuriously decorated room. She was sitting in a chair at the oak writing desk and frowning at the locked briefcase on top of it. When I entered the room she turned to face me with that frown still firmly in place. Her brown hair had just been cut shorter, very similar to the First Lady’s hairstyle, and she was dressed in a dark blue suit jacket with big shoulder pads and a long black skirt.
“You’re not my son.” Mom’s voice was soft, and she didn’t meet my eyes as she spoke. She cleared her throat and spoke louder. “You look like him, you have memories like him, but you’re not the Davey I gave birth to, I fed, and I loved.”
“You’re not the mother whose body I cradled when you went into a coma and your heart stopped.” I snapped back at her angrily, one hand on the towel around my waist and another hand clenched in a fist. “You’re not the mother that I buried after she was hit by a drunk driver on Christmas Day. You are the same woman, the same mother as those other two though, and just as much my mother as any of them.”
“That’s not possible.” Mom countered angrily, but still not meeting my eyes. “Those…they weren’t me.”
“They were you, mother.” I said as calmly as I could. Since she learned about me, any disagreement between us became a shouting match and that wasn’t a good thing here and now.
“How can you say that when I have no memory of anything else?” Mom countered angrily. “This whole time travel thing is just wrong. Even if something like that could happen, it’s not right. You’re like some demon who has come and taken possession of my son’s body.”
“I’m no demon.” I said with heat in my voice. Having your mom call you a demon was never a pleasant experience, but I couldn’t let it get me angry. “I am your son. I’m your son three times over, in a way. You know that, deep in your heart, even though your mind is telling you something different.”
“Don’t presume to tell me what I do and do not know.” Mom snapped at me and I backed off a little. “I’ve been talking with Nancy and she’s told me some of the stuff you’ve been up to. You’re the one responsible for these AIDS things, and you’re the one responsible for your Dad being there when he was shot.”
“First off, you’ve got things a little wrong.” I countered, feeling my temper creep up just a little more. “I have been opposed to these AIDS quarantine centers from the start. I don’t think they’ll work as well as they’ve been hyped and they weren’t done in either of my past two lives. Both times, they were discussed and rejected. When I found out they were being done now, I objected strenuously. Second of all, the reason Dad was there did have something to do with me. I insisted on seeing these centers and making sure the people inside were being treated well, but Dad wanted to go as well. You know him; he felt it as a calling. I didn’t ask him to go speak to the crowds that day, he saw them out there and he went. You’ve heard him, he said he believed God was calling him to speak then and there, and he did that on his own, with no input from me.”
“But you put him there!” Mom countered and I just stared at her for a long moment.
“Do you believe he’d rather have been anywhere else?” I asked her, pushing her to acknowledge things I knew she had to have considered. Neither of my parents were stupid, they could think, but they had a tendency to ignore things that didn’t fit with their viewpoint, and right now Mom’s point of view was that everything was my fault. “He’s getting requests from the news media from all over the place and so far he’s only been allowed to do a few print interviews. Do you really think he’s not happy with the attention?”
“That’s not relevant.” Mom tried to assert, but her shoulders drooped after our eyes met. Oh yeah, she knew it was relevant.
“Really?” I asked her with an arched eyebrow and she let out an exasperated sigh.
“Fine, but you can’t say that he wouldn’t have been shot if it wasn’t for you!” Mom pushed and I shrugged.
“Mom, in the last time line, I underestimated another time traveler.” I said in a voice that was soft. She knew, intellectually, that there were other time travelers who weren’t friendly to the United States. That had been explained to her as part of the reason for the need for security. “In that time line, that underestimation helped lead to World War III, something we never fought in my first life. Over sixty thousand Americans died in that war, and over two hundred thousand people overall lost their life. That war ended shortly after I ordered the use of a nuclear weapon in a battle engagement. You better damn well believe that I know my decisions sometimes cost the lives of people. I didn’t want to see Dad hurt, and some responsibility for it will always stem from the decisions I have made and the information I have chosen to share and not to share. Making decisions is a part of life and something you grow into over time. In past time lines, I’ve had to bury you, Dad, and Jenny twice. Some day, I will probably have to do that again unless I die before you. I’m not going to fool myself into believing that any of us can live forever. We can’t. I also won’t take blame for things that are not my responsibility. Yes, Dad was there in part because of decisions I’ve made, but he was also there because he wanted to be there. When he talked to the crowds and confronted Wilks, he was doing that because of his beliefs, not because of me. He was shot because he put himself out there and confronted a man who was wrong. You may not like it, but that’s the truth.”
“Fine.” Mom said with a shrug. That told me she’d heard what I said and couldn’t find any point to argue further on, but that she still wasn’t happy. “Just don’t expect me to accept you blindly. I’ll be watching you.”
“That’s fine Mom.” I said softly but with a sad smile. “Just don’t forget I love you.”
“You better get dressed or you’ll be late for dinner.” Mom said as she stood up. She didn’t hug me, but she did nod in my direction before leaving. It wasn’t the perfect ending to our talk, but it was a decent beginning on rebuilding my relationship with her. She’d never known in the last timeline, and now she did. I hoped that in the long run, it would prove to be a good thing for us.
With a sigh, I dropped the towel and put on a pair of bikini briefs. They were harder to come by in this day and age than ten years from now, but I’d finally found a store in San Francisco that sold them. Brian had always loved seeing me in them, and despite the fact that he wasn’t here with me, I still wanted to please him. Seeing him in that hospital had been heart wrenching, but it had also given me some hope for the future. My Brian was still out there, living his life. He was just as loving and caring as I remembered him, and every bit as handsome. When the time came, I knew I’d be able to rebuild the relationship I had lost by coming back in time.
Tonight’s dinner didn’t require the formal attire of other state dinners I had attended, but my blue and gray western shirt was neatly pressed, as were the dark jeans I wore. The boots Sam and David had bought for me as a Christmas present required a little polishing and cleaning before they were fit to wear, and I added the big belt buckle and brown leather belt that Dad had bought as part of my Christmas presents. (He’d also bought me a Honda dirt bike that was back at the house in Nevada. I’d already driven it to town twice, by the back way, in order to visit with my friends without needing an adult to take me. In the rural area we lived, it was a strong measure of freedom for me.)
In the mirror, I looked at myself and remarked how different I looked than in either previous time line. I would never have worn an outfit like this in either time line, but it seemed to fit me, highlighting the differences in me this go-round. My hair as I noted earlier was slightly longer than the buzz cut I’d gotten back around Thanksgiving, and I considered keeping it growing longer. Not real long, but longer than it was now, so I could feather it a little and maybe down to my shoulders in back. That would be a good look for me.
Having checked that everything was in place, I left the room, shutting the door behind me as I went. These jeans were tight, and I knew they showed off my legs and butt very well, even if there was no Brian here to admire them. I liked it so much better than the baggier styles that became popular in the nineties. I headed downstairs and the mix of agents standing around told me everyone was still in the drawing room before being seated in the dining room. Sure enough, as I entered the elegant room with couches and chairs as well as several small end tables, pretty much everyone was there. Mom and Jenny were the only ones missing. Dad was seated in a plush, elegant wood chair with cream cushions, talking to Prime Minister Thatcher who sat in a similar chair on the other side of a small end table. On the table was a tea set, and both of them were holding cups of tea. Mr. and Mrs. Reagan sat on a couch to Dad’s right and watched the conversation with small smiles. Some assistants of the Prime Minister’s, two of them male members of Parliament and the third a female staffer, were sitting on another couch to the PM’s left. They all stopped as I entered the room and smiled.
“Ah, young David, you’ve finally decided to join us.” President Reagan nodded at me with a wry smile. “Come, join us over here. Your father was just telling the Prime Minister about your home.”
“Madame Prime Minister, it is an honor and a pleasure to meet you.” I said after crossing the room and stopping by her chair. She extended her hand and I shook it politely.
“The pleasure is mine.” She said primly and dropped her hand back to her side as I moved to sit on the couch with the President and First Lady. I was actually next to Nancy, who patted my leg in a motherly way. “So, David, if I understand you correctly this house of yours seems to really be in the middle of nowhere. I imagine it must be very peaceful.”
“Most definitely, ma’am.” Dad said with a fond smile. “At night, the moon will gleam off of the snow-capped mountains, and you can hear the breeze coming down the valley, but almost nothing else. The stars above twinkle and there’s no smog, no pollution, or anything. It’s one of the most beautiful sights I’ve ever seen, and we get to look at it every night.”
“It sounds positively delightful.” The leader of the British Parliament said with a small smile. “I would imagine that if Parliament gets too hectic for me I could jaunt over there and get away from everything!”
“You’d be most welcome, madam.” Dad said with a broad smile. “We even have two guest bedrooms you can use.”
“I’ll bear that in mind.” She said politely.
More than likely she’d never come out there, but extending on open invitation
was always very diplomatic. Mom chose that moment to enter, wearing the same
outfit as she wore in my room, with Jenny, who was wearing a white dress with
paisley flowers all over it. Nancy actually got up and greeted them as a staffer
opened the other door and announced that dinner was ready to be served. Maureen
Reagan appeared at that point, and joined us as we entered the formal dining
room.
I was seated on Dad’s left while Mom was on Dad’s right, and Jenny
was next to her. The PM and her entourage sat across the table from us with
Maureen sitting next to Jenny. The President was actually on my left at the
head of the table while his wife was at the other end of the table.
While the first course was being served, Jenny managed to dominate the conversation with her excited plans to compete in a horse show later next month. As dinner progressed, conversation flowed smoothly from Jenny’s ramblings about horses to conversations about the economies of Great Britain and the United States, to the latest movies coming out of Hollywood. I remained quiet through most of dinner while the adults chatted and Jenny occasionally piped up with a question. All throughout though, I could feel the eyes of my mother, and occasionally Margaret Thatcher rest on me. The few times I managed to catch their gazes, I could see them weighing me carefully.
By desert, the conversation had turned around to AIDS, and the decision by the British Parliament to implement a plan similar to the American Quarantine. I was surprised when Margaret Thatcher asked Dad to go to England and meet with their people. Dad was just as surprised, but accepted readily, with the condition that he needed to heal a little more first. Mom shot me a glare at that and I had to sigh softly.
After dinner, Dad and Mom followed the members of Parliament into another room for after-dinner coffee. Mrs. Reagan led the group, chatting politely about some inane topic I didn’t catch. Jenny had kissed Mom and Dad goodbye and excitedly followed Maureen into another room to watch television. That left me to follow the President and Prime Minister into a smaller side-room where coffee was waiting for the three of us. The room was comfortably furnished with four chairs and a small table, as well as a fireplace that was burning merrily. It was February, and the Lincoln holiday weekend, so the night still held a chill outside, although not nearly as cold as Nevada was right now. When we were seated and had our coffee poured (the staff even knew how much sugar and cream to put in mine), the waiter left the room and shut the door. I was left alone in a room with the leaders of two of the most powerful nations on Earth, and they were both conservatives while I had always been what was best described as a moderate liberal.
“It is good to meet you after hearing what Ron has had to say about you.” Mrs. Thatcher said as she sipped her coffee. She let out an appreciative sigh that I agreed with after taking my own sip. Somehow the Reagan family always had darn good coffee.
“It’s an honor to meet you again, ma’am.” I said and she gave me a slight frown and then chuckled.
“I take it we’ve met before in…what do you call them? Your other lives?” She said with a slight frown.
“More like previous time lines.” I answered with a smile. “Previous lives or other lives sounds like I’m some wacko who believes in reincarnation.”
“No, you’re just some wacko who believes in time travel.” The President joked and I laughed nervously. For some reason it always struck me as kind of unreal whenever I first had these conversations with people like the President and the Prime Minister.
“Oh dear, that was just a little bit much.” Mrs. Thatcher said after a brief chuckle. She wiped a tear from her face at that moment. “The idea that time can be…manipulated is a disturbing one to me. It is one thing for our people, or the Americans to be able to perform this feat, but the knowledge that the Soviets or even the Chinese may be able to capitalize on this capability frightens me.”
“It is a scary concept in the abstract, terrifying in the reality.” I agreed with her.
“Has there been much luck in tracking down this Chinese traveler?” She asked and I looked to President Reagan, who shook his head.
“I’m afraid that without a name, the task of finding a picture of the right man is proving to be difficult.” He admitted.
“I shall have our intelligence divisions render any assistance they can, if you will allow me to pass on some information to them of what we are looking for.” She said slowly and with care. The President leaned back in his chair and thought about it for a few minutes before responding.
“We can work out what information they need to operate effectively.” The President answered after thinking for a moment. I suppressed a shudder, thinking that there would now be more people who knew, and I only knew a few names of Soviet agents in their intelligence services.
“Before we do that, Mr. President, I will need to share some names with our British friends.” I spoke up politely and ended up impaled by severe stares. “Um, with all due apologies, I only know the names of a few Soviet agents in the U.K.”
“I see.” Mrs. Thatcher said softly. “We would, naturally, appreciate any names you might give us. It’s a pity there is no British equivalent to you. I wonder, if the United States should rebuild this technology in the near future if we will be invited to participate.”
“We will always welcome such discussions.” The
President said carefully. “However, young David here does not know the
technology behind this process, or more specifically he does not know how to
build such a machine. Of those who did know in the previous time lines, only
one had even partial information. The scientist who created this machine in
the first place will arrive in 1983, at which time we will pick him up and then
decide how to handle him. Until then, we do not have to act.”
“That gives all of us plenty of time to think and analyze.” Mrs.
Thatcher said with an approving nod. “Prudence is always best when there
is time. Now, mayhap we should discuss why all this has been revealed to me
now.”
“Ma’am, I regret to inform you that in about six weeks, the country of Argentina will invade the Falkland Islands.” I said quickly and managed to get on open mouth stare of astonishment from her. “You’ve recently dispatched some minor reinforcements to the island due to an escalation in their posturing. Like your own government, the Argentinean military junta is in a weakening position. Unlike your government, which rises and falls by elections, they rise and fall by maintaining tight controls over their population. They will invade those islands on April 2nd of this year. After a short battle, in which the hopelessly out-gunned British marines will put up a valiant effort until Governor Hunt orders their surrender. In both the previous time lines, you sent a fleet of surface ships, pocket carriers, and amphibious assault ships to deal with the situation. The battle is required reading in the Naval Academy as it was the first major battle to utilize all three elements of naval warfare in one theater of operations.”
“This is genuine?” Margaret Thatcher asked President Reagan with a slight hitch in her voice. He nodded and she turned back to me.
“I know you are not going to tell me we failed to retake those islands.” She said to me with a firmness that I admired.
“No ma’am, the Royal Navy is more than capable of retaking those islands.” I told her truthfully. “You did lose several ships though, teaching the world the necessity of point defenses in an age of cruise missiles. The HMS Sheffield was the first ship lost, but she was followed to the bottom of the ocean by the Ardent, Antelope, Coventry, Atlantic Conveyer, and several more ships are heavily damaged by bombs and cruise missiles. Several hundred British soldiers and sailors died in that conflict that is once again looming in front of you.”
“Has the Argentinean government already made the decision to invade?” She asked me cautiously.
“No ma’am, they do not make that decision until March 26th.” I answered honestly.
“Then we have some time to pressure them diplomatically.” She stated.
“We must be cautious about this.” President Reagan chimed in quietly. “If we act too soon, we risk pushing them towards this decision earlier. I am prepared to have Alexander Haig join your Foreign Secretary in meeting with them on the 27th of March. That is after their decision, but before they act. They will suspect we have agents in their government or the military, but I have been led to believe that neither of us have any in high enough positions.”
“That is true, and something we might have to remedy.” Margaret Thatcher admitted sourly. She took another sip of coffee before setting the cup and saucer on a side table. She was silent for several minutes before speaking again. “I will have to inform some senior military and political advisers. It would be best if I could tell them the full story. They will be the same as those I would have informed anyhow.”
“If it is necessary, and once David has supplied what names he knows to you.” President Reagan agreed. “I also want you to know that I have spoken with my Chief of Naval Operations. During the first week of April, one of our new Aegis-equipped cruisers, a Spruance-class destroyer, an Adams-class destroyer, and a Sturgeon-class submarine will be transiting in the area of the Falklands. They will, of course, be ready to render any assistance needed by the Royal Navy.”
“Maybe they will find one of our carrier groups there to practice war games with.” She said quietly and with a nod of her head. She looked again at me and frowned. “By any chance would you be having a holiday towards the end of March?”
“David will be having a family emergency that will have him out of school for the week of March 26th, and after that his school has spring break.” President Reagan said with a wan smile. It was news to me, but if that’s what he wanted, that’s what he’d get. He smiled at my expression though, and I felt both of their eyes on me. “I do believe he already has a diplomatic passport if he needs to travel. We will, of course, have to make certain security arrangements for him.”
“Naturally.” The Prime Minister of the United Kingdom said. “I am sure my military commanders would appreciate anything he might tell us before hand as well.”
“A courier will travel to London with the full reports he has given of the war, the Argentinean tactics and capabilities, as well as an assessment of the strengths and weaknesses of British operations.” President Reagan told her.
She let out a sigh at the news and looked at me carefully. “I thank the both of you for providing me this information.” She said at last. “Once again the United States has proven itself to be our special friend in the world of international politics, and I appreciate the show of faith by fully revealing the information regarding time travel. It is most disturbing, but we must take whatever advantage from it that we can. We know our enemies will if given the opportunity. Is this all?”
“There is one more thing, ma’am.” I said, knowing I probably shouldn’t mention this, but some part of me really wanted to say it here and now. I’d watched the royal wedding last year on television and had actually started to cry at how that royal mess had turned out. Princess Diana really was a beautiful woman. “I’ve not cleared this with the President, but it really doesn’t pertain to the national security of our countries. Rather, it is a matter that is…peculiar to the British monarchy.”
“I trust you, David.” The President said and his words sent a shiver down me. I looked into his eyes and smiled after he nodded.
“Please, you have my curiosity piqued.” The Prime Minister told me and I leaned back in my chair to figure out how to say this diplomatically. There really wasn’t a way.
“I assume that the Queen will be told about me?” I asked her and she nodded after a moment. The Queen really wasn’t more than a figurehead, but she was often informed on certain matters as required by protocol and tradition. Something like a possible war with Argentina was one of those things no British Prime Minister would dare to refrain from telling her. “Good, then this message really is for her more than anyone else. The royal wedding last year was quite beautiful. I’d forgotten how beautiful it was. When I came back in the last timeline, it had already passed so I hadn’t seen it since the first time I was twelve. I couldn’t help but cry at how awful a spectacle the whole thing had become by the early 1990’s. I remember the Queen calling 1992 a ‘horrible year’ in Latin. If she doesn’t want to go through that horrible year, she needs to sit down and have a conversation with her son and new daughter-in-law. Neither of them were innocent in the whole matter, where both cheated on the other and the tabloids printed racy photos and transcripts of phone conversations between them and their lovers. Still, if Prince Charles doesn’t stop paying more attention to Camilla Parker Bowles than his wife, she’ll eventually turn to other men for comfort once her children are born.”
“I see.” Margaret Thatcher said with a prim frown. She just shook her head. “It’s not something common for a PM to say to Her Majesty but I shall find a way. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, ma’am.” I said with a slight bow of the head, standing as she and the President both stood. We shook hands and then I left the room. Both of them sat down again, obviously to talk some more. Much to my dismay, I found Mom standing in the hallway outside my room. She was still dressed in that dark suit, and still frowning at me.
“You were in there for a long time.” She said sourly. “Were you making more changes and messing up history?”
“Yes.” I answered her curtly and she frowned. I was already an inch taller than her, and I knew that was bugging her along with everything else.
“You know changing the way God intended for them to be is going to come back and bite you in the rear.” She stated, half-question, half-matter-of-fact.
“It always does, Mom, it always does.” I said while shaking my head and moving past her into my room. As I pushed the door closed, I saw her staring at me with an expression both of concern and what I believed to be fear.
What I’d told her was true; there was always a price to pay.
As with all my stories, E provides immeasurable input, grammar checking, and all those other lovely editing thingies that make the story so much better!
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