Time for part two of my amazing hack Twilight Zone episode. Have you guessed where it’s going yet?

Of course you have, but that shouldn’t spoil the fun!

A Very Good Man

Part II

Without any warning, in mid-2019 I was told the entire project was moving overseas to Switzerland, to a secluded village called Blatten, nestled in the Alps. I didn’t understand why. Sulk told us it was for privacy and tax reasons. The US government was putting pressure on him to reveal what he was spending money on, and he wasn’t ready to reveal that just yet. Not until the project was complete.

My wife, and my children, did not come with me this time. My marriage was over. She moved back to Massachusetts, and, much like Camelia, just vanished from my life. I would occasionally get a very impersonal text message, or e-mail, from her thanking me for a birthday gift for one of the kids, but that was it. It is only in this telling that I start to wonder if she and Camelia didn’t share the same fate. And what of my children???

No. I can’t think of that now. I am committed to recounting everything that transpired.

We detected another Chronotron buildup in late 2019. So, we knew we had a window in 2020 coming up. While I continued my research on the nature of the particles, and how to efficiently manipulate them, Sulk’s other teams were working at a pace that I couldn’t even imagine. I expected our next test would involve another probe, but with better telemetry, maybe something a little larger. I was postulating how the energy output was relative to the movement back through the particles. So, we might try less energy to get something closer to the present that would be easier to identify. Maybe even build a baseline for energy expenditure to distance in time.

That’s not what Sulk had in mind. Two weeks out from our test I was introduced to a massive pod, large enough for three people to fit inside. I was astounded. Surely the power necessary to send that back would be impossible. But the power did exist. Sulk had been siphoning money from his other companies, to their detriment, and putting it into the Chronotron project. All that money and research had lead to a power generator that might have enough kick to put something as large as this new pod back the same distance as the original test.

I caught wind that the plan involved sending two people back. Why, then, was there a third seat? Was he planning to bring someone forward? To what end? This would be disastrous from a historical standpoint, save for finding someone who was about to die anyway, and who history might not miss their corpse? But to know that was possible would require knowing exactly to what point in history you were going.

I remembered Camelia’s warning. They knew where they probe went. How?

The data from the first test was still available to me. I don’t know if they thought I wouldn’t figure it out, or if they just thought I was so onboard at this point it wouldn’t matter. In the days leading up to the next test, I put it all together. At the start of the readings, the background radiation level was pre-1945 levels. On day one hundred and seventy-one it spiked. On day one hundred and seventy two it dropped, but not entirely. It was the Trinity Test. July 16^th, 1945. I don’t know enough about wind patterns or how long it might take for the radiation to get from Los Alamos to where we were in Texas, but I suspected it couldn’t be more than a few days. With some certainty the initial test had arrived in January 1945.

So what did they want? Why were they going back with the intent to bring someone forward? Why start in Switzerland? Did Sulk have a relative who died during the war? Was this all part of his eccentric plan to save them?

I was present for the next test. Again, the pod vanished for only a few thousandths of a second, but months had passed for the occupants. Three people emerged. I didn’t immediately recognize the third man. He was dressed plainly, in the fashion of the time, a bit malnourished, as were the two men Sulk sent back.

Absolute secrecy descended on the project. And soon after, we were dismantling everything to be shipped to a bunker whose location I didn’t know. Our lab turned into a rather fancy looking office, with all kinds of unknown visitors coming and going. Sulk kept me close, since I knew more about the project than most, but not so close that I knew exactly what was going on.

It was at least two months before I was brought in to check readings of Chronotron particles on the three occupants of the second test pod. We still weren’t sure what effects the particles would have on organic matter, and whether the pod that was designed would protect them.

Fortunately, or unfortunately some would say now, I found nothing strange. By now they were all quite healthy, though the third man, who said nothing the entire time, had a tremor to him, his hands shaking a bit, perhaps in the early stages of Parkinson’s, or some other disorder of the nervous system.

For the next month I was close to Sulk, and some of the other researchers, but primarily crunching numbers and performing busy work surrounded by one of the most beautiful landscapes on Earth. It was clear Sulk had accomplished what he wanted, and no longer had any interest in future trips in the short term. The cost was probably a factor. Whatever he wanted with this one man had reduced his fortune by several billion, which dropped him from the richest, to second richest man on Earth.

Late one evening, one of the staff came to me, looking a little embarrassed. He asked if my badge had access to the northern wing, where the man from the past was staying. I was certain I didn’t, but he begged me to try, as he had left his badge inside, and didn’t want to get in trouble. So, I gave it a shot. I couldn’t believe it, but it let us in.

I wasn’t totally irresponsible. I had seen the man many times, coming and going from the northern wing. I asked who he was and what he did. He explained he was a German translator and a teacher, and he was helping our guest learn English.

My curiosity overcame my sense and shortly after the teacher left, very late in the evening, I went to the northern wing. Of course there were cameras everywhere. Of course someone would see where my badge had been used and know I did it, but I had to know.

I tapped on the door and shortly after heard a quiet “Wer ist da?” from inside. I cracked open the door. There sat a man in his late fifties, with a steely look I could almost place, but it eluded me. He sat at a little desk with a load of books stacked on it. I practiced a phrase to explain who I was and ask who he was, but at the utterance of my pathetic German he replied, “I understand some English”.

It was hard to dance around the questions I wanted to ask while also attempting to use very basic English words, so as not to overwhelm him. I asked him the basic questions, name, when he was born, where he was born. The answers were all well-rehearsed, and totally unreasonable. I explained as best I could that I was part of the project, I knew he was from 1945, and based on his age, was probably born in the late 19^th century. He was surprisingly polite and patient and repeated “I am Gerhard Neumann. I was born in 1964 in Lewisburg, West Virginia. I moved to Vienna, Austria, with my parents when I was two years old. I moved back to the United States in 1986.”

I looked over at his desk at all the books piled up. They were all written in German, but the subjects were not hard to guess. Many were history books. He was catching himself up on the past seventy-five years. I walked over to the table and flipped through what he was reading.

“Please.” He said, politely. “I am very tired. We speak later, yes?”

I finally found the photo I was looking for in his book. The face I had been trying to place. The face sitting across from me. The photo said he had died April 30^th, 1945. A self-inflicted gunshot to the head. His body had been burned beyond recognition. The Soviets claimed they had parts of his remains. It was all a lie. History wasn’t changed. This is always what had happened. And I made it happen.

He wasn’t a particularly robust or big man. If I wanted to, right then, I could club him over the head with one of these large books, and then strangle him. Sulk would, almost certainly, have me killed, but I would die knowing I undid the damage I had done.

Gerhard, as he was now called, came up and stood next to me. He moved my hand away from the book and closed it. “It is very late.” He said. “Thank you for the company. Thank you for your work to save me. You are a very good man.”

And I walked out.

I suppose I told myself there was no reason to kill him. What more damage could he do now? Nobody would possibly believe he had been saved, and if they did, why was he the same age? It was a multi-billion-dollar folly, and killing an old man wasn’t going to change that.

In the coming months, eminent American politicians began visiting us. It took me some time to make a connection, but they were all what we used to call “conservative”.

I discovered my access went far deeper than probably Sulk knew. I found recordings of the meetings with these conservative politicians. To my amazement, Gerhard, was sitting in with these important men from the United States. The interpreter was usually present, translating to German for him. But would respond, occasionally, in English, and that’s when I could understand what was going on. He was advising them. He wasn’t giving them economic policy advice, giving them a history lesson, or regaling them with anecdotes about invading Czechoslovakia. He was instructing them on how to fuel culture wars and how best to divide opposition. They were taking notes and listening intently.

Did they know who they were talking to? Did Sulk inform them?

I should have sneaked away, but to what end? Who would I tell? Who would believe me.

So I said nothing. I did nothing.

Months passed, and then years. In the United States, things got worse. Every group was pitted against one another, fighting meaningless battles over inconsequential things, while the extremely wealthy continued to consolidate power. Judges were bought. Laws were rendered impotent for those at the top.

In 2028 the unthinkable happened, Gerhard was running for president of the United States. His English was perfect. His accent noticeable, but slight, explained by having lived in Austria for 20 years as a child.

Of course, the few remaining news outlets not controlled by the oligarchs complained. They did their digging. They proved, without question, his story was fabricated. Naturally they didn’t know who he really was, though, ironically, many on social media called him by his real name, without knowing he was literally that guy. None of it mattered. For more than a decade the political system had been destabilized by one madman after another, bucking convention and tradition, and just doing whatever he wanted, facing no consequences.

How was this possible? Because the real people controlling things, the billionaires, like Sulk, just let it happen.

He won. Not really. He lost the popular vote, but with the electoral college, the gerrymandered Congress, and the Supreme Court in his corner, he slinked into office.

Maybe it’s not hard to believe now after it already happened, but I was shocked.

I was never in the same place with him again after sneaking into his room that night. That is, not until six months after he got into office. Sulk wanted to introduce me to him. Somehow, he never realized we had already met.

Gerhard never let on that we had met before. He probably suspected I had overstepped my place by sneaking in that night. Once everyone left, and it was only those of us who knew the full truth, Sulk turned to business. Promises were made that now must be fulfilled. The President listened intently as Sulk laid out how his vast wealth could be improved further through various policies, tax breaks, and rolling back of regulations.

Finally, Gerhard spoke. “And why, exactly, do you think I need you going forward?”

Sulk was indignant. “I saved you from death, you idiot. I am the richest man in the world. I made you. I can break you.”

The President smiled. “But you, and your friends, have worked so hard to give me all this power. Power which I can now wield with impunity. And soon, there will be no need for elections anymore. You are of little use to me. If anything, you are a threat, given your influence and wealth.”

Sulk laughed. “You think so? Wrong! I will bury you, just like I buried the other men who defied me.”

Gerhard pressed a small button on the table next to the couch in the Oval Office. “We’re done.” He said calmly.

Two secret service men walked in and stood on other side of the President. Sulk gave him a menacing glare and offered up his hand. The President did not take it.

Sulk spat at Gerhard. “What do you think you can do to me that won’t cause suspicion, or make your loyal goons here lose confidence in their place within this miserable house of cards we made possible?”

“Nome Sulk?” the President asked. “This is a Jewish name, is it not?”

Sulk stepped back. “What? Of course it isn’t!”

The two secret service men grabbed Sulk. He tried to resist, but they collapsed his knees, knocked him to the floor, and then dragged him away.

The President then turned to me, still smiling. “Thank you for your service to your country… Rabinowitz, was it?”

I froze. That was my great-grandfather’s name. His father came over from Ukraine in the 1880s. They didn’t keep the faith, and by the time my grandfather was born, they didn’t even have the name anymore. But he knew it. Of course he knew it, he was keeping tabs on everyone that knew his secret.

“You were smart to change that name.” he said as put his finger up to his lips as if to tell me to stay quiet. “I won’t tell. You’re a very good man, after all.” He then patted me on the shoulder and motioned me toward the door.

The last thing I heard before the door closed was him saying “Schedule meetings with Bezos and Gates.”

I honestly don’t even know why I’m sharing this. Nobody will believe it. And all it does is imply I made this happen. I’ve played the events over and over again in my head. What if Camelia and I had said no? What if I had strangled him when I had the chance. Where would we be now?

We’d probably still be here, but without him in charge. It would just be another one like him. He is a vile and despicable, mass murdering, opportunist. But without men like Sulk, his story ends with a bullet in the head in his bunker. He didn’t do it all by himself. Not in 1933 and not again in 2028. A gaggle of evil, selfish men made all that possible.

But more importantly a whole bunch of very good men watched it happen, felt it was beyond their power to change, and ultimately did nothing.

Oh, wait, so this was all my fault.

Damn.