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Operation Disclosure Official
By James O’Brien, Contributing Writer
Submitted on May 4, 2025
Excerpt from the novel Alias John Titor – Time-travel and the 2024 Election:
Checking my watch, I crossed into the area where I first found the tire tracks. It was 11:45 AM. I got anxious for a second, thinking John and his Chevy Suburban might not be there when I arrived. There was a peculiar twinge of disappointment at that possibility. I knew I wasn’t crazy, but if nothing was in the cave upon arrival, I was going to have a hard time coming to grips with my current reality. So, it was to my great relief when I stepped across the threshold of the cave and the battered 1987 SUV was still there, with John making adjustments to a series of clocks and gauges on the distortion unit he said was manufactured by General Electric.
“Good to see you again, Evan.”
“I had to come back,” I said.
“I know,” he replied.
“Tell me more about this thing. Scientifically speaking.”
“The source of power for the C204 that allows it to distort and manipulate gravity comes from two microsingularities that were created, captured and cleaned at a much larger ‘circular’ facility, similar to your CERN,” he said, considering his work. “The dual event horizons of each one and their mass is manipulated by injecting electrons onto the surface of their respective ergospheres. The electricity comes from batteries. The breakthrough that will allow for this technology begins with pentaquark particle acceleration. It’s something Nikola Tesla and the Uncle of the Last President were familiar with quite some time ago. Tesla, at the time you would consider his death, left his notes in the right hands. With ol’ Uncle John.”
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A strange feeling was washing over me. A feeling I’d entered into something which could not be taken back. Something destined. I can explain only the aura of it. It was akin to sadness. Like finding out everything you thought was real and your life was only a passing, illusory dream. And as the dream faded it took your old existence with it. Yet, there I was, standing in front of John Titor’s time machine as he explained its inner workings to me. I wanted to know more about why he was here.
“The war that brings down the United States,” I entreated, “How does it start?”
“The year 2026 is the general date in which everyone realizes the world they thought they were living in is over,” he explained. “The Civil War in the United States starts in earnest then. Before that, people hoped things would resolve by the old method of political parties and voting. Imagine having a Waco-style event every month, with each one getting larger and more violent. The conflict consumes everyone in the US by 2027 and concludes in 2028 with a very brief, but devastating World War.”
“But technology itself wasn’t destroyed, otherwise how could you make your time machine?” I followed.
“A period of chaos and desolation came on the heels of the nuclear conflict and much was destroyed, that is true. But, the actual explosions were few and targeted specific strategic locations. Nuclear fallout and various bioweapon diseases did k--l multitudes, but far more died from the interruption in the supply chain. Starvation was the worst killer. Then, hypothermia,” he answered.
“So people were unable to live off the land?” I surmised.
“Some were, in the more remote locations not as affected by the fallout. There was a long process of rebuilding after the conflict. The government as we knew it was over and a global committee called the United World Order assumed the mantle of governance and population control. It was promised that the end of sovereign countries would also end the possibility of another world war. The transnational corporations and the banking elite merged into a bureaucracy that governed and distributed all resources. The resistance went underground, but was organized at high levels that secured and defended certain military installations, like Cheyenne Mountain, where they directed efforts toward a counter-offensive. That’s where my mission originated.”
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“From Cheyenne Mountain?” I asked.
“Yes,” he answered, arranging some of his supplies in the vehicle. I noticed he had pounded out the dents in the roof and driver side door.
“Looks like you’re getting ready to go somewhere,” I offered.
“I am,” he said, looking at a chart in a booklet. When he found what he was looking for he took a red sticker out that was marked California 1975 and affixed it to the rear license plate, which was blue with gold lettering.
“Where to, again?” I queried.
“1975,” he answered, shutting the door. “Are you coming with me?”
“What makes you think I’d do that?”
“I don’t see Tucker with you,” he noted. “That must mean something. Y’know, I could use the help, given what kind of shape I’m in. Since you don’t really believe this machine works, you can get inside the vehicle while I demonstrate it. If nothing happens, you can go back to your Winnebago and chalk this all up as a crazy lark.”
“So, you’re saying, just get inside and you’ll take us back to 1975?” I probed. “Where are we going to be then, back on this mountaintop? It looks like you crashed the first time, if that’s how you really got here.”
“I made a miscalculation in the landscape assessment. My unit was supposed to locate me on a lot by the Calvary Chapel in Mountain Center,” he answered.
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“What if you make another mistake?”
“I won’t,” he replied, gazing with an icy look toward the mouth of the cave. “Get in if you’re coming. If not, you can’t be here when I make my exit.”
“Why not?”
“Those are the rules. I can’t guarantee your safety if you’re outside my vehicle when we jump timelines,” he detailed, emotionless. He hobbled to the driver side door and got in.
“Can you guarantee my safety if I come along,” I kicked back.
“No. But you’d be part of the mission, then. And that would change everything.”
“How so?”
“You won’t be an ordinary citizen anymore. You’ll be an agent on a time-travel mission. It’s an entirely different category of person. And with that comes certain risks.”
I looked at him for an interminable beat. Then, I got inside the rear passenger door and slammed it shut. If I was going to play along, I might as well up the stakes of my personal category. If this thing worked, then I was no longer a failed screenwriter and maker of B-movies. I was now an agent of time-travel. On a Mission from God.
“Show me how it works,” I said.
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∞∞∞
Alias John Titor
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DWT4KB4D
Parting the Washington Sea
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B092P78P71
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