Peripheral Visions: White Lily, Part II

"Peripheral Visions: They shimmer darkly in the fringes, there to see for those who look. Turn your glance quickly, or you won't see them... until it's too late."

White Lily, Part II

Detective Bill Brier of the Boston PD slouched on his bar stool, reflecting on the last twelve years and the two terror attacks that bracketed them.

First there was 9/11. God, what memories Brier had of that day. The destruction had taken place in New York City and Washington, D.C., and a field in Pennsylvania, but the entire nation had felt the shockwaves. It had been a punch to the gut for every American.

Brier had taken it hard, too, because both of the flights that hit the World Trade Center that morning had taken off from Boston Logan International Airport. It wasn't that Brier worked at the airport or should have been there to prevent terrorists from boarding a flight; it was stranger than that. Two days before 9/11, as he had sat right here in this bar... at this same stool, in fact... a pale man with a foreign accent had approached Brier. He had not identified himself except to say he worked with some sort of law enforcement agency, but he warned Brier about 9/11.

The problem was, the man's warning was vague and elliptical – long on implication, short of details. There was no way Brier, or anyone, could have prevented the tragedy that followed based on what the man had said.

Even so, Brier blamed himself. So much death; so much destruction; and, while Brier would never have described himself as a liberal, he was troubled by the way the country turned toward a new culture of surveillance and distrust.

Brier had tried to tell his supervisor and colleagues about the strange man and the warning he'd given. He'd researched everything he could think of in connection with the man – his accent, which turned out to be Finnish; the odd white brooch he wore on his lapel, which looked like a flame and which Brier had thought might signify something religious. But his colleagues were caught up in the collective rage America had for Al Quaeda, the acknowledged perpetrators of the terror attacks, and no one had time for the idea that someone from Finland could have been involved, either as a perpetrator or as in intelligence operative with information he had failed to share.

Baffling as it was, that puzzle wasn't what rankled Brier. What kept him awake nights, and what had tormented him for twelve years, was why the Finnish man (as Brier had come to call him) had approached Brier to begin with. If the Finnish man had advance knowledge of the 9/11 attacks, why hadn't he just said so? But he hadn't; he hinted at something big that was about to happen, then left the bar. Brier had followed him, close enough to reach out and grab the guy – and he almost had – and yet, the moment Brier stepped out the door, onto the street, hard on the man's heels, the Finnish man simply vanished.

Davis, Brier's supervisor, mockingly called the Finnish man a ghost. Brier sometimes thought maybe Davis was right. A ghost... a shade... a specter. Maybe the kind that only exists in the scrambled neural network of a schizophrenic brain.

Brier might eventually have put the puzzle our of his mind, along with the fear that he might be crazy, except that a few days ago the Finnish man had appeared again with a new warning... just before a pair of radicalized young brothers bombed the Boston Marathon.

As bad as 9/11 had been, this time it was so much more personal –�both because it was Brier's city, his goddamn hometown, that was the target, and also because the Finnish man had, once more, teased him with vague hints but nothing concrete, nothing Brier could have acted on.

But the Finnish man did give Brier something more: He claimed to have come from the future. He offered the explanation that he was giving Brier hints about major events before they happened as evidence of his ability to travel through time. What he didn't explain was why he was bothering to do so, or why he'd chosen Brier.

The Marathon bombing hadn't been on the same scale as 9/11, but it had still been bad; three people died and among the many people who had been injured, more than a dozen lost limbs. The terrorists had made bombs out of pressure cookers – bombs maliciously designed to send shrapnel flying into the bodies of innocent bystanders.

Pure evil.

Brier stared into his beer glass. He wished with all his might for the Finnish man to reappear, here and now, and explain himself. He didn't expect it to happen, but he gave himself over to it all the same. Voicing his suspicions prior to the Marathon bombing had aroused his Davis' suspicions and made Brier the subject of an investigation. Brier was suspended.

Hence him sitting in his favorite bar, The Cove, on a weekday afternoon.

Brier had been drinking the first time the Finnish man had appeared. He'd been drunk off his ass after a night of bar hopping the second time. Maybe booze was the key. Maybe the Finnish man was Brier's version of a pink elephant. Maybe –

"Drinking your sorrows?" a voice asked.

Brier slowly raised his head and looked to the side. The Finnish man sat there. He was looking as calm as ever. He was also looking grave. That was good. Brier would have killed him if he'd been smiling.

Maybe he would kill the guy anyway.

"I'm gonna..." Brier began, and then stopped.

"No, you aren't," the Finish man told him. He held up a small device that looked like an electronic car key. "Remember how you couldn't move the other night, when we met on the subway platform? Consider this more evidence of my extraordinary claims. This device does things to your motor centers. Makes you not want to move. Takes away certain aspects of your volition. I don't want to use it too long because after a few minutes it will, unfortunately, start to cook your brain."

Brier wanted to get up and beat the guy to a bloody pulp, wanted to strangle him right in front of everyone... but he couldn't. He wasn't paralyzed; he wasn't restrained; he just couldn't make himself move.

"Okay," Brier said quietly.

"Okay?" the Finnish man asked.

"Okay!" Brier snapped, unable to quell his anger.

"All right, then." The Finnish man put the device away.

Brier didn't feel any different. He put his hands on the bar, then stretched his back. The Finnish man watched him, on guard.

"I'm not gonna... I'm just testing," Brier said.

"I hope your curiosity outweighs your rage," the Finnish man said quietly.

"Hey there, get you something?" the bartender asked. He was a young guy, Barney's replacement after Barney retired.

"What he's having, and another for him," the Finnish man said. "Oh, and two shots, please."

"Shots? Of what?"

The Finnish man glanced at Brier. "Your usual?" he asked.

"Walker Red," Brier told the kid.

"Coming up." The bartender hustled off.

"Okay," the Finish man said, eyes on the bartender but, Brier suspected, also watching him. "Time to tell you the whole story."

"You do that," Brier said coldly.

"And you please listen. Like I said before, I don't have a lot of time."

Brier laughed sourly. "I would think you'd have all the time you need."

"You'd be wrong," the Finnish man said. Then he held up a photo – Brier didn't see him pull it from a pocket. The guy had the hands of a magician. Or maybe the future technology he claimed to have was behind his ability to suddenly produce objects.

"This man," he said.

Brier looked at the photo, then rolled his eyes. "So what?"

"He's going to be president."

"Him?"

"After Obama," the Finnish man said. "And I'm sure you know, being a cop, what having a Black president has done to the mood of white nationals."

"Who?"

"Racist assholes," the Finnish man said, though without inflection or disdain, as if whoever had taught him English had told him that was the polite phrase. "They will go fucking nuts," the Finnish guy added. "This guy will speak to them, justify them, give them permission. And half of America will follow them right down the rabbit tunnel."

Brier chuckled in spite of himself. "Your English is showing its seams," he said.

The Finnish man smiled – reflexively, insincerely. "His presidency will be very much like his own favorite word: 'Disaster.' It truly would be better if it never happened. But it did. And so it should."

"I don't understand," Brier said. "You want me to stop him?"

"No. Not at all, But you've guessed the problem," the Finnish man said. "There were people in my time who wanted to stop him. Well, not my time, precisely, Twenty years before I left."

"You mean people in your past stopped... this guy" – Brier nodded at the photo in the Finnish man's hand – "from becoming president? In... in my future?"

"That's right. They used an early form of the..."

The Finnish man stopped. The bartender stood before them, setting out their glasses. The Finnish man was suddenly holding a twenty dollar bill. The bartender took it. "You can keep the change," the Finnish man said.

"Thanks," the bartender said, and moved off.

"Okay," Brier jumped in. "This guy, he does real estate in New York. He's on a reality show. He's a joke. He's never gonna be the president of the United States."

"Yes, well, he hates your Obama."

"He's not my Obama. I mean," Brier said, "I got nothing against him, but I voted for Romney."

The Finnish man's expression changed from neutrality to something resembling a true emotion; Brier thought it looked like disdain. He thought of the time the Finish man had taken a sip of beer.

"What?" he asked.

The Finish man's face became a blank once more.

"What?" Brier asked again.

The Finnish man stayed silent, his face impassive, but Brier had a sense that the man was deeply disgusted. Then he said, "I would think you would vote for someone with some character."

"I liked him as governor," Brier said.

The Finnish man smiled slightly. "I'm not here to debate history or politics. Just to tell you what is supposed to happen... what must happen."

"Which is what?"

"This man." The photo was in the Finnish man's hand again. "He will be president."

"Right, except people from the future... or, for you, the past, I guess... want to prevent it."

"They did prevent it," the Finnish man said. "That is to say, they will prevent it. They will recruit people from your time. In two years."

"But you said this was twenty years ago that they – oh, right," Brier said. "Two years from today."

"And many years from now," the Finnish man said. "They will approach people in 2015 just as I have approached you. They used an early... they will use an early form of the technology. They will come to 2015 to build a machine to send the men they recruit even further into the past. But I can send you there from here, using this." Again, the Finnish man magically produced a device; this time his hand was wrapped around something that looked like a smart phone. "Very advanced."

Brier looked at the device. It didn't just resemble a smart phone; it was identical to one, with nubby buttons on the sides and a large button at the edge of its glassy black surface. "You want me to travel into the past?"

"That's right," the Finnish man said.

Brier stared at him, but he Finnish man didn't blink, didn't smile, didn't offer any details.

"Why can't you do this yourself?"

"Because of something called Vorenberg resistance," the Finnish man told him. "The technology grows more powerful, and we can send people further into the past, but still we cannot travel back far enough to stop them. Not unless I do what they did, and find someone in the past who can travel to the year in question."

"I still don't get it," Brier said.

"Pretend I am a car. I have a full gas tank but I cannot fill the tank again when the fuel is gone. I need to get a message to... to Nebraska. I leave from Las Vegas. I can get through the Death Valley desert, but I can't get all the way to Nebraska. But I can find someone with another car, and they can take the message to its destination."

"Good luck getting to Nebraska from Las Vegas on two tanks of gas," Brier said.

The Finnish man frowned at him.

"But, okay, I get what you mean. You can't go all the way back to... wait, what year are you trying to get to?"

"1973," the Finnish man said.

"To stop the people who are trying to stop... him... from running for president next year?"

"That's right."

"But why 1973?"

"Several reasons. Access. Minimizing the impact of a major change to history. Today, he is too famous. Years earlier from now, he's too famous, also. In 1973, he's hardly famous at all, and has no political consequence. There is another reason, which I will tell you about in a moment, but more than anything, I think, they chose 1973 to make it harder for us to intervene."

"Because you can't go back far enough in time. But I still don't get why not. Why can't you just... teleport or whatever... from your own time to here... I mean, to now... and then jump back again?"

The Finnish man shook his head. "Time isn't fooled by trying to travel in stages. The Vorenberg resistance is cumulative and constant. I originated in the future; traveling to 2001 was as far back as I could go. It still is. I cannot travel farther back into the past, no more than you can travel into the future."

"I can't? Why not?"

"That is the first principle of time travel," the Finnish man told him. "When I return, I only can advance to the moment I left – no further. It will be the same for you: You can return to the moment you left, but you cannot go further into the future."

"I don't understand any of this," Brier said.

"You don't have to. You just have to stop the men that will be sent to 1973." The Finnish man shook the photo. "I said there is another reason they chose that year. It is this: We believe they perceive a historical rationale for his death at that time. In 1973 he was involved in a lawsuit accusing him of racist rental practices. There was considerable violence and strife around the issue of race in that time. Also in this time, which is why he succeeds as a politician – he used, or will use, racist code words to garner widespread support."

"Code words?" Brier asked, confused.

"Dog whistles," the Finnish man said.

"Oh." That was a metaphor Brier understood.

"If history remembers him as a casualty of racial strife, no one will ask any other questions," the Finnish man said.

"And he's too famous today to... okay, I get it. But why is this even necessary? Why shouldn't he be president?" Brier asked.

"Because of what I just told you. He will use hatred and racist anger in his campaign, and he will also attack the structure of your government. He will destroy the normal way things are done in your democracy. Even when he loses the election after four years, he will still attack the foundations of your system of government. And millions of Americans will love him for doing it."

"Not possible," Brier said. "That could never happen here."

"More than possible. It's history," the Finnish man told him.

"Then maybe the people looking to stop him have the right idea!" Brier exclaimed.

"Let me guess," the Finnish man said. "If you had a time machine, you would kill Hitler. Yes? Change history in order to improve it?"

"Yes," Brier said.

"Let's assume you kill Hitler when he was a nobody. History never notices, no one ever misses him. But even so, Germany in the 1930s keeps boiling with resentment over losing World War I. At some point, the anger and resentment explodes. Now, the things Hitler did were horrible, but after the world defeated the Nazis it found a sort of peace for more than half a century. If you stop Hitler, that might not happen. But the atrocities will... they will happen later in history, and under other men, but they will happen, and they will be worse."

"You don't know that," Brier said.

The Finnish man didn't blink, didn't smile.

"Do you?" Brier asked, uncertain.

"What I can tell you is that this man's presidency will be the turning point that leads to the end of democracy as you know it. And one of your two major political parties will aid and abet him. They will, in fact, work to demolish democracy, rather than defend it. This man will divide the nation to the point of collapse, and he will give aid and comfort to domestic terrorists. But," the Finnish man said, with an emphasis that stopped Brier just as he was about to interject with a question, "the shock of his presidency will be sharp enough to shake the country out of its dazed complacency and its fixation on trivial matters like who uses which restroom."

"What?" Brier looked at the Finnish man in bewilderment.

"It sounds impossible to you, but it's one of the absurdities of history," the Finnish man told him. "Instead of preserving democracy, Americans will be distracted by petty fights and divisions."

Brier nodded. "No, actually, I can see that happening already," he said. "I just thought people would... would grow out of it."

"In a sense, they will," the Finnish man said. "But only after America commits atrocities of its own."

Brier looked up sharply. "Like what?"

"Let me just say that leadership built on lies and empty promises cannot deliver anything of substance. It can only succeed by glorifying oppression and destruction. The more people it oppresses, the more people it needs to oppress. The more murder it commits, the more it commits to the act of murder. The more of the world it burns to the delight of its followers, the more of the world it is forced to burn to hold onto power."

"Jesus Christ," Brier said.

"That is the America that this man..." He shook the photo again. "...that this man creates. A nation of abject poverty for almost everyone, and yet limitless power and cruelty for a select few."

"A fucking police state," Brier muttered.

"All because enough people were more worried about men marrying other men, or people with dark skin being able to vote freely, than they worried about how their rights were being taken away, one at a time, slowly and steadily," the Finnish man said. "At the same time, the world's real problems will be ignored and quickly spin out of control – increasing temperatures, rising sea levels, pollution, desertification, the depletion of fresh water, a global loss of biodiversity. All of it leading to famine and war and mass migrations, a confusion of problems building on each other..."

"I'm sorry," Brier interrupted, "but you're not making much of a case for stopping these people you say you're working to stop."

"What I am describing is terrible, but necessary," the Finnish man said. "On the other side of this man's terrible single term as president, there will be a renewed sense of national unity, a rededication to the American experiment, a fresh sense of comity and purpose."

"Really?" Brier had never trusted utopian rhetoric, and that was what he was hearing.

"Like the frog jumping out of boiling water," the Finnish man said – an analogy Brier had heard, and understood, even if he suspected the story was nothing more than an urban legend. "However, if his presidency never happens... if he's gunned down in 1973, as my opposition intends... then his presidency never sparks that furor and reveals the depth of the rot."

"And so..."

"And that allows America's racial resentments to simmer longer, the anger to grow hotter, the unreason to shred the American soul more deeply. This is what the alternative looks like: They stop this man from becoming president. Things follow the same trajectory they are on now, without an abrupt decline in civility or a sharp increase in overt partisan theatrics. But then, years later, a man called Winfield Kirsch will be elected president. He will not only exploit the politics of grievance, but he, unlike this other man we're talking about, will be competent enough to tip America into viciously efficient fascism virtually overnight. Kirsch will turn Americans against one another for his own benefit, and he will trigger a brutal civil war for his own enrichment... and his own sick amusement."

"That's the future you come from?" Brier asked.

"It's the future I will return to if you refuse to help," the Finnish man said.

"So, it's just your theory," Brier said. "It's a scenario."

"No," the Finnish man said. "It's what will happen."

"You can't know that," Brier argued.

Again, the Finnish man's face was fixed, unreadable... and yet, Brier felt a chill looking at him.

"Do this," the Finnish man said smoothly, "and you will quite literally save the world. Isn't that what the self-important men of your time like to think of as heroism? Saving the world from an existential threat? And yet, how many have ever had the chance?"

Brier frowned. The Finnish guy wanted his help but was also insulting him?

"You will be one of those few, rare men in all of human history upon whom fate and character and personal strength will have converged," the Finnish man continued. "You will be a hero who rescued the entire human race... everyone who will ever live in a future that only you can save."

A feeling gnawed at Brier that he was being sold a bill of goods. But he'd seen the evidence the man had wanted him to see: 9/11, the Boston Marathon bombing. These were all extraordinary claims, but were they really beyond imagining? Already, people speculated that the United States was on its way to a civil war. And, Brier thought, just as the Finnish man was saying, it was over stupid shit like who married whom, or how some stranger worshiped his idea of God.

"Talk about an offer you can't refuse," Brier muttered.

"There are no good choices," the Finnish man said. "Our opponents, the ones seeking to avert future bloodshed by killing this man... they are acting in good faith, but they are wrong. They will only make things worse. That's why the men they are sending from 2015 have to be stopped."

"And you can't intercept them in 2015? Or closer to your own time... twenty years ago, from your point of view?"

"A war in our time cannot be won. Our weapons are too powerful and universally destructive. Any time we fight, it's to a stalemate... and the world only grows worse. That's the very reason they have decided to change the past. The result would be similar if we fought them in 2015: Future weapons in a battle that takes place in the past? Neither the future nor the present can survive such a thing."

"So you're using people from the past in a proxy war?"

"Not really. My opponents are hoping to change the world for the better, end the need for the wars of my time before they even start. They don't believe us when we warn them that they will only create more harm, perhaps the eradication of life on the planet. You are not proxies, but you are the only allies we, or they, can deploy that might actually win the war we're fighting... the war across time. All for the future." Again, a wave of emotion came over the Finnish man's face. He seemed to be fighting back sadness, maybe tears.

Brier watched him, listened to him, and didn't see or hear anything that smacked of falsehood. Whether it was all true was another matter, but at least the Finnish man believed what he was saying.

"Will you help us?" the Finnish man asked.

An impossible story. Outrageous claims. And yet, Brier reflected, equally impossible evidence. He tried to dismiss the Finnish man's story, but he couldn't; he believed it.

But did he have the right to change the past?

Brier thought about 9/11, and about the previous Monday. The dead, the maimed; the scars inflicted on his nation and on his city. More disturbing to him than the idea of terrorism coming to America was seeing how quickly Americans had blamed each other for the evil actions of zealots. America really was a powder keg of rage and resentment; it wasn't at all unthinkable that one politician – one showman, really – with a reckless willingness to strike a match could detonate the country. Such a man could even burn down the whole world.

Brier sighed. He had damaged his credibility with his superiors; he had tarnished himself in the eyes of his fellow officers. If he helped the Finnish man and ended up being a pawn in some hidden scheme, or even if he ended up dead, it could hardly make things worse. His job was his whole life, and he'd be lucky to keep his job at this point.

Or maybe he really was crazy, Brier thought. Or the Finnish man was. In which case, none of this meant anything, except that Brier couldn't change the past or the future. No one could. The only way to know for sure was to agree to help the Finnish man and, hopefully, do some good.

"All right," Brier said.

The Finnish man held out the glossy black device that looked like a smart phone. "Press here, and the device will take you a predetermined place and time in 1973," the Finnish man told him, his fingertip indicating a button on the device's left edge. "You will see the agents soon after you arrive."

"How will I know who they are?"

"We will guide you using the device."

Brier raised his eyebrows.

"We cannot travel that far into the past, but we can establish a link to communicate with you," the Finnish man explained. "Instructions will appear on the screen."

Brier squinted but didn't see a screen. He'd seen other people use smart phones before, but he'd never used one himself. He wasn't entirely sure how to work one.

"The agents from 2015 will appear nearby," the Finnish man told him. "They will look... not like people from 1973, but rather like people from your own time. You will introduce yourself to them as a fellow time traveler with the words 'Privet, lyudi tysyacheletiya.' That means, 'Hello, Millennium Men.' Say it to them in their native Russian if you can, but if not they will understand you in English."

"I say... what to them?"

"The words will appear on the screen, in both Russian and English," the Finnish man said.

"They're Russian?"

"Yes. Our opponents are sending Russian recruits."

"Why?"

"I don't know why, only that they are."

"Wait, now, wait. Is this a Russian plot to kill the pres – the future president?"

"Our opponents have allies in Russia, but the effort to change the future is international. Though it is ironic that Russians are trying to kill this particular man, given that he so adored and worshiped their strongman leader from this time."

Brier stared at the Finnish man in shock, his certainty wavering.

The Finnish man simply continued with his instructions. "The Russians will not trust you at first, but share a few details with them from the messages you get on phone." The Finnish man sighed. "It's an anachronism in 1973, but it's what we have. At least we made this one look like it belongs to your time today."

"Okay," Brier said. "I gain their trust, I follow the prompts I'll be getting... and then what?"

"When the moment is right, press this large button... and hold your breath for thirty seconds."

"Because...?"

"The device will release a small amount of lethal gas. It is colorless, odorless, and quick. It will dissipate and become harmless in just a few seconds, but it will kill the other agents much more quickly than that."

"I'm supposed to kill them??"

The Finnish man looked at him without any change of expression. "This is war," he said. "People die. You get to choose: Will it be Russian agents from the future? Or your own president to be?"

Brier looked at the phone in his hand. "I don't know if I can do this," he said.

"Of course you can," the Finnish man said. "You uphold the law. Aren't you prepared to kill bad guys if you need to?"

"It's a little bit different," Brier said.

"It's really not," the Finnish man said. Then: "Try to maneuver them into a closed space with no one else present. That will improve your chances of success considerably."

Brier supposed that made sense. "And then?"

"Once they go down, they are dead. You don't even need to wait the full thirty seconds for the gas to become inert; you can return at once. Press the button on the right-hand edge to do so."

Brier traced the buttons with his fingertips. "Go back into the past with this one. Kill the bad guys with this one. Return to here and now with this one."

"Correct," the Finnish man nodded.

Brier looked at him. "And when do –"

The Finnish man reached over and pressed the leftmost button on the phone.

***

The world around Brier blinked into another time and place: New York, 1973. The cars driving past on the noisy street were big, made of steel; their lines were distinctly old-fashioned. So were the clothes on the people swarming up the sidewalk. Brier took a step back, then pressed himself against a building. He took several panicked breaths and then opened his eyes, looked up, and saw...

Saw the Twin Towers in the distance, poking up over a cluster of buildings.

Brier looked up and down the street, trying to breathe deeply to calm himself. He almost choked on the air, which was grimy and polluted. He looked down at his feet. He'd been sitting on a bar stool a moment ago, but now, somehow, he found himself standing.

Suddenly, his eye caught on two men. They had thick, dark bears; they wore suits that looked expensive and yet too shiny. Gaudy, almost.

That had to be them, Brier thought. He saw one of the men lift a sleek black device and eye it; they, too, had smart phones. Brier looked down at his own phone.

A green oval shaped like a word balloon had appeared on the glassy black surface: THAT'S THEM.

The balloon scrolled down as another green oval appeared: GO.

A third green oval popped up, with the greeting in Russian.

Brier mouthed the phonetically spelled words several times in a quick whisper, then stepped toward the men. "Hey! Hey, comrades!"

The men looked toward him, startled.

Brier forced a smile. "Welcome to the Big Apple."

The men muttered back and forth in a heavy-sounding language that Brier thought must be Russian. Then one man looked up at him. "You are here to greet us?"

"I am here with some new instructions from the boss men," Brier said. He looked around. Somewhere enclosed, the Finnish man had said. He looked down to see a new message – the name of a hotel. THIRTY SIX FEET BEHIND YOU AND ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE STREET a new green oval said. ROOM 42.

"It's best if we have this conversation in private," Brier said. "The boss got us a room nearby. I'll show you the way."

The Russian men glanced at each other. "The target comes in few minutes," the one who had spoken before said.

"I'll make it quick," Brier said – and he did.

***

There was no way to know if everything the Finnish man had told him was true, or how his own actions in trying to stop changes to the future might have caused new changes. Brier weathered Davis' investigation, bore up under the chill from his colleagues, and eventually worked his way back into everyone's good graces. The process was helped by Davis' retirement and the fact that his replacement – a woman – found him attractive. Not that they ever crossed that line. But there was an undercurrent that they both noticed.

For that matter, she had a way with everyone – a kind of reassuring charm, but also a kind of strength that inspired trust even from some of the men who were initially skeptical about a woman supervisor. She brought a sense of cooperation and teamwork to the room.

It was true, Brier thought, that a good leader could command a convivial atmosphere. A bad leader, conversely, could create the opposite effect. True at work and, he noted, true in the country.

He watched as American society darkened and grew poisonous after the 2016 election. He watched as the new president acted just as the Finnish man had said he would, and as the Republican party's time-honored tenets crumbled to make room for a new ideology of division and strife.

America turned into an ugly place as the next four years dragged by. More than once Brier questioned the wisdom of allowing history to proceed as the Finnish man had said it must. But Brier reminded himself of the other things the Finnish man had told him: How the alternative was even worse. How the shock of this dire, dismal presidency would shake America back to its foundational values, and avoid a civil war. But he was angry all the same to see his country torn at by the smug, self-centered know-nothing in the White House.

Brier watched as domestic terrorists grew bold and reasonable people he'd known for years suddenly turned into die-hard members of a cult of personality centered around America's president. He watched and wept as COVID-19 swept the nation and the president seemed to do everything in his power to ensure that people got sick.. thousands after thousands. And died... thousands after thousands.

This, too, was personal. Dee got sick and recovered. Two of the older guys in the force weren't so lucky. Even after they died, three-quarters of Brier's colleagues still refused to wear masks, or to admit that the virus was real and dangerous. Even Dee, once she got back to work, kept calling COVID-19 a "little flu."

Brier watched as a new president won the 2020 election, as dancing broke out in the streets – and as supporters of the defeated president began trumpeting lies about the election having been stolen.

Still, Brier told himself, he'd made a difference. He'd done his part to save America, and to save democracy.

Then came January 6, 2021 – the date on which Congress was scheduled to certify the electoral college votes, and with them, the incoming president's victory.

Brier watched in disbelief as a mob stormed the U.S. Capitol Building, his fury – which had been temporarily banked – flaring up again, and flaring hotter than ever. He had felt angry and sick for four years, as the president had systematically degraded and destroyed the infrastructure of American democracy. Now, watching the carnage in the capitol, waiting in vain for the outgoing president to finally, finally take a stand for simple decency and call off the mob he'd unleashed, Brier felt his relief slipping away. He came to the conclusion that he'd been lied to. He hadn't stopped a civil war; if anything, such a conflict was now all but guaranteed.

Brier told himself for the thousandth time that if he could do it all over again, he'd shoot the Finnish man dead rather than be suckered by his schemes.

That's when the Finnish man appeared for the final time.

***

It wasn't in public; not in neutral territory like the bar or a T platform. It was in Brier's own living room. Sensing a change in the air, a sudden shift in the light, Brier looked up to see the familiar face – fleshy, pale, framed in black by the overcoat and the hat. Colorless eyes watched Brier. The white, flame-shaped brooch gleamed on the Finnish man's lapel.

Brier felt a spasm of disgust wash through him. The Finnish man, seeing his reaction, held up the little device that looked like an electronic car key.

"Don't worry, I'm not gonna throttle you," Brier said. "I just wish I could – you son of a bitch!"

The Finnish man regarded Brier expressionlessly. Brier was sitting on the couch, which had a better view of the TV screen. The mob was still at the Capitol, assaulting police officers, vandalizing the building, roaming the halls of power as members of Congress cowered.

An armchair stood at an angle near the end of the couch. The Finnish man moved to the armchair and sat down.

"Well?" Brier demanded. He pointed at the TV screen. "Allow that guy to be president and we'd avoid this, you said. But it looks to me like everything you said we would prevent is coming true."

"I argued strenuously to be allowed to come back here and give you closure," the Finnish man said, his eyes never leaving Brier's own. "My future is still a place of ruin and scarcity, and we can barely afford the resources to send people through time unless it's absolutely necessary. But I convinced them that to let you suffer would be cruel – and possibly dangerous for the new time line we've created."

"Time line?" Brier scowled. "Don't give me that 'Star Trek' shit! There's no 'time line!' There's just you... you and him, that goddamn con man! And you and your lies!"

The faintest ghost of a smile crossed the Finnish man's lips. "I promise you, there are many possible futures, many existing worlds. You cannot see those other worlds, but you've helped us steer away from catastrophe."

"Yeah? And how is this shit show not a catastrophe?" Brier pointed again at the television.

"Why, all possible futures proceed from each momentary point in the present," the Finnish man said. "Your present moment is my past; your future is my present. And you're helping us make our time, our own present moment, more hopeful."

"Bullshit!" Brier cried. "You've sealed our fate, and you've used me in order to do it! There's no sudden awakening – there's no dawn of reason!"

The Finnish man said nothing. His expression didn't change.

"What next?" Brier demanded. "Do they set the place on fire? Will it be our own Reichstag moment?"

The Finnish man frowned at the television. Then, the Finnish man met Brier's eyes again and smiled – not a thin wisp of a smile, but a hearty, lively smile. "An apt comparison," the Finnish man said. "This moment will be remembered, reviled, celebrated... you have no idea. Like 9/11, like the bombing of your Boston Marathon, it is a national trauma. But," he added, "like everything else that has come before, it had to happen."

"What, this is gonna set us back on track again?" Brier demanded.

The Finnish man's smile didn't dim in the slightest. "What you're seeing today will make the difference," he said. "No, the Republican party will not break free from the outgoing president's sway. No, elected officials of that party will not exhibit leadership or prudence. They will throw in with him, just as they always have. But the shock to the system will still have an effect."

"They're already talking about restricting voting rights," Brier said. "And after last summer, after the riots and the way the police beat people in the streets... how can you expect me to believe that America will ever find its way back?"

"It will happen. We believe it will," the Finnish man said.

"You believe?"

"Just enough people will demand that the fascist forces subverting America be brought to the curb," the Finnish man said. "We believe that will open a new pathway toward a different future. Without an authoritarian as vulgar and incompetent as the outgoing president, the fascists would probably not have tipped their hand, as they have done today, and ordinary people would never have realized the danger. Yes, you saved a man who brought disaster on the country – but in doing so, you've made possible a longer, brighter future."

Brier shook his head. "It's all gonna happen," he moaned. "Civil war. Dictatorship. America will slide into chaos."

"All things slide into chaos," the Finnish man said. "You cannot avoid civil war. But with effort, civilization can be preserved. Society can be mended. And the world can be saved."

"You keep saying that... how has the world been saved?" Brier stared bitterly at the television's flickering images. A man was beating a police officer with a flag pole. The flag wrapped around the pole sported a swastika.

"In two ways," the Finnish man said. "Most immediately: America has a giant nuclear stockpile. Imagine your next civil war being even worse than it's going to be."

"I can't," Brier said. "I have no idea how bad another civil war would be."

"Terrible," the Finnish man said. "But it could be apocryphal. Is that the right word? For the end of life on Earth? It's no exaggeration. Imagine America using its nuclear arsenal against its own people."

Brier hung his head. He was so, so tired. Berating the Finnish man had taken the last of his energy, and the last of his will. He wondered if he were sleeping. What he was hearing and seeing was a nightmare, he thought. He wished it were true.

"But there's something even worse than that," the Finnish man said.

"Worse?" Brier had closed his eyes. He didn't bother to open them. "How could it be worse?"

"Nuclear devastation would have destroyed a third of continental America. Global chaos would have followed. Authoritarianism and more warfare would have erupted around the globe... hardly the conditions under which to pursue progressive aspirations... even when those aspirations concern the planet's habitability."

Brier tried to make sense of what the Finnish man was telling him.

"Climate change," the man explained.

"Ah, right. So I suppose now we get a 'Green New Deal.' Though I gotta tell you, it's not looking likely."

"Things won't change at once," the Finnish man said. "But ten years from now? Thirty? A century? Things could be better, a lot better. Or, they could be worse. The devastation caused by the world's shifting climate could make America's nuclear wastelands look insignificant. Rising oceans, millions displaced, political turmoil. Hunger, plague, death on a massive scale... a sixth extinction happening not in slow motion, but with the speed of bloody carnage. Constant, ubiquitous war."

"No," Brier whispered.

"That's what the assassins brought us by tampering with history. That was the time I left. Being a time traveler, I can hope to return to a better place, a world transformed."

"I thought you already did."

"No. Over the span of all our meetings, I have never yet returned to my own time."

So... where had he been? How did all this work? Brier waited for an explanation, but he got none.

"At least in the future as it's supposed to be, there's a chance that democracy and reason will return, strong enough to stop the very worst from happening," the Finnish man said, staring directly at the TV screen and its terrifying images.

Brier sighed, raised his head, and looked at the Finnish man.

The man got up from the armchair, smiled down at him, and then lifted his hat from his head. Beneath...

Brier looked away.

Beneath, his scalp had been a mass of scars. Burns, Brier thought. He wondered if the man's face had been somehow reconstructed – if that was what gave him such an unsettling appearance.

"All this talk about stopping America from falling into the abyss," Brier said, his voice almost a whisper. "And you're not even an American. What do you want? Who are you? How can I trust you?"

"You're right, I'm Finnish," the man said. "And the Finns... well, let's just say that World War II made America the world's great power into the 21st century, but it was World War III and all its bloody horror that spurred my country to greatness."

"That doesn't reassure me," Brier said.

"I understand your anger. And I know you feel I misled you. Technically, I never lied, but I let you jump to certain assumptions. However... keep in mind that you live in the present. To me, it's the past. The future can be changed. You can change it in millions of ways too tiny for you to notice. If you decided to change the future in larger ways, you could do it... but you would never know what the outcomes of any of your actions would be. Your most generous efforts could result in tragedy – or your worst impulses could prompt revelation."

"Please knock it off with the poetic shit," Brier said. "I'm one man. An old man now, or at least I feel old. I can't do much of anything."

The Finnish man shook his head. "No, that's not it," he said. "It's worse than that: You must not do anything."

Brier stared at him, anger gone. He was too exhausted to argue. The listlessness he was feeling – he thought he knew its source. "Are you zapping me with your suppressor gadget?"

The Finnish man smiled, and raised a hand. The device that looked like an electronic car key was in his fingers. "I'm afraid you caught on to me," he said.

"Why? I'm not gonna fight you. It's too late for that."

"I'm thanking you," the Finnish man said. "And I'm saving you. In a few weeks you would have found out you have Hodgkin's. In four months, after pain and fear and suffering..." The Finnish man shrugged. "It's better this way."

"Says you." Maybe it was the device. Maybe it was the way his country had gone stark raving mad. Maybe it was living with the mystery of the Finnish man for nearly twenty years. Whatever the reason, Brier got what the Finnish guy was telling him – he was frying Brier's brain, killing him – and he didn't care. "But I've noticed this about you: You have a strange idea of 'saving' people."

The genuine smile came back to the Finnish man's face.

"Is all this shit you're told me really true? No – never mind. I don't really want to know. It doesn't matter." Brier sighed. "I just wish you'd fuck off already."

"In a moment I'll be gone and never come back," the Finnish man told him. "But I wanted you to know a better future really is on the way, no matter how ugly the president moment may seem."

"Yeah, sure," Brier muttered.

The Finnish man hesitated. "Your president... ex-president, soon... was a canary singing a warning in the coal mine. Your country had to hear that warning and take it seriously. So, who will you trust more? The Russians of my time, who sent their men back to 2015, recruited agents from that year to travel to 1973 and assassinate the man that Russia itself hand-picked for the presidency in 2016? Does it make sense to trust a state that brutal and careless of life?"

Brier shrugged listlessly.

"Or will you trust us? The Finns, the heroes of the free world a century and a half from now?"

"Great. Good for you guys. But that really means nothing to me," Brier said. "All I really want to know... all I ever wanted to know... is, who are you? What do you represent? Can you tell the simple truth about that?"

The Finnish man's voice was full of understanding. Maybe he was genuine, Brier thought; he seemed to know exactly what Brier was asking, and why. "Finnish black ops," he said, then reached up to rub his fingertips on the white brooch. "Valkoinen Lilja." The man smiled, raising his other hand, which held a small, shiny device – a miniature version of the futuristic smart phone. A moment later he was gone, but his final words hung in the air:

"White Lily."

Next week our gaze zeroes in on the moment when the human and divine meet for a cup of tea in an oasis of celestial peace. What does The Almighty want with a nice young man like Rick? Find out with "The Fear of God."