The 0.3% Scenario

“Ah, Mr. Macintyre. It is a pleasure to see you again sir,” Mr. Franklin said as he rose from his chair and extended his right hand to me across a small pine table. I quickened my steps to bring myself within reach of his hand being careful not to tip my mug of ale in the process. Franklin gingerly avoided hitting his head against a diagonal support beam that projected from the corner of the pub’s wall to the low ceiling timbers above as he stood. I had seen him do this a few times before as he got up from his favorite seat at the City Pub.

“The pleasure is all mine Mr. Franklin,” I said, clasping his hand in a firm handshake.

“Back from Boston Mr. Macintyre?” Franklin asked, adjusted his spectacles higher up on his stubby nose.

“Yes sir,” I answered, “I accompanied a shipment of merchandise. It’s becoming more difficult to ship goods between the colonies these days.”

“No rest for the businessman I see,” said a man seated to Franklin’s left. I turned my gaze to him and nodded in agreement to his statement. He was a youngish man of about 30 years. His full head of brown hair was pull back neatly into a tight ponytail. He had an air of sophistication and worldly knowledge about him and spoke with the accent of a southern gentleman farmer. I obviously knew who this man was and of his contributions to the soon to be birth of the United States of America, but I had to feign ignorance in order to maintain my cover.

The young man rose as Franklin introduced me to Thomas Jefferson. Jefferson and I exchanged pleasantries as Franklin bade me to join them for a drink. I happily accepted their invitation. I noticed that their mugs were nearly empty and called out to the barkeep for a round. The two gentlemen thanked me with a quick rise of their mugs before they took the first sip.

“So, Mr. Macintyre, how did the city of my birth fare this winter?” asked Franklin anxiously.

“It was a very difficult winter sir,” I replied adopting a serious expression, “The Red Coats have a strangle hold on the colony. After King George refused to entertain the Olive Branch Petition, he proclaimed the colony as rebellious and began a campaign of the most grievous atrocities. The ports are closed and I had to ship my goods o’er land to avoid a catastrophic loss and at great expense.” I had studied the months between my last visit and this intensely in anticipation of such a question.

“The Olive Branch Petition was a foolhardy endeavor,” Jefferson proclaimed. “George is not one for compromise. In his eyes, the colonists are second-class citizens with no more rights than the Negroes on my plantation. He is correct about one thing however, we are rebellious and through rebellion we will win our freedom.”

Jefferson’s eyes were on fire as he spoke. They betrayed his hatred for British rule. The men of his generation had known nothing but oppression at the hands of the King. In Jefferson’s mind the Red Coats were an invading army and the Americas were not a collection of colonies but were sovereign states with the right of self-determination. I began to doubt the variables of our experiment I hoped to conclude today. Jefferson's obvious intelligence and the strength of his convictions made me briefly question my own. However, the calculations were impeccable and the experimental outcome could not be in doubt. Besides, we have gone too far and spent too much of the corporation's money to stop now.

Our conversation became heated as we continued to imbibe the good proprietors ale and feed off each other’s positions. I maintained a conciliatory attitude toward the British in line with my assumed persona as an established Massachusetts elder businessman. However, I was careful to pretend to concur with much of what Jefferson and Franklin said in order to stay in good stead with my companions. Oh course, I completely agreed with the opinions these two heroes of my youth held but I thoroughly enjoyed the debate.

The eyes of the pub’s customers began to turn in our direction as the conversation got verbose. Franklin wisely suggested that we retire to his house just across Chestnut Street to continue our discussions over some good French brandy and Carolina tobacco. Jefferson and I agreed and I offered to pay the bill in keeping with my wealthy businessman façade.

Franklin’s home was empty. His wife of forty-four years had died only two years before of a sudden stroke. It was shortly after her death that I had first met Franklin in the very pub we had just left. He was still in mourning and evidently my kindness and company had endeared me to him. My subsequent travels back to Philadelphia and visits with Franklin have served to reinforce the friendship.

We retired to Franklin’s sitting room and I helped build a fire in the room’s massive fireplace. I felt a bit inept at the art of fire building. There's not much opportunity to become proficient at the skill back home and I hoped my awkwardness didn't appear too obvious. If they did notice, they were too polite to comment, a quality that I fear we have lost over the years. Franklin poured each of us a snifter full of brandy and we settled into the well-padded armchairs that surrounded the now roaring fire.

As the night progressed, we continued to talk of revolution and independence between sips of brandy and draws from our pipes. The hours of argument and alcohol began to take its toll and I began to lose control of my carefully constructed disguise. My upper-class 18th century aristocratic New Englander inflection, that I had spent hours perfecting, began to give way to my homegrown 21st century Boston accent. I observed Franklin and Jefferson share perplexed glances as my persona melted away like a pat of butter on a hot scone.

I could see that the time was approaching to put our plans to work. I had succeeded in getting Franklin and Jefferson alone. The difficult part of our experiment was at hand and with luck I’d be capable of completing it.

“Gentlemen,” I said, doing my best to remain in character for at least the next few minutes, “I am afraid I have a confession to make.”

Jefferson rose to his feet pointing an accusing finger in my direction. “I felt that you were not what you seemed to be sir.” Franklin reached over to Jefferson and patted his arm in an attempt to calm the excitable southern gentleman.

“My deception was not for unscrupulous purposes,” I tried to assure, “If I told you the true nature of my work and why I am here I fear you would not have believed me.” Jefferson yielded to Franklin’s silent request and sat down, his eyes still smoldering like embers in the fireplace. Franklin sat back in his chair and drew a long puff from his pipe.

“Please Mr. Macintyre, tell us of your purpose,” said Franklin as a halo of smoke encircled his head.

“Well in short, I am here as part of a scientific experiment.” Both Franklin and Jefferson sat straight up in their chairs. Their interests in the politics of the day, as powerful an interest that may have been, was second only to the accumulation of scientific understanding. It was partly because of their scientific prowess and their historical influence over the political direction of the day that we chose to use them to test our theory.

“I am a scientist from the 21st century, the year 2068 to be exact. I am in the employ of a company in the Boston area that is working in the field of antigravity propulsion systems for space travel. In the course of our research, we discovered how to send a person back into time.”

My two companions began to laugh out loud until I reached into my vest pocket and presented them with samples of modern U.S. currency. I chose to bring a one, two and one hundred-dollar bill with me through the trans-temporal wormhole. I hoped that seeing familiar faces, such as their own and Washington’s, on currency of obvious advanced technology would help convince them, at least temporarily, to suspend their disbelief. The bills would be of particular interest to Franklin since he was a printer by trade and will be involved with developing currency for his new nation. As they examined my proof, I continued my explanation.

“I am a mathematician participating in a project to determine the feasibility of space-time tourism. My team and I were tasked to solve the problem of the time travel paradox. Before we could unleash the paying public to travel back into time, we needed to understand how small changes in our past could cascade through history to irreparably change our present. Our calculations showed us that the space-time continuum was much more robust than we first suspected. It seems that the course of history is not easily altered by subtle changes by individuals, but by the much more complex interactions of cultures and ideas that evolve from the overall conditions present at any given time. The mathematics suggest that even if an important historical figure were to prematurely die or be otherwise distracted from his current path, another would be there to pick up where he left off, keeping history on course. In other words, the names may change but history would march on largely undisturbed.”

“Poppycock Mr. Macintyre,” Jefferson exclaimed, “even if I were to believe your fantastic story, which I certainly do not sir despite these trinkets you tried to pass as proof, I will not for one moment believe that history is not made and changed by individuals. Why just look at the great men in who have had impact on the conduct of history, Caesar, Alexander the Great, Jesus Christ. Your thesis would seem to suggest that if Jesus did not die on the cross, we would still have the great Christian faiths.”

“Yes sir,” I said with confidence having personally performed the complex calculations surrounding the times of Christ, “Even if Jesus of Nazareth was never born, there is a 98.4% probability that another, with a similar philosophy, would have taken his place as Christ and spawned a Christian religion.”

Jefferson slumped back into his chair, shook his head and took a large gulp of brandy, empting his glass. I got up and collected the three glasses for a refill.

“Mr. Macintyre I must agree with Mr. Jefferson. Your story sounds much too preposterous to be believed on the surface and yet I must say that it is provocative. The thought that one can travel back in time, in the physical sense, bewilders the mind. I for one have never contemplated such a development. Which leads me to ask, if what you say is true, why did you choose this particular time and place to visit?”

Franklin was indeed a great intellect. He was likely the greatest mind of his time. He was able to suspend all of his preconceptions of reality and entertain the possibility of time travel even if it was just for his own intellectual amusement. It was with men and women of such far-reaching vision and intelligence that the probability of paradox was greatest. People like Franklin, Einstein, Newton and Archimedes were so far beyond the curve that their absence could cause irreparable changes to history. That is why my team will propose to ban the travel of the ordinary visiter to theirs and others of like intellects’ space-time coordinates.

Franklin continued, not waiting for me to answer his question. “You mentioned an experiment. You likely would have to prove your calculations with some empirical test. Are Mr. Jefferson and I the subject of this test of yours? ”

I froze from the poignancy of the question Franklin posed. He was more perceptive than I had anticipated. I served my two comrades their brandy and turned to the fireplace. I stabbed at the burning logs with a fire poker to stimulate the smoldering fire into a second life while trying to formulate an answer to Franklin’s question, one that would not provoke justifiable anger. No, they deserved to know the truth.

“Your speculations are correct Mr. Franklin,” I said calmly, “We are conducting what we call a multi-variable experiment. There are two possible scenarios that could cause a paradox. One is if a person of considerable intellect from the past receives a glimpse of the future from a time traveling visitor and the other…”

“The other is the untimely death of a person of renown.” Jefferson remarked, finishing my sentence for me.

I looked at Jefferson amazed at his apparent grasp of situation. Did he realize he was the subject marked for that second variable?

“Not just any person but one who accomplished, or would have accomplished, something of historical significance. In my future you, Mr. Jefferson, were widely credited with authorship of the Declaration of Independence. Your document inspired the colonists to continue the fight for independence. As the new nation’s third president, you doubled the size of the country with a single land purchase from France and set a course for territorial expansion that did not end until early in the 20th century. Our calculations state that there is a 99.7% probability that all that will still happen despite your absence.”

“This is outrageous!” Franklin yelled as he stood to face me, “You cannot be suggesting that you plan to take the life my good friend Thomas! I will try to stop you with all the strength I have left in this old body.”

“I’m sorry Mr. Franklin but our calculations found that this scenario was the safest to test.”

“Damn your calculations, sir. I will not let you succeed,” Franklin proclaimed as he stepped toward me with his cane in the ready to strike me down.

“But it is done Mr. Franklin,” I said as I gestured toward Jefferson with my right hand. Franklin slowly turned around and beheld Jefferson slumped in his chair just as his brandy glass slipped from his loosened grip and fell to the floor.

I engaged the return signal on the trans-temporal communication device embedded in my left arm as Franklin knelt down to see to his now dead friend. Within microseconds, I was transported back to my original space-time coordinates at the Temporal Research Institute in Bangalore, India.

I arrived back at the lab within seconds of my departure time. The toxin I put into Jefferson’s brandy was designed to be lethal but painless. I was sick to my stomach over what I had done, but that would pass as soon as I am able to check the results.

“Welcome back Dr. Subramanyam. Were you able to complete the experiment?” one of the techs asked as I stepped off the transport platform.

“Yes Raj, I did what I had to do. Now, I would like the get out of this corset before I pass out. I don’t know how the women of the 18th century survived all day in these things.”

Just as the calculations had predicted, there were no significant changes to the history of the Americas. The “Declaration of Independence” was published on July 15th 1776 and Ben Franklin was credited with authorship. He then retired from the public scene shortly thereafter, just as was written in the history books I read as a young girl. The British and the colonists negotiated for peace in Philadelphia in 1778 with the help of Franklin and May 28th has been celebrated ever since in the Commonwealth of the Americas as Reconciliation Day. The Louisiana Territory was added to the Commonwealth in 1815 after the British Empire defeated Napoleon’s army in the battle of Waterloo and thus began the worldwide domination of the Empire of Great Britain. Jefferson’s memory has been relegated as a minor character in the American Rebellion and traitor to the Empire.



The experiment was a success, however, I couldn’t get over the feeling that all was not what it appeared to be. Jefferson was destined for greatness otherwise he would not have been the subject of our experiment. However, my recollection of his positions during our conversation put him square in the ranks of the rebellion. Perhaps, if he lived, he would have eventually sided with King and Country. That was the only explanation. My thoughts were distracted as my team entered my office brandishing a bottle of champagne and plastic cups. The cork was popped amid cheers of self-congratulations. When all the cups were full, we raised our glasses in salute to our success and I recited the toast. “Here’s to our success and may we have many more. God save King William.”