David sighed, and pinched the spot between his eyes. "So if I were to try to prevent myself from going skiing three years ago, I could destroy the universe? How could my ski trip possibly be that important, Professor Larkins?"
Professor Larkins smiled, causing his grey moustache to twitch. "It's not the importance of the event. It's that you are directly changing the past. It's never been done, so we have no idea what the consequences might be."
The young university graduate sighed again. "I know it's never been done, you just finished the device yesterday. We've only tested it on a short trip to the future."
"Exactly. The technology is brand new, and likely has dangers we haven't even considered yet. Believe me, the chance to avoid a broken leg simply isn't worth the risk."
David snorted. "Speak for yourself. It still hurts sometimes!"
Professor Larkins straightened in his plush chair, and pushed his glasses further up his nose. "I am speaking for myself. I for one would like to live."
David drummed his fingers on the smooth oak desk. "You're serious, aren't you?"
"I've never been more serious. If we aren't careful, this device could potentially wipe out the past, present, and future of what we call reality."
David sucked in a breath. "Maybe we should just destroy it. I mean, it has the potential to do so much good. It's the biggest advancement in the history of our species. But if it's probably going to destroy everything, it's not worth the risk."
Professor Larkins folded his hands, and closed his eyes. "Don't you think I've debated the ethics of my research, over and over? If I didn't think I could prevent the worst, I never would have proceeded."
David ran his hands through his hair, then smoothed it. "How can you prevent anything? Once the technology is in the hands of others, they'll do as they wish. You'll have no say whatsoever."
Professor Larkins chuckled softly, his eyes still closed. "That's why only two people in this world know about the C-Ball. You and I. And that's exactly how I planned it."
David stood, his eyes wide. "You mean we're not going to tell the scientific community? We have obligations..."
Professor Larkins opened his eyes, his gaze calm and focused. "Our main obligation is to protect the world. We already know humanity isn't ready for this responsibility. Maybe we never will be..."
David took several deep breaths, then sat again. "Obviously you know you can trust yourself. But why me?"
Professor Larkins pulled out a small, laminated, black and white newspaper article with a picture. "Because of what you did almost four years ago, right before that ski trip you so badly want to avoid."
David leaned forward, trying to see the picture. Professor Larkins pulled it back.
"Surely you remember, David. It's probably one of the most important things you've ever done in your life."
David scrunched up his face. "I don't think I did anything different or special that year."
Professor Larkins looked at him for a few seconds, then handed him the picture. "The newspaper reporter who covered the story would beg to differ. So would I."
"Oh! I was just doing my job. I'd been with the fire department for a couple of years when that happened."
The older man smiled, and shook his head. "You're a volunteer firefighter. That's not a job, it's a service to the community. And I highly doubt just anyone would have gone into that inferno to get a senior citizen out. You saved her life."
"It was the right thing," David replied, as if no further explanation was necessary.
Professor Larkins nodded. "I watched you after that. And looked into your past too. You didn't seem to think anything of it, it's just a part of who you are. I was in need of an assistant who was not only brilliant, but also willing to put the right thing above everything. Nobody else even came close."
David grinned, and handed the picture back.
Professor Larkins grinned back, and leaned forward. "How about we see what things are like in a couple of hundred years?"
The two men entered a small lab adjoining the office. Seconds later, green swirling lights filled the room, which was suddenly empty.
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