Ryan Time

by Craig Robertson

“Is that a question? One directed to me? Because, if it is, I'd be forced to say that I don't know. That, most likely, is a result of you not telling me you were risking death, and possibly regional annihilation, to acquire that dubious food treat.” Right foot, began tapping, impatiently.

  “Say, funny story. I met this guy who was just as nuts about Pronto Pups as I am.”

  “Somehow, I find that hard to swallow. Almost as hard to swallow as those Disgusting Dogs. Another grown man as intoxicated by a corndog?”

  “Small world, eh?”

  Bitter silence was all I got in return.

  “So, anywho, Tank—that's his name—turned out to be a real peach. I left him with a comm-pod. I told him that if he ever really needed help, he could, you know, call me.”

  Deepening, bitter silence.

  “Now, I told him that time travel is very dangerous, and only to call if, like, it was seriously serious. And he's called. So it's seriously serious, you know,” I gestured over a shoulder with both hands, “back in the past.”

  “Al,” she called out angrily, “how many times has this strainer full of diarrhea gone to Earth's past to eat crap?”

  “I'm afraid that depends on how you count the trips.”

  She pointed to one ear. “That is not music to my ears, is it, Al?”

  “That would be most unlikely. He's a fool. They rarely appreciate being outed, as such.”

  “You know I'm right here, that I can hear you?”

  “I know I am. That's gravy, to me,” chortled Al. Yeah, kick a guy when he's down.

  “Please list all time travel associated with food,” Sapale said like a thunder cloud about to let loose, “this tool has taken.”

  “Well, he made us take him back, the time he's referencing. He also made us take him, and his date, back half a century, more, to do a comparative taste test. Then, of course we had to drop Tank off, the morning after, and, finally, return here. That's four ill-advised jaunts, in one.”

  “Jon, this is a rhetorical question, but, how could you risk so much on such an osteocephalic excursion? I know that, in your head, it all makes sense. But, in normal people's heads, it's just a lunatic with a time ship.”

  “If I said I was sorry, would that help?”

  “No, but thanks for the offer. No, you see, you can't apologize to the local space-time continuum you might have destroyed. It's a force of nature, and wouldn't appreciate the words. Then there's the fact that you wouldn't mean it, but were just saying it to have me be less irate with you.”

  “So, it wouldn't help? I can skip over that step in my rehabilitation?”

  “There will be no salvation for you, dreamer. You've crossed a line, screwed one too many pooches, a bridge too far. I have half a mind to take your vortex away.”

  “You're going to ground me?”

  “I'm thinking about it, yes.”

  “Honey, no one got hurt. And, there's a crisis in the twenty-first century. I can't help the nice people of Earth's past if I don't have a vortex.”

  “I'm aware of that. I would probably be doing them a favor.”

  I pointed at her with sudden excitement. “Hey, let's go ask them.”

  “The people of Earth's distant past?”

  “Sure, why not?”

  “Well, maybe. On one condition.”

  “Anything.”

  “You tell me how we can ask all the people of Earth's past.”

  “Well, we can't, in a practical sense. But we can start with Tank.”

  “And he's the leader of Earth?”

  “Well, no. There is no head of Earth.”

  “No, just a pronto-pup-loving guy.”

  “It's not his fault he's enthralled by the best food, ever.”

  “Or, it's that he's a nut job, like you.”

  Crapazoid. I was backing into a corner, here.

  “You know we have to answer his call.” I tried to sound resolute.

  “Jon, have you thought this through? The answer, by the way, is no, you have not. What if the Tankmeister is calling you to say Earth is about to be struck by Jupiter?”

  Oh, my. She had herself a point there. I couldn't very well go back in time to help Earth avoid death by Jupiter, since, if I did, it would invalidate my reason for leaving, as I did, and doing all the many things I did, which included meeting Sapale. We found out in 2056 that Earth would be taken out in 2153. My comm-pod contained no information on when it was triggered. Clearly, if the call was sent out before 2056, there was a new crisis. But, wait, that made zero sense. There was no existential crisis before that ultimate challenge. So, either Tank wanted help with Jupiter, which I could not and would not do, or he was summoning me for no really adequate reason. I was just about to dismiss and ignore the call. But, at the last moment, realizing what damage I'd take if I admitted to my wife she was right, I came up with an alternate plan.

  “Let's run this by Doc.”

  She frowned, profoundly. “You're adding insensitive to the lame and idiotic you've already claimed ownership over?”

  “It's a quick question. He'd probably enjoy a short, thought provoking mental exercise.”

  “You are such a guy.”

  “True. Let's go now. It's still early.”

  Sapale shook her head a while, then slowly turned and walked past me, toward Stingray's portal.

  A weary-eyed Toño opened the door to the small cottage. Daleria had the dwindles. After Clein, her godly power source, was destroyed, she blended seamlessly into a happy, healthy mortal life. Doc and she had lived together for these many years, the very picture of marital bliss, minus the wedding. Not that he hadn't asked her, on several occasion, to tie the knot. She just couldn't get her head around the why of it. The ancient gods had no equivalent institution. Plus, she asked, nicely, but repeatedly, what the value of marriage would be. She didn't need medical and dental coverage, or access to his retirement package. They sure as heck were never going to have kids, to whom their being married might possibly matter. So, in sin they lived, happy as two clams in one shell. But, over the last year or so, she was definitely fading. That's why my brood's-mate had been reluctant to bother him. Seeing how drawn he looked almost made me feel some regret. Almost enough to abort the visit.

  “Ah, my friends. Nice to see you.” He stepped aside. “Won't you come in?”

  We shuffled in, reverently.

  “How's Daleria doing, today?” inquired my wife.

  He sighed heavily. “Well, I suppose. No signs of any improvement, though, I'm afraid.”

  “Well, hang in there and let us know if we can help,” she responded, resting a palm on the back of his hand.

  “We'll keep this short,” I promised. I explained, in a more streamline fashion, the set of events that brought us to his doorstep.

  Toño sucked at his lips when I was done. He was pondering the implications. Finally, he was ready to speak. “As you have said, you cannot aid your friend if it has to do with the Jupiter affair. But, it is possible there is some new crisis we did not experience.”

  “You mean that we didn't know about, right?” I clarified.

  “No, I mean no such thing. There was no serious threat we were unaware of. I, for one, would not have missed one. Also, given the passage of time, if there were one, it would have become painfully obvious. No, I'm referring to a new problem.”

  “But, Doc, that's crazy talk. How can there be a new crisis in the past?”

  His eyes fluttered. “Any number of ways, actually. For one, there could be a new disturbance in time.”

  “A new disturbance, two billion years ago?”

  He looked at me sternly. “Precisely.”

  “But, it'd be a two billion year old disturbance, not one from last week.”

  “Correct. A new change, last week, two billion years ago.”

  I was super-sized stupefied. “Are you toying with my mind, Doc?”

  “Quite likely, but not by choice. If nothing else, take it on faith such a thing ca
n happen.”

  My frown flopped over into a big old smile. “Well, then we'll just have to go find out, won't we?”

  “Fine, as long as we does not include me,” he responded.

  I knew without asking why. It sucked, but if I was him, I'd stay with Daleria, too. No matter what the crisis was, he had earned the right to care for her. Many times over, in fact.

  “We understand, Doc.”

  That got me a stare from my wife. “Who's we? You and me? I never signed on.”

  “Sure you did, hon. For better and worse.” I patted her thigh.

  “Better or worse, but not for stupid. I read the fine print.”

  “Come on. It'll be fun,” I encouraged.

  “Assuming your hot dog pal isn't simply an undifferentiated psychotic, and there is a horrific crisis, how is another one of those even remotely associated with fun?”

  She had me there, again. But, I might be down, but, dude, I'm never out. “You're two hundred percent correct. We're forced to go back and find out. Man, you're a smart cookie.”

  Such a look. A wife should never give one like that to her soulmate.

  “We can take Cragforel,” I exclaimed.

  “No, you cannot,” Toño quickly corrected me.

  “How do you figure?”

  “He's Deavoriath.”

  “I sort of knew that. Three arms, three legs. Used to control the galaxy.”

  “Yes. And what were the Deavoriath doing two billon years ago?”

  “Um, let me see. I think they were still pretty much running the galaxy, back then.”

  “It would likely be in the middle of their Umg Dynasty. Possible the early Ventorth Reconciliation.”

  “Wow,” I marveled, “great Jeopardy information, Doc.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Back then, the Deavoriath were fierce warriors. They were also bound by an inflexible moral and social code of conduct.”

  I nodded my head. “Sounds like them.”

  “If Cragforel appeared back then, he'd be obliged to join his people in battle, not help you run down hot dog dude, whether he liked it, or not.”

  “Tank. Please, Doc, his name's Tank.”

  “Ah. So much more reassuring then HDD.”

  I turned to Sapale. “Well, looks like it's just the two of us, dear. It'll be like a second honeymoon. Just you and me.”

  “And the destruction of reality. Don't forget the horrendous crisis.”

  “Right. A second honeymoon, but with purpose.”

  She rested her face in her palms. “You're such a guy.”

  Yeah. I was.

  NINE

  Staring out at the attendees, Tank's negative impression of this idea was doubly reinforced.

  “I'm not so sure this was a good idea,” he confessed to Sachiko.

  “I have no problem with that,” she replied with snark. “Your plan was to call Future Boy. Mine is to call a press conference. I dare you to say yours is superior to mine.”

  “Well, it is.”

  She raised a finger in a pissy manner. “Only if he's not your imaginary friend. In that case, which is much most likely, he is a delusion. At least my plan has a small chance of success.”

  Tank gestured to the conference room. “Yeah, a very small chance. We waited ten extra minutes, and look at this crowd. The aliens are coming to kill us, and we get three reporters, one of whom is from the campus newspaper no one reads?”

  “Word'll spread fast. You'll see.” She cleared her throat. “Ah, people,” she said loudly, “let's get started so you can get the stories on tonight's news cycle, shall we?”

  The campus reporter pointed to his chest. “Are you talking to me? I don't have a deadline.”

  “Just a general remark, son,” clarified Tank, with some disgust in his tone.

  “I think we're set,” declared a plump, middle age woman in a low slung dress, who'd purchased, somewhere along the line, really big implants, “Oh, by the way, Dr. Sherman, I'm Gladys Benchormer, Channel 7, Action News.”

  “At least we got one star,” Tank whispered with his hand over the mike.

  Sachiko shook her head, slowly.

  “Okay, why don't I begin with a short prepared statement, then you guys can start with the questions.”

  Carol said something to her cameraman, then sat down.

  “We are pleased to announce tonight a discovery we have made that will fundamentally change the lives of everyone on planet Earth. What we're announcing is unprecedented in humankind's long history.”

  “Excuse me, Gladys Benchormer, Channel 7, Action News, here. Is this a follow up to Dr. Noami Stoltzfus's report of some kind of missing time?”

  “No. She didn't discover that, we did. But, in any case, this is much bigger,” responded Tank. “What—”

  “Dr. Sherman, Gladys Benchormer, Channel 7, Action News, here. Are you claiming your announcement comes even close to matching the historic proportions of Dr. Stoltzfus's contribution to human knowledge?”

  “Er, if I could read this, I think you'll—”

  “Gladys Benchormer, Channel 7 Action News, here. I want to get this straight. You're not claiming she plagiarized your work, are you?”

  “No. Well yes, but that's not the important news we have called you here to discuss.” He shook the papers he held aloft. “This is big. Really big.” He looked at Gladys, awaiting her next rude interruption. None came. “So what we have discovered is a systematic pattern of artificial defects in the galaxies in our local group. These defects suggest strongly the agent or agents responsible have acted with intent. We further suspect that the agent or agents—”

  “Dr. Sherman, Gladys Benchormer, Channel 7, Action News, here.” She snatched a glance at her Rolex. “I need to cover a local color piece before five. Can I get one quick quote and then I'll need to slip—”

  “The aliens are coming to eat us,” Sachiko said, leaning in close to the microphone.

  Carol's face hardened. “I don't have time to sit here and be insulted.”

  “You're standing, Gladys Benchwarmer, Channel 7, Action News, there,” she shot back.

  “Hank, cut. We are so out of here.”

  “I'm not sure that was productive,” whispered Tank, sideways.

  “Maybe not, but it sure was fun.”

  They bumped fists.

  As Gladys and Hank stormed out of the room, the other professional reporter, who was from the local paper, raised his hand. “Would these aliens be green?”

  “We're not sure yet, Bob. They might be,” Sachiko replied in a monotone.

  “My name's Val, not Bob.”

  “It won't be after the aliens get here. They'll call us all Bob, and make us wear tutus. Pink for girls, black for boys. That'll be the way it is 'till they eat you.” She kept with that annoying monotone because it was so cool.

  “No more answers for you,” Tank snapped and he yanked her mike away. The feedback was deafening.

  “So are we done?” asked Val.

  “Oh yes,” Sachiko said in an even lower voice. “We are most definitely done here, Bob.” Damn, it would have sounded better if she'd had that microphone back.

  The last two reporters stormed out.

  After the debacle of a news conference, Tank and Sachiko headed back to his office. He said it was to lick their wounds and try to come up with an actual plan. Tank unlocked the door, and stood to one side to allow Sachiko to enter first. It took him a few seconds to realize she hadn't budged. He looked back to her.

  She gestured forward. “No way I'm going in there first.” There was a concerned expression on her face.

  Tank peered around the door. A man sat behind his desk, booted feet on the desk. Immediately to his right sat … an almost woman with four eyes.

  *********

  When we arrived near the location where the entangled pod had gone off, we left the vortex in a safe place and proceeded to the exact location where it had been crushed. We found a currently empty office. However, I had
specifically told Tank not to leave the location for long, so I made a circuit of the office. When I arrived at the large, professorial desk, I pulled out the chair and sat down. My boots looked good on the polished wood surface. Sapale just rolled her eyes and continued to walk around the office, checking the books and astronomical models on the shelves.

  After only a few minutes, we heard voices and footsteps approaching in the hall. The door opened, and a young woman stood staring into the office. Then, a man's face peeked around the door.

  “Jon Ryan,” Tank shouted. “As I live and breathe.” Tank rushed around the desk to greet me.

  I popped to my feet.

  He extended an hand.

  “The hell with that, big guy,” I scoffed. I wrapped him in a bear hug, lifting him off his feet. He hugged me back, as enthusiastically.

  “You look good for, what, two billion,” he remarked.

  I smoothed my palms across my stomach. “I try to stay in shape.”

  “And this must be Sapale,” he offered her a hand, and she accepted it.

  “Please to meet you,” she said unconvincingly.

  “He talked so much about you,” Tank told her. “I feel like I know you, already.”

  “Let me guess. He talked about how much hurt I was going to levy on his bony ass, right?”

  “No,” Tank said dismissively. “He just couldn't stop talking about what a wonderful wife you were and how lovely you were … are.”

  Sapale looked to Sachiko. “If this one's yours, honey, I got bad news for you. You're in trouble. Trust me. I got one of my own, and it isn't pretty.” She thumbed in my direction, over her shoulder.

  “No, no. Tank and I work together. That's as much as I can handle. His wife, Daisy, she's the one who drew the short straw,” Sachiko stated emphatically.

  “I like this one, already,” Sapale commented to me.

  “Are you an … an alien, Sapale?” queried a vexed Sachiko.

  “No. You are,” replied my wife.

  “You believe me now, kiddo?” Tank gloated.

  “I guess I have to, just a little.”

  “Come on, everybody. Sit, sit,” Tank insisted. “Can I get anyone anything?”

  “Nah, we're good,” I responded.

  Everybody grabbed a seat. I even let Tank have his, behind his desk. I'm just that magnanimous a person.