“Hmm. That’s actually a really good idea. You don’t happen to know anybody with a camera do you?”
Mym grins and steps to my side of the crate. She holds her camera to her eye and takes her time adjusting the lens. Her hands are steady. Finally she clicks the shutter and holds the camera away from her face to see the image on the back of the digital display. The camera looks very similar to the ASP time traveling camera Dr. Quickly taught me to use in 1986.
“Did you get a good one?”
“Yeah.”
“Here, I’ll let you shoot the other sides.” I hold the clock at different angles while she takes more photos. When we’re done, she checks the images.
“Do you want me to print them out for you?”
“Can you do that here?”
“Yes.” Mym smiles.
That smile hasn’t changed. Still enchanting, even at eight.
She disappears into one of the camp tents. About fifteen minutes later, she reemerges with six small photos of the different angles of the clock. By now I’ve got most of the clock in pieces.
“These turned out great,” I say as I examine her shots.
“That one is fuzzy on the edge.” She points to a corner.
“Wouldn’t have noticed if you hadn’t pointed it out. You’re a pretty great photo journalist.”
Mym nods slowly, acknowledging this to be true, then plants herself in the camp chair opposite me. “How did you get here? Did I bring you?”
“Were you wishing real hard for a whosie-whatsit locator?”
Mym shakes her head. “No. I saw me. Down by the river.”
“Oh.” I consider what that might mean. Is Mym going to be upset that her younger self saw her? “Did you talk to . . . you?”
“No. I just looked.” Mym fiddles with a leaf. “I’ve met me before, from when I’m older, but Dad says it’s not good to interact with yourself very much. He says ‘creating temporal paradoxes is universally irresponsible.’”
“Well, he probably knows best.”
She drops the leaf. “I looked sad. Why was I sad?”
“I don’t know. I’m hoping it’s not for too long, though. Hey, you want to get a shot of this thing all in pieces so I can prove to Abraham that I had it apart? Don’t want him to think I was cheating when I get it back together.”
Mym nods and hops up to take some more photos.
My fear of Abraham not knowing I had it apart proves unfounded, as when he returns an hour later, I’m still not finished reassembling it. When he looks over my shoulder at my progress, I’m still trying to match up pieces. “These two gears look almost identical, but I can’t figure out which one goes where.” I finger the two troublesome parts in my palm.
“Looks like you had some assistance.” Abraham picks up one of Mym’s photos and examines it.
“Yeah.” I wonder if he’s going to be upset that I had help, but his smile is reassuring. “A second set of eyes is always a good idea. So is very careful examination.” He nods toward my hand. I hold the two gears up close to my face. On closer inspection, I notice one has a small spacer under the gear that the other one lacks.
“Oh. That makes sense why it wasn’t fitting.” I slide the gear into place and set it with a lock pin.
“Attention to detail is essential in clock work,” Abraham says.
Abraham and Dr. Quickly set about preparing some food for dinner as I continue my assignment. Mym helps her dad stoke a fire and chop an onion. I try to concentrate on my task but am soon distracted by the smell of sizzling meat and vegetables. Mym prods the frying pan with a long wooden spoon. She catches my eye and gives me a shy smile.
My mouth is watering when Abraham walks over to me with a steaming plate in his hands. “Oh, thanks, that smells amazing.”
“Hmm?” Abraham raises an eyebrow. “Oh, no. This one is for me.” He picks up a dripping piece of shredded beef with his fingertips and puts it in his mouth. “Dinner is only for folks who have finished their chores. Isn’t that right, Mym?”
“Whoa, seriously?” I look over to Quickly and Mym seated on the other side of the fire. Mym pauses in chewing her mouthful of veggies and shrugs. “Dude, that’s cold.”
“Actually it’s really hot and delicious.” Abraham licks his fingers. “Might still be that way, if you hurry up.” He savors his next bite with a little more gusto than I think is necessary and goes to join the others.
I grumble internally for a few minutes, but once I concentrate on the clock, the last few parts go back on without much trouble. I double-check Mym’s photos one last time before reinstalling the back cover. I turn the key and feel a wave of relief as the ticking begins. Rising from my crate, I cross to the other side of the fire where the others have made a table out of the other gear. Abraham leans back in his chair and extends a hand. I relinquish the clock, feeling like I’m in grade school, handing in arithmetic homework.
Abraham holds the clock to his ear momentarily, then examines the outside of the housing. “Not bad. Clock works. Now for the real test.” He flips the alarm lever and turns the setting knob. He sets the clock on the table between us. “A minute ought to do it.”
Abraham and Dr. Quickly resume eating, but Mym has stalled, and looks from the clock to my face in curiosity. I’m left standing awkwardly at attention, watching the slow progress of the second hand. I inadvertently begin counting the seconds, going over the clock parts in my mind. Did I get that alarm stop reinstalled the right direction? Time seems to have slowed as the second hand creeps onward. My eyes are glued to the clock face as it ticks the last five seconds. Three, two, one… A clunk issues from the clock. Then silence. My heart sinks. Abraham glances up and raises an eyebrow. He fixes me with a disappointed glare.
Shit. What did I forg—
The bells erupt into a raucous cacophony of sound. It’s accompanied by Abraham and Dr. Quickly’s laughter.
“You should have seen your face,” Abraham points at me and releases a jovial belly laugh that shakes his whole torso.
Dr. Quickly is chuckling, too. “The ’68 Penguin always has a delay on the bell hammer.”
Abraham is still laughing gleefully. He gives a sudden snort as he doubles over. Mym is grinning, too, though I suspect it’s just from watching Abraham’s mirth.
Clock maker practical jokes. Now I’ve seen it all. I smile in spite of myself. The big man’s continuing laughter is contagious.
Dr. Quickly hands me a plate. “Sit. Eat.”
Abraham finally settles down but has to wipe tears from his eyes between his still intermittent chuckles.
The camp food tastes like the best thing I’ve ever eaten. I mow through the juicy beef shreds and grilled corn in a matter of minutes. I try to take my time with the other vegetables, but find it challenging.
“So what are you guys looking for in that stream?” I pause between bites to get the question out.
Dr. Quickly leans back in his chair and works a toothpick through his teeth. “Evidence. We think we might be onto some naturally occurring forms of gravitite particles. There have been suggestions of naturally occurring wormholes that could exist in various parts of the universe. This site is one of our more promising locations on the planet.”
“That’s cool.”
“Very cool,” Dr. Quickly replies. “Nature constantly presents us with new surprises. Somewhere in these mountains, we suspect there may have been some kind of temporal anomaly. We’re slowly homing in on it.”
“You do this sort of thing often?”
“We’re discovering an entirely new area of science, it’s hard not to be consumed with the sheer excitement of it all.”
“You’re a time traveler, though. Couldn’t you just jump forward to a time when all of this has already been discovered?”
“That’s the exciting part. I’m the one discovering it, so in order to reach those future timestreams, at some point I have to get down to the nitty gritty of actual discovery. I love it, so I wouldn’t h
ave it any other way.”
“And you get to raise your daughter in a jungle, so I guess that’s a perk.” I smile at Mym. “Speaking of your daughter . . .”
“I know what you’re going to ask. You’ll just have to be patient. She’ll be back.”
We clean up the remnants of dinner, and Abraham points me back to my crate. He sets a lantern and a chronometer in front of me. Next, he hands me a magnifying lens of the type you wear in your eye. “Here. You’ll need a loupe and some of the precision tools for this.”
“Now?”
“Tempus Fugit, Benjamin. And the hour of our death draws nearer with each ticking second.”
“Well gee, if you’re going to put it so cheerfully . . .”
Abraham smiles. “Ignoring reality does not make it any less persistent. And you’ve got work to do.”
“Fair enough.” I seat the magnifying loupe in my eye, pick up the tools, and set to work.
5
“Gravitites are particles that exist free of time. Once they become a part of you, time is forced to release its hold on your destiny. What you do with that freedom is up to you. Try to show some originality. ”–Journal of Dr. Harold Quickly, 1885
The stars are out, and the jungle is pulsing with the sounds of mating insects, but my world has shrunk to the confines of the lantern light. Abraham guides me through the components of the chronometer, step-by-step. The gears and movements are microscopic compared to the alarm clock, but I do my best to keep up with Abe’s descriptions.
“ . . . and the color of the diodes is another good indicator of the capabilities of the main capacitor.” I scribble occasional notes and drawings on a blank page of Quickly’s journal. I’ve noticed Dr. Quickly casting occasional glances at the book. I can’t fault his curiosity, considering that it holds entries from a future version of him, events he has yet to experience. I imagine there is a less complete edition of the journal somewhere among his belongings in the camp. I admire his composure. I’m not sure I would be able to resist knowing my own future.
Dr. Quickly instead exerts his energy toward prompting his daughter to bed.
“But Dad, I’m not tired!” Mym casts furtive glances my way, perhaps hoping for a champion to defend later bed times. “You let me stay up for the meteor shower!”
“There are no meteors tonight, Mym. No more stalling. You can say goodnight to Mr. Abraham and Mr. Benjamin if you like.”
Mym walks over to our makeshift table and hugs Abraham, “Goodnight, Mr. Abraham.”
“Good night, child.” Abraham pats Mym’s back with affection. She pauses in front of me, seemingly unsure of how to proceed.
“Goodnight, Mym.” I extend my hand. “It was a pleasure to meet you.”
She shakes my hand lightly. “Nice to meet you, too.” She smiles and flees for her tent. Dr. Quickly follows to make sure she’s settled.
“Good kid. Easy to see why she turned out so well.”
Abraham nods. “There has never been a time I haven’t enjoyed her company.”
When Dr. Quickly reemerges from Mym’s tent, he retrieves a flashlight from the table and walks to the edge of the camp. I observe with curiosity as he flashes the light to the west in three long bursts, followed by one long, one short, and a final long. Thirty seconds later, the older Mym emerges from the tree line.
Abraham is still instructing me, so I try to pay attention, but I sneak peeks at Mym as she gets closer. What was she doing this whole time? Is she really that mad?
“ . . . and don’t forget to double-check the wiring diagram after each component installation. You can’t change the overlap pattern.”
Mym only looks at me briefly as she passes by. Our eyes meet momentarily, and I wave, but her closed-lipped smile barely registers on her face, never showing in her eyes. Damn. I’m worse off than I thought.
Mym joins Dr. Quickly on the other side of the dwindling fire, keeping their conversation inaudible from my position. I focus on my chore at hand.
“Get that all back together and then you can try it,” Abraham says.
“Whoa, try it? On myself?”
“You have to have confidence in your own work if you’re going to do this regularly. I do sometimes perform my initial prototype tests on the lab animals, but only the new designs. I didn’t bring any along in any case. I suppose you could try to capture a squirrel . . .”
“Will you at least look it over for me, before I put the back on?”
Abraham smiles. “I have been, Benjamin. But yes, I’ll check it again. Like I said before, another pair of eyes is always a good idea.”
Abraham surveys the results of my tinkering with his magnifying glass, then hands it back to me. “Your work shows promise. You’ll have to visit my shop in Berne sometime. You’d like getting to work on some of the new models.” I nod and accept the chronometer, then start reassembling the back.
“Do you make a lot of them?”
“Just what we need, for the most part. Sometimes I do special orders for people, but it’s a selective process. Can’t be giving out chronometers to just anyone.”
When I finish my assembly, I slip the chronometer back onto my left wrist and flex it. It’s still a little sore, but feels better. I latch the band with the new lock mechanism Abraham has helped me install, and tug on it to make sure it’s secure.
“Why don’t you take a quick hop, and test it out.” Abraham gestures toward the coffee can on the crate next to us. “Couple seconds or so.”
My heart begins to beat faster, but I get up and take a position near the can. I set my chronometer for a three second jump and glance over to where Mym and Dr. Quickly are sitting. They are facing away from us, unmindful of our activities. No worries guys, might accidentally be fusing myself into the center of the earth over here, but no problem. No need to look up. I take my position near my anchor, stretching the fingertips of my chronometer hand to touch the rippled metal can. Abraham is looking on casually. I touch my other hand to the chronometer, trying not to think about every boat motor I’ve ever made mistakes on. Don’t you die, Ben. Don’t you even think about it. I take one last glance at Mym and push the pin.
The fire is still smoldering, insects still chirruping, earth spinning away on its axis, and I’m still properly fixed to its surface. The three seconds I’ve miraculously skipped over have hardly seemed to make a difference. Oh thank you, God.
I step back to my crate and slump onto it. Abraham is smiling. “Well done, Benjamin.”
“I don’t know how you guys do it, man. I’ve done a fair amount of jumps now, but I can never be blasé about it. I feel like every one is a minor heart attack.”
“Good. Keep that fear. The fear will keep you sharp. It’ll keep you alive, so long as it doesn’t stop you from doing what needs to be done.”
“So you still get scared of it, too?”
“I’d be a fool not to. We’re tampering with the very structure of reality, using it to navigate space and time in ways human beings have never imagined. But the excitement of that discovery tempers the fear, so that certainly helps.”
Dr. Quickly and Mym rise from their seats and walk our way. I stand back up.
“Well, Benjamin, how did it go?” Dr. Quickly inquires.
“Not bad. Got it apart and back together again anyway. That’s a start, I guess.”
“Replacing components is about all I can usually manage myself.” He smiles. “I leave my major repairs to more accomplished hands.” Abraham bows slightly at the compliment. “Mym and I have been discussing your situation, and we feel it’s best if she gets you home.”
“Home?” My apartment in 2009 is about the last place I feel like being right now. “Shouldn’t I be going back to Geo and getting out of this somehow?”
“We discussed that. Your own time and place are where they are likely to try to contact you, so we think it’s best if we get you back there. The sooner you get in touch, the more likely you’ll be able to decline this.” Dr. Quick
ly lays a hand on my shoulder. “You seem like a good man, Benjamin, and I understand from Mym that I owe you quite a lot, but I’d be inclined to help you anyway, so I’m sure others will also find you reasonable in your request. I don’t know much about chronothons, but I know some acquaintances that have been involved with them, and I don’t think the race committee is comprised of bad folks. I’m sure they’re open to reason.”
Mym steps to my side. “We should get going.”
Abraham has disappeared inside his tent briefly, but when he reappears, he extends his hand to me. He puts a tin into my outstretched palm. “These might come in handy. I keep a few spare parts and tools in here and a couple of diagrams. Nothing comprehensive, but good enough for roadside repair.”
“Thank you.” I slip the tin into my pocket and shake his hand. Dr. Quickly extends his as well.
“Good luck, Benjamin. I’m sure you’ll get things sorted out.” I’m not sure if he’s referring to my prospects with the race or with his daughter, but I thank him anyway. I need all the luck I can get with both.
Mym and I walk to the edge of the clearing before she extracts our next anchor from her pack. The chrome door handle seems sterile and clean. Most likely it belongs somewhere just as boring. I wait while she uses the degravitizer on it.
“No roller disco?”
Mym avoids eye contact with me as she selects the settings from the back of the photo and hands it to me. “No. Not right now.” I set my chronometer and return the photo. She stuffs it into the bag and starts the countdown, “Three, two, one.” We blink.
We traverse the next few destinations in near silence. It isn’t until we’re stopped at a diner in the mid-eighties to charge our chronometers that we get a chance to talk. We’ve taken to a booth with a pair of milkshakes, the charging chronometers hidden from view on the seats beside us, looking for all the world like a pair of contented lovers. The inaccuracy of the situation irks me.
“Mym, I know that I obviously upset you. It wasn’t on purpose.”
In Times Like These Boxed Set Page 54