In Times Like These Boxed Set

by Nathan Van Coops

  Carson hasn’t mentioned any side trips since I’ve been back, but time traveling has come pretty naturally to him so I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s blinked around the local timestream a bit. I’d swear his red hair looks longer than when I saw him a few days ago. Perched on the stool he’s dragged over from the living room, he looks casual but curious.

  Whatever Tucket has to say will be news to all of us. While I did run into a few ASCOTT officials in my prior adventures, I was always playing catch-up with the people around me. Since Doctor Quickly taught us the basics in the 1980s, we’ve been largely ungoverned. I had rather hoped to stay that way.

  Tucket has set some sort of device on the floor between my dining room table and the rest of the kitchen. He seems proud of it, whatever it is. It looks a bit like a stereo, if stereos were the size of Tic-Tac containers. I nurse my beer and watch him putter around it while we wait for the show to start. He finally seems satisfied with his invisible preparations and a musical jingle precedes a holographic person that springs up in my kitchen.

  “Congratulations, graduates. Your time at the Academy of Temporal Sciences has ended, but your true journey has just begun . . .”

  “It’s the only version I had,” Tucket apologizes. “They said I could just use my copy since they don’t really make tutorials for people like you. I mean, people in your circumstances—grandfathered into the system.” Tucket moves out of the way so we can have an unobstructed view.

  The man in the hologram introduces himself as Dean Alan Brockhurst, and the date he is speaking from is 2157. He proceeds to talk up the wonderful opportunities available to time travelers in the twenty-second century. He then reminds us of the limitations on approved timestreams to navigate and warns us against activities that will create unauthorized new ones. A timestream map behind him shows various sectors or zones. I notice our spot in 2009 falls under “Post millennial/Pre AOA.” As best I can discern from reading other labels on the chart, AOA stands for “Age of Awareness.” Through the dean’s continued explanations, I learn that it refers to when the general public becomes aware of the possibility of time travel.

  The dean reiterates the need to stay confined between the borders of the “Central Streams.” These consist of branches of the Fractal Universe that have been created from the Central Primes. Mym’s dad, Doctor Quickly, labeled the first fractures of time that he discovered after letters of the alphabet and the first twenty-six were labeled Primes. Each additional fracture of those streams added numbers and letters to differentiate them. A separate cluster of streams that seems to originate elsewhere carries the designation of “Negative Primes.” That area of the chart is grayed out and apparently not approved for travel by ASCOTT.

  Tucket is smiling at the dean and occasionally looks us over approvingly. When the dean gets done expounding on the joyous life we can expect by minding all the rules decreed by ASCOTT, and diligently adhering to the Grid protocols, he waves goodbye and vanishes back into his Tic-Tac box like a benevolent genie. Tucket claps.

  The expressions on my friends’ faces are hard to read. Blake’s eyebrows seem locked into an arched position. Francesca and Mallory are still just staring at Tucket with mouths pressed shut, arms crossed, and bodies angled in the least receptive postures I’ve ever seen. I get up to grab another beer and Blake raises his finger to signal he’s ready for another, too. Carson is the only one who seems eager to discuss the presentation.

  “So when you graduate from the Academy, do they have any kind of job placement program? What kind of jobs do time travelers do in your century?” Carson leans forward with his elbows on his knees. “What are the best careers?”

  Tucket seems pleased to be called upon. “Oh, there are great opportunities. Historians of course, and there are always jobs for researchers. The Academy recruits temporal scientists for the other science programs and we get plenty of students who opt for space travel.”

  “Space travel?” Blake asks. “What kind of space travel?”

  I hand Blake his beer and pop the top off mine.

  Tucket picks up his projector box and slips it into his pocket. “Long distance exploration or reconnaissance. There are spaceports with ships that start voyaging out to neighboring stars, looking for new life. There are a few authorized space gates, too. Those can get you into deeper space where you can find work. A lot of people head for Diamatra. It’s a system humans are hoping to colonize for its great natural resources.”

  “Good luck with that one,” I mutter.

  “There are lots of jobs in law enforcement. Crime scene investigation is done by time travel. There are bounty hunters, too, of course. Those are mostly contracted. And some get recruited by major casino operations to police illegal time travel gambling.”

  “We’ve heard of them. Journeymen, right?” I say.

  “Yes. Exactly. If you like travel, a more respected profession would be in one of the courier services. There are delivery services all over the central primes that carry messages and packages, since reaching family and friends in other timestreams can be so difficult. And we have special positions within ASCOTT itself. Lots of those are classified, but really important. They keep time travelers safe.”

  “Hey, Tucket, there’s something I noticed,” Blake says. “Why do the central timestreams on the chart he showed us only go up to 2600 or so? I think I might have seen only one branch that made it past then. What happens after that?”

  Tucket crosses his arms and nods. “Okay, so that is the upper limit of the central streams because that is where ASCOTT stops governing.”

  “Does someone else start governing?” Blake asks.

  “No. They just didn’t feel it was necessary based on the reduced population density. There aren’t many time travelers up in those streams.”

  “Why not?” Carson asks.

  Tucket hugs himself a little tighter. “So, my girlfriend was a synth. I mean, she still is, but in the 2150s. I mean, she’s still there and she’s still a synth, but she’s not my girlfriend anymore.”

  I recall the synthetic people I ran into during the chronothon. Tucket had explained that the term had become preferred since “artificial intelligence” denoted something inferior. The synths were treated as equals, or at least were becoming so. Tucket’s breakup is news to me, however.

  “She said that we just weren’t very compatible if I was going to be a time traveler. She said that it was a good opportunity for us to explore options among our own peers.” He fidgets a little and looks at the floor. “So it’s kind of like that.”

  I don’t see how his explanation clears up any of Blake’s question, but no one seems eager to pry. Tucket continues to stare at his feet.

  “She obviously doesn’t know what she’s letting go,” Francesca says.

  “Exactly,” Mallory echoes. “You shouldn’t worry about her. You are going to find someone else, or another . . . um, what did you call it?” She stalls out, but looks determined to stay supportive.

  “You are going to like real girls, Tuck.” I slap him on the back. Not having any experience with dating robots, I’m making an assumption, but I don’t have much else to work with.

  The girls get up from the table and gather closer to Tucket as well. “Definitely,” Mallory says. She brushes a strand of her mousy brown hair behind her ear. “There are lots of girls who are going to love your, um . . . style. And you are from the future—which you might not want to tell anybody about—but I bet you are going to have so much to offer. Eventually.”

  “I do have a really great appreciation for twenty-first century culture,” Tucket says. He’s raising his chin now and enjoying the attention from the girls.

  “There you go!” Francesca says. “Women are always looking for a man who’s cultured. Mal and I were just talking about that the other day, weren’t we?”

  Mallory nods vigorously. “Absolutely. Culture. We’re all about it.”

  Blake is smirking behind his beer. He doesn’t seem t
o mind his fiancée doting on our new friend. “You girls should take him out. Introduce him around. I bet your friends will get a kick out of it. I mean, they’ll love to be cultured by him.”

  Mallory gives him a withering glare, but goes back to smiling at Tucket. “They will. And we’ll show you the sights in St. Pete.”

  “I’ve been working on my dance moves,” Tucket says. “I was hoping to go clubbing some time. I hear that is a big part of your culture.”

  “Uh, maybe?” Francesca replies. “I guess we could take him to a club. You’re twenty-one, right?”

  “I made myself some local identification cards. I wasn’t sure how many I’d need so I made a lot. Actually, if you think about it, I’m negative 128. I could have put that on them. HAHAHA. Cause I was born in—”

  “We’re with you, buddy.” I clap Tucket on the back again and make for the fridge to search for more beer. They seem to be disappearing quickly tonight. As I set my empty in the sink and pop the top on my next one, the front door swings open. I look up in surprise. Mym has her hand lingering on the doorknob. She takes a glance around the room at my guests and lands on me and my freshly opened beer.

  Mym doesn’t seem inclined to come in so I walk over to the door to greet her. “Hey, where did you—”

  Her voice is low enough for only me to hear as she searches my face. “We have our first fight and you use the rest of the night to have a party? Nice, Ben.” She spins on her heel and disappears back out the door into the darkness.

  I come unfrozen as my brain tries to catch up. “Shit.” I set the beer on the coffee table and race after her. When I get down the stairs I scan the sidewalk. I walk to both corners of the block to make sure, but it’s clear that she’s vanished. I punch the stop sign and mutter curses to myself as I mount the stairs to my apartment again. My friends mute their conversations as I walk back inside.

  “Is everything all right?” Francesca asks.

  “Yeah. Just . . . having a few communication issues.” I pick up my beer again. “Hey, Tucket, how do you usually go about finding someone if they’re a time traveler? You said there are bounty hunters and such, but what are normal methods they use to locate other time travelers?”

  “Oh, well most of those jobs involve time travelers looking for regular people who have committed crimes. That’s pretty easy. Jobs like the Journeymen have, hunting down other time travelers, that gets really hard. If you don’t know where someone has been, you can’t find them very well. And there are laws about when you can locate someone for a crime. You can’t convict someone of a crime before they commit it, even if you know they will. You have to wait and get them after.”

  “What about if they aren’t criminals? How do you just find your friends and such? You said there is a courier system right? They deliver messages. How do they find people?”

  “The Grid.” Tucket grins. “That’s in the next part of my presentation. Are you ready?”

  I frown and move back toward my seat. “Yeah, we may as well hear it.” Mym isn’t registered with the Grid, so whatever he says won’t help me find her, but I am curious about how it works. More specifically, I’m curious about the best ways to stay off it, since uninvited guests have not been working out well for me so far.

  My friends take their seats and Tucket sets up his projector again. I settle in and take another sip of my beer. I’m determined to take this one slow. I have a feeling that I’m in for a long night.

  When I’ve seen the last of my friends out the door at the end of the evening and get Tucket settled, I’m finally able to retreat to my bedroom. As I close the door behind me, I find Mym propped up on some pillows on my bed, reading a book.

  “Hey.” She lowers the book and gives me a faint smile.

  “Hey.”

  “I’m really sorry.” She follows my progress across the room. “About earlier. I didn’t mean to be so . . . I can have a bit of a temper when—”

  “It’s okay.”

  “You just caught me off guard. I wasn’t expecting you to have a bunch of people over.”

  “It wasn’t a party.”

  “I figured that out later. I’ve been eavesdropping a little from in here. Who were the new people?”

  “New? Oh. Well, Blake brought Mallory. She’s in on the situation, though apparently she shouldn’t be. The other guy is Tucket Morris. I met him at the Academy and he wanted to come visit. Apparently ASCOTT recruited him to try to get us registered with the Grid. I guess they’ve been losing track of some time travelers lately. They want to get everybody registered for safety reasons.”

  “Really? What did you tell him?”

  “We listened to his presentation, but said we’d have to think about it. I can’t speak for the others, but I don’t think any of us want them tracking us. Safer or not.”

  “Interesting. Hey, speaking of safety, did you log your jumps from today?”

  “The Atlanta trip? No. Not yet. I guess I figured that one hardly counted.”

  “They all count,” she replies.

  “Yeah, I suppose. I have a bunch of unlogged jumps from the race, though. I’m not super worried about logging every single one.”

  “Well, you should be. It’s important. How many times do you plan on going back to those places?”

  “Probably never.”

  “Uh huh. And how many times do you think you’ll be jumping in and out of your own apartment?” She raises an eyebrow.

  “Okay. I can see your point.” I crawl onto the bed next to her and bury my face in the pillow. “I’ll log them in the morning.”

  “Clearly I’ll need to work on your organizational skills if I’m going to keep you alive. Oh, that reminds me. I got you a present.” She slides off the bed and snatches up her bag from the floor. She extracts sets of something tubular and rigid and lays them on the bedspread. “We’re going to solve your clothing issues.”

  I sit back up to examine the gift. “What is it?”

  “Portable gravitizer. It’s one of dad’s. He has a few mobile ones for traveling and he said you could have this one.” I examine the sheaves of tubing and bundles of wiring. Unlike previous gravitizers I’ve seen that looked like microwaves, this unit appears to have flexible dimensions. There is also a vial full of blue liquid that I recognize as condensed gravitites. Mym hands me a few loose pages of notes. I recognize Doctor Quickly’s handwriting. “Some assembly required.”

  “Cool.” I skim over the sketches and instructions. “I like it. Thanks, babe.”

  Mym smiles. “I figured you would.” She leans over and kisses me. “Just don’t zap yourself with it. Inanimate objects only.”

  “Got it.” I bundle the equipment up and lean it next to the messenger bag I have hanging on my closet door. “I’ll start getting my clothes treated so I can avoid more involuntary nudity.”

  Mym climbs back onto the bed. “There are worse things.” She grins at me.

  I slide back onto the bed beside her. “Speaking of nudity . . .”

  Mym slips under the covers and wraps herself up. “You have a house guest, mister. That will have to be in your dreams.”

  I mutter a little and work myself under the covers as well. “Let’s hope he’s not here too long.”

  “Does he know I’m here?”

  “He saw you come in earlier. His eyes got pretty big so I think he knows who you are. He likes researching this century. I’m betting you’ve been in his research.”

  Mym is quiet for a few minutes, possibly contemplating the implications of this new information, but then finally rolls over to face me. She speaks softly now, our faces only inches apart. “I didn’t mean to get so emotional earlier. About my mom.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “It’s just that being here with you, this thing we’re starting, I need to know it’s going to work. I don’t think I can handle having to lose someone else so soon. I almost lost you during the race and I tried not to show how scared I was of that but—”

>   “It’s really okay.”

  “Wait, listen to me.” She sits up a little and stares into my eyes. “I know these dreams you’re having are bothering you, and I don’t know what you need to do to fix them, but I’ll help you, if you want me to. These things you keep seeing and hearing are significant enough that it’s affecting your life, and I think you should figure it out. You want answers, so I want to find them, too.”

  “You don’t think I’m delusional?”

  “No. I think you’re the guy who saved the world, and that had consequences. You saved me. You saved all of us. I know it cost you something, but you’re a real life hero.”

  I frown. “That’s the thing. I’m not. I might have been the guy who came home after, and sure, I did some of it, but the version of me that did most of the saving, he didn’t make it back.” I stretch out and stare at the ceiling. “He’s the hero.”

  Mym props herself up on her elbow. “Then we help him.”

  I watch her eyes. “What does that mean for us? What if he wants something that is going to keep us from getting back to the way things were?”

  “It’ll be okay. We’ll just have to find out together. Just don’t think I’m letting you out of my sight again. And no more pretty mafia girls signing you up for chronothons.” She smirks at me.

  I wrap my arms around her and pull her closer. “Okay. I like this plan.” I kiss her again and when our lips separate she retreats to the crook of my arm and lays her head on my chest. I address the ceiling. “Although it’s not like I can go anywhere right this second anyway. Like you said—houseguest.”

  “His name’s Tucket Morris?”

  “Yep. Apparently he’s my biggest fan.”

  Mym curls up tighter against me and mumbles into the bed sheets. “Second biggest.”

  When I throw off the covers in the morning, Mym isn’t there. I get dressed and wander out into the living area. Tucket is sitting across the table from Mym, cups of coffee in both of their hands.