Jesus Was a Time Traveler (WATT Book 1)

by D. J. Gelner

  When he was finished, Corcoran and I raised eyebrows at one another.

  “Well?” the Commander asked.

  “What?” I replied.

  “Say something!”

  “How am I supposed to respond to that?” I asked.

  “I dunno, you’re the guy from the future. Don’t you have any kind of a…gizmo or something that can talk to these folks?”

  “I…well…I…uh…” I looked from Corcoran to Bloomington as both men stared back, now hoping that I could somehow produce the same “magic” that they had used to wow the Mayans.

  Instead, I began to pantomime my journey here, as well as what I understood to be Corcoran and Bloomington’s voyage. I used my fist to represent the earth, and my pointer finger my vessel as I “lifted off” the surface of the planet, and built to the ship as it “zoomed” through the wormhole. I had no idea how to convey time travel, nor did I have any real desire to do so. After all, why did the Mayans need to know that we were from the future? I suppose “alien being” would have to do for the moment.

  The Mayans sat, utterly enthralled. With each flourish I added to the story, they let out wondrous gasps and “oohs” and “aahs.” I hadn’t ever much considered public speaking my forte, outside of presenting muted, dry, low-level research for other physicists in Hopkins’ physics department, which was utterly soul-crushing, a mere annoyance that took a valuable hour or so of my time every few months to justify my rather extravagant lab space.

  But this experience, telling the story to a rapt audience, was far more exciting and, dare I say, fun. I delighted in eliciting any kind of an emotional reaction from the onlookers, especially since the crowd was made up largely of erstwhile stone-faced, brutal warriors that didn’t understand a lick of English, King’s or otherwise.

  I had just finished acting out my adventure being chased by dinosaurs when I had a bit of an epiphany.

  “Hold on one minute,” I said to Corcoran as I rushed past him.

  “Hey, wait, whereya goin’?” He asked as I worked up to a sprint. “Where’s he going?” His voice receded rapidly as I gained distance from the hut. I raced through the clearing to the spot where the time machine was parked. I fumbled around the exterior for several moments before I found the panel and placed my hand upon it. The disc and open doorway appeared and I rushed inside.

  I hurried to the glove compartment and opened it to reveal my tablet, carefully filed away behind the various vacuum-sealed outfits.

  “Computer, any chance you can pull up ancient Mayan language patterns and place them on the tablet as an app?” I stared at the screens on the console for a moment in anticipation of a response.

  “404 - The Page Cannot Be Found.” Both screens filled with the familiar error message.

  “Wise ass,” I muttered under my breath. Of course, there would be no internet in ancient Mayan times; how could I have been so careless?

  Then, another thought. “Computer, is there any chance that the Mayan language patterns are pre-loaded on the tablet?”

  The screen went blank for several moments before an animation of the tablet came up. The computer showed a cartoonish hand switch to the tablet’s search function and type in “languages.” A hidden folder popped up with a note:

  “Dearest Finny,

  I take it you haven’t solved the language problem yet. This is only a temporary solution; you must figure out what to do by the end of your next jump or you will be utterly lost. Please do not try to take advantage of my generosity.

  Humbly Yours,

  Your Benefactor”

  “Clever old devil,” I said. I looked at the folders that popped up on the facsimile of the tablet: “Mayan, Latin, Arabic, French, German.”

  Looks a tad more permanent to me, I thought. I pulled out the tablet and followed the instructions to pull up the Mayan folder. I tapped the icon and an old-timey microphone popped up on the screen.

  “What in the hell?” I asked no one in particular.

  “Ba’ax ich Xibalba?” The tablet parroted me with a warm, female, vaguely mechanical voice, presumably in Mayan.

  I smiled and shrugged as I jogged briskly back to the King’s hut. I giddily held the device out toward Corcoran.

  “What is this? Some kind of fancy iPad?”

  “Ba’ax lela’? Ts’iiboltik iPad?” The tablet responded.

  “Very cool,” Bloomington finally lit up a bit.

  “Hach siis,” the tablet responded.

  “Stop it!” Corcoran shouted at the device.

  “Haual!” the tablet barked.

  I held my finger up to my lips as Corcoran was about to take possession of the device and smash it to bits. I addressed the chief.

  “Noble chief, we come in peace,” I began. “We have travelled a long ways through space and time to visit you, and bring you knowledge and good fortune.” I said. The tablet dutifully spat out a string of Mayan.

  The chief responded, “This is not good Maya. Some words, okay. Others, not. You are spacemen? Warlocks?”

  Corcoran opened his mouth but I preempted him.

  “Spacemen,” I said as I lifted my eyes to the ceiling. The chief followed my lead, then was jolted as he spoke once more.

  “Wonderful spacemen, welcome. I am chief Pacal of the great city of Chichen Itza. We welcome your otherworldly knowledge of the gods.”

  “What are you doing?” Bloomington whispered in my ear.

  “Having a spot of fun,” I said. “Care to join?”

  Truth be told, I had rather enjoyed the rush I got from play-acting my strange journey to the rapt crowd in the stone hut, and we still had ten hours left in the time period, so I decided to give the Mayans a show they would never forget. Perhaps I was blinded by arrogance, or even hubris, but more than anything else at that very moment, I wanted this group of people to think that I was the smartest being they had ever met.

  Unfortunately, I doubted that even the brightest Mayan would be able to understand isolated gravometrics, or advanced laser tunneling theory. Compounding the problem was that I didn’t have an internet connection, and the vast majority of apps on my tablet relied on being tethered to the cloud in one way or another, or at least most of the ones with useful information to impart did.

  I exited the translation program and scrolled through the list of apps, searching for something stand-alone, yet utterly useful. I settled on the “Night Sky” app, which defaulted to the current view of the cosmos. Even without an internet connection, one could enter any relevant date and the app would calculate the position of stars, planets, and even the exoplanets that had been discovered as of my latest sync.

  As soon as the star map came up, another round of “oohs” and “aahs” resounded through the crowd. I entered that evening’s date and pinched and pulled through various constellations and stellar phenomena. The Mayans sat in rapt silence. I did my best to explain the various concepts in simple English terms, as the translation app apparently didn’t work in tandem with others, but by-and-large, I think the Mayans were content to sit through this most curious of presentations.

  One person who seemed anything but content was Bloomington, whose body had regained enough rigidity for him to stand in a corner behind me and shoot me daggers during the entire affair. Perhaps it was a case of scientific envy, or the childish manner in which I had handled being told that I wasn’t, in fact, the inventor of time travel, but whatever the case, whenever I addressed his corner of the room, his paunchy little face was twisted into one of the sourest pusses I had ever seen.

  I continued for several hours, enjoying the attention much as before until my voice hoarsened, at which point I finally put the tablet down. The guards let out sharp gasps and raised their weapons.

  “Maas!” the chief’s eyes were alight with anger.

  “I think they were enjoying the show, Doc,” Corcoran allowed himself as he reached for his weapon. This time, the guards were resolute.

  I fumbled through the table
t’s search function quickly to pull up first the hidden folder, followed by the Mayan translator.

  “Maas! Maas!” The crowd had joined in with the chief.

  “More! More!” The tablet repeated in its monotone, soft female voice.

  “I think we knew that already,” Corcoran said with a smirk.

  “They want more?” It was Bloomington, softly, over my right shoulder. “I’ll give ‘em more.” He cleared his throat.

  “It all began with a big bang, billions of years ago…” Bloomington recounted, slowly and deliberately. “One moment, one explosion, that ignited the heavens and created the building blocks from which we all were created.” It was oddly stirring and poetic, and absolutely not what I would have expected previously from the odd little toad. He continued to detail most of the important events in human history, complete with dates, at least as accurately as he could remember them. I was amazed by the man’s seemingly photographic memory and recall, which I couldn’t help but think was rivaled only by my own keen intellect.

  The tablet dutifully (presumably?) spit out the Mayan translation of whatever Bloomington said. After a few minutes, the chief called some of his warriors over and dispatched them out to the village. They returned with several harried, even smaller men led at spearpoint. Each one carried a brush and several hastily-prepared pots filled with paint. These men began sketching glyphs on the walls of the “palace” as quickly as they could manage.

  Bloomington spewed forth information for a good long while, well past the hour of the setting sun. Once more the Mayans sat, enthralled, particularly when Bloomington referenced any sort of war. Though I didn’t notice that he particularly tried to focus on conflict, there was certainly a lot of it, and the Mayans, being a war-like lot, I surmise, enjoyed hearing about the advancements as far as humans deciding to end one another’s existence.

  “Let’s see…then London will host the Olympics, and then, after that, we left on our journey and arrived here.”

  “Why?” The chief asked without hesitation.

  “PACHOOM!” Corcoran put his hands together to form one fist and “exploded” them slowly apart, much like Bloomington had done to open this odd little history lesson.

  I must’ve done a double-take.

  “What in God’s good name are you doing?” I hissed at him, fortunately softly enough not to be picked up by the tablet.

  “Having some fun,” Corcoran said.

  “When will this happen?” The chief demanded to know.

  “December 21, 2012,” Corcoran said. The tablet calculated and spit out the Mayan translation as the Commander turned to me, eyes locked on mine. “Same day as we left.”

  His gaze was even, unflinching. My eyes grew momentarily wide and fearful.

  Then I narrowed them at Corcoran.

  “Seriously?” I asked.

  Corcoran only nodded.

  I looked at the chief and the others, whom still practically leered around the room at one another, mouths agape.

  “That’s not true! I’m from even further in the future than this man!” I blurted out.

  The chief’s eyes narrowed and he began to speak.

  “No offense, noble Tepeu, but Kukulkan is the wielder of thunder and life and death itself. You are a great giver of life, but only Kulkulkan would know something about the destruction of the world.”

  “Wonderful,” I said. Corcoran could only smile. “Do you bloody well know what you’ve done?” I asked him.

  He shrugged in reply.

  “Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m exhausted. Time for some shut eye.” Corcoran yawned for effect and stretched as he turned to exit. He was met by two spear tips, leveled at his chest.

  “Aw, come on, guys. Don’t make me—” he reached for his sidearm, but the men jabbed their spears at him. Corcoran shoulder rolled away from the warriors and came up in a kneel, pistol leveled at the two guards that had just tried to stab him.

  “No blood today, pal,” Corcoran said as he cocked his pistol, “‘cept for your own.”

  The tablet dutifully translated the phrase. Two guards had flanked me as the chief approached. The stout man nodded at the tablet, which I now clutched at my chest.

  “Give,” the tablet barked as he kept repeating the Mayan equivalent.

  “Leave him the fuck alone, Paco,” Corcoran nodded at the chief before he aimed squarely at the fat noble. Bloomington stood in the corner of the room, hands raised in the air.

  The guards did not take kindly to Corcoran threatening their leader. The soldier was undaunted; he trained his gun on each armed man in the stone hut in turn. I slowly moved my hand toward the pistol in my waistband.

  “Noble chief, if you do not cease immediately, we will be forced to use magic to—”

  “Do not threaten me, spaceman,” the tablet said in its feminine monotone. “I am Pacal, king of all of Chichen Itza, ruler of—”

  “Fuck this,” Corcoran said as he dropped both men at my sides with two well-placed shots each. I hit the floor as the shots found their marks, made all the more impressive that Corcoran only had the glow of the tablet with which to guide the projectiles. Bloomington waddled toward the door quickly, like a duck with its arse on fire as I pushed myself up and followed suit.

  Corcoran already had leveled his gun on the other guards, who had raised their spears and hesitated. The scribes and few women in the hut screamed all around us as Corcoran’s gaze bore down on the warriors. Another must’ve made a move toward one of us as Bloomington and I made our escape, as four more shots rang out. Once we were clear of the door, Corcoran turned and followed. Though it was dark, the sounds of spears flung through the odd catapults surrounded us. Corcoran turned and provided cover fire every so often as we scrambled toward the clearing.

  I had never been so glad that I had maintained such a trim figure in all of my life. Unfortunately, I couldn’t say the same for Bloomington, who lagged behind, and, quite frankly, put Corcoran in harm’s way since he forced the far more capable soldier to cover his ample arse. How things may have been different if one or both of them had been felled by the Mayans!

  I suppose fortunately both of them survived and sprinted toward the time machine as I frantically searched for the entrance panel. Finally, my hand connected with a non-metallic surface, and I heard the familiar chime signal acceptance of my handprint, and the craft, as well as the doorway, appeared in front of us. I scampered up the steps and heaved myself inside, utterly exhausted.

  Corcoran raced ahead to take a position on the ramp leading to the entrance and fired more covering shots at the pursuing warriors (he must have reloaded at some point during our escape). Bloomington thundered toward the rectangle of light in the middle of the dark jungle and (it seemed to me, at least) took his sweet time loading himself into the craft.

  “Computer, close door.” I asked firmly, but politely.

  Nothing happened.

  “Computer, close the door.” Again, silence.

  “Computer, please close the fucking door, right fucking now!” I was beginning to lose it.

  “Runnin’ low on ammo here!” Corcoran yelled from the ramp as he fired two more rounds.

  I forced myself up and fumbled with the armory lock while Bloomington made his way to the glove box, still open from my giddiness getting the tablet earlier.

  “What are you doing?” I asked him off-hand.

  “Helping the Commander,” he replied, matter-of-factly. He took two objects out of the glove box and rumbled to the doorway.

  “Nothing valuable!” I yelled after him.

  “It’s not!” He screamed in reply. I heard two loud thuds outside of the vehicle. Almost immediately, the ramp relented and sealed up the vehicle.

  “Finally!” I screamed. “Cursed machine! Engage cloak, engage 360-degree view. And external light.”

  This time the computer complied post-haste. The walls of the vehicle seemingly disappeared as the external light engaged, and, sensing moveme
nt, turned to face our pursuers.

  Five flung spears appeared in mid-air. They rapidly gained on Corcoran and Bloomington; even Corcoran flinched as he braced for impact.

  Suddenly, five sharp “clangs” in rapid succession ringed the air, as each spear fell harmlessly to the ground.

  “They’re going to have to do a spot better than that to bust into this girl,” I said.

  “Too cool!” Bloomington exclaimed, almost like a kid in a sweet shop.

  I smiled tersely. “By the way, what did you throw at them?” I asked.

  “Just a couple of thick books that I found in that glove box. They were the heaviest things I could find on short notice.”

  My jaw involuntarily dropped as I rushed to the spot that normally became the gangway when lowered. In front of me, two of the warriors held up The Way Things Work, as well as the World Almanac that I had brought should my tablet fail. The men looked at one another as they shielded their eyes from the bright light in the middle of the jungle, exchanged some Mayan words, and retreated cautiously into the wild darkness that surrounded us.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Are you quite mad?” I asked Bloomington. I put up my dukes in proper Eton fashion and faced the man.

  “What? I just spent hours telling all of those mouth-breathing Mayan hard-ons secrets about the future, and you worry about a couple of innocent books? In English no less?”

  “I worry about the books because they might be our only way to survive should this machine crash to bits and leave us stranded in the past!”

  “Hey, knock it off!” Corcoran raised his pistol at both of us. “No use caterwallin’ about what’s happened. What happened, happened, ain’t it, Doc?”

  I met Corcoran’s eyes for a moment, and when I had turned back, five flabby, sausage-like excuses for fingers brushed me alongside the jaw.

  “Goddamn it, Bloomy!” Corcoran yelled as he pulled his partner off of me.

  “You pimp! You fucking pimp and rogue!” I screamed at the man.