And Now, Time Travel

by Christopher Brimmage

  This was not looking like it was going to be the quiet exit for which the Landing Crew had hoped. Ginny frowned. She wondered if she would have the opportunity to remove this stupid outfit before dying. She did not want to face eternity looking like such an idiot.

  Chapter 25

  DRILLBOT IS NO GOD OF MISCHIEF

  Drillbot scanned the trickster-class deities with his telescopic eyes and understood at once that the Landing Crew’s odds of winning a brawl with them were near zero percent. Drillbot could potentially survive, but his fleshy companions would almost certainly be killed.

  Drillbot decided that he must do his best to protect his comrades and succeed where Alex had just failed—meaning he would need to upgrade the group’s subterfuge abilities rather than diving straight into a fight that would result in heavy losses. So, he initiated a sequence in his processors that he had dubbed The Deception Matrix, which would allow him to improvise falsehoods in response to questions.

  He rolled forward. He raised his left drill into the air and initiated its rocket sequence. He set it to low velocity and low distance. It flew just above the heads of the gods, smashed through the wall, and returned to him. Half of the trickster gods gasped in amazement. Balroth the Bemoaned was not amongst them.

  “[whir] I am Drillbot, patron god of digging from – CLACK – from Earth 45,590,888,001. These mortals are Drillbot’s servants. Every generation, Drillbot chooses mortals to become icons of his reality’s drilling tools, and they accompany him where’er he – CLACK – where’er he goes! Especially to conventions!”

  Drillbot pointed first to Alex, then to Ginny, then to 29333, then to Older-Art, and then generically in the direction of the Purple Shirts. As he did so, he proclaimed, “[whir] Behold, this is Drillbot’s chosen icon for – CLACK – for a shovel. This one for a trowel. This one – CLACK – for a post-digger. This one for a septic system. And these – CLACK – and these for assorted drill bits. We have been called home for a digging emergency. Now let us pass or face the wrath of the most powerful – CLACK – most powerful god of digging in the entire Multiverse!”

  Drillbot held his drills above his head, roared his engines, and grinned his version of a grin. Most of the trickster gods slumped their shoulders and sat down, apparently satisfied. Balroth the Bemoaned’s head cocked to the side like a bird of prey sizing up a morsel.

  After a moment, Balroth the Bemoaned bowed and waved toward the exit. He said, “My apologies, oh fearsome robot-god of digging. Balroth the Bemoaned did not realize these mortals were here as thy servants. Go forth and attend to thy digging emergency.”

  Balroth the Bemoaned’s eyes never left Drillbot. The robot rolled forward toward the exit. “[whir] Follow me, subjects,” declared Drillbot to the Landing Crew. They did so, and their footfalls echoed behind him.

  As the group passed the trickster gods and neared the exit, Balroth the Bemoaned spoke up once more. He said, “Oh, Drillbot, Balroth the Bemoaned must discuss something with thee before thou leaves. A moment of thy time?”

  Drillbot stopped. He turned to face the Landing Crew. “[whir] Wait for your master outside, my – CLACK – my icons. Drillbot shall speak alone with Balroth the Bemoaned.”

  Balroth the Bemoaned clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. He said, “Oh, I do not think that is necessary.”

  “[whir] Drillbot thinks it is. They must prepare for our jump between dimensions.”

  Balroth the Bemoaned grinned. His tongue flicked out of his mouth. Drillbot noticed it was forked. “I insist that they stay,” Balroth the Bemoaned demanded.

  Balroth the Bemoaned disappeared. A pile of feathers fell to the ground in his place. He reappeared next to Drillbot in a blast of downy plumage and smoke that smelled like Sulphur. He whispered, “Thy little farce about being a god of drilling was entertaining to me, so I let thee continue it for a moment. But I have been to Earth 45,590,888,001. I know the patron god of digging, and he’s a little pixie with shovels for hands.”

  Drillbot frowned his version of a frown. His Deception Matrix went to work, and milliseconds later, the response burst from his speakers, “[whir] Drillbot upgraded from his pixie-version. He replaced his shovels with drills. He replaced his – CLACK – his meaty parts with – CLACK – with metal.”

  Alex sighed. Drillbot glanced over at him, and Alex shook his head. Alex removed the cylindrical device from his holster and toggled its settings.

  Drillbot returned his gaze to Balroth the Bemoaned. The deity’s grin had widened to cover the entire lower half of his face. Drillbot realized the god had no teeth other than a pair of sharp fangs, and the sight was oddly disturbing.

  Balroth the Bemoaned said, “Do you know how I know that you are lying to me about your identity?”

  Drillbot said, “[whir] False. Drillbot is not lying. Drillbot is the patron god of digging from Ear-”

  Alex placed a hand on Drillbot’s shoulder. “Enough, friend,” said Alex. “He knows that you’re lying because he’s never been to Earth 45,590,888,001, but you acted as though his false description of that reality’s digging-god was true.”

  Balroth the Bemoaned chortled. “Oh, the mortal is smart! Balroth the Bemoaned shall keep him alive until last, and then feast on his marrow as dessert.”

  Alex used his hand that was already on Drillbot’s shoulder to begin subtly tapping a pattern. As he did so, he spoke to Balroth the Bemoaned. He said, “Oh, great and immortal Balroth the Bemoaned, please spare us mortals. We did not mean to offend you. We merely sought power, just as you all have surely done within your own pantheons. We have learned the error of our ways and ask but to abandon our quest and return home. Please, allow us to leave in peace.”

  Drillbot recognized the pattern Alex was tapping on his shoulder as Binary. Alex was ordering Drillbot to attack when he said the word “blessed.” As imperceptibly as he could possibly do so, Drillbot aimed his left drill so that it would rip through Balroth the Bemoaned and then shred through a pair of other trickster gods behind him when he launched it.

  Balroth the Bemoaned responded to Alex, “You have shown respect, so I will show mercy. After I kill you, I shall confine your spirit to the void of my left nipple. You may dispense jokes at my leisure until I grow bored of you.”

  Alex bowed. “Oh, great Balroth the Bemoaned, you have my thanks. You have truly blessed me.”

  Drillbot initiated the launch sequence in his left drill and fired the weapon.

  The drill accomplished half its mission. As soon as it blasted from Drillbot’s arm, Balroth the Bemoaned disappeared in a cloud of feathers. The drill never touched him. It did, however, blast through the heads of two of the trickster gods behind him—the suited man with short red horns and the man-sized black cat.

  Balroth the Bemoaned reappeared behind Drillbot. He now held a glowing blue scimitar in his hand and sliced it across Drillbot’s back. It glanced harmlessly across Drillbot’s metal carapace. But Drillbot screamed in fury, anyway.

  Drillbut spun to face Balroth the Bemoaned. However, the three remaining trickster gods—the leprechaun, the giant Venus flytrap, and the half-monkey-half-elf—dove on Drillbot from behind.

  “Drillbot, look out!” called Ginny and 29333 simultaneously, seconds too late for the warning to actually provide the robot any assistance.

  Balroth the Bemoaned glared at Ginny and 29333. He began to open his mouth to say something to them—probably some sort of threat or taunt before pouncing on them. However, the split second of distraction was just the opportunity for which Alex was waiting. He dove toward the god and activated the mid-range function on his metal cylinder.

  A laser-spear erupted from the end of the handle and extended into Balroth the Bemoaned’s head before the god had time to react. Alex had set the devolution to permanent, and Balroth the Bemoaned collapsed into a pile of feathers and emerged as a baby crow.

  Meanwhile, Drillbot leapt into the air, shifted his weight, and landed on his back directly atop t
he crow. His weight pinned the three tricksters beneath him, who in turn pinned the baby bird beneath them. The gods cursed and struggled, and Alex methodically walked to each struggling godly appendage sticking out from beneath Drillbot’s mass and stabbed it with his spear. Each deity devolved, and Drillbot’s weight crushed each devolved form to death.

  Drillbot shifted and pulled himself upright. The bloody and mangled corpses of the devolved deities lay in his wake—a red-headed child in a green diaper, a black and yellow seed, a monkey with pointed ears, and the baby crow. His left drill returned from its flight and reattached itself to his arm. Drillbot revved his engines and used his drills to impale each crushed, devolved form for good measure. He then turned and smiled his version of a smile at Alex, excited that his calculations had been wrong about the dismal odds of his companions’ survival. Alex nodded at him.

  Everything had happened so fast that none of the remaining Landing Crew had had time to join in the fight. Thus, they responded in the only way they could: 29333 and Ginny whistled an identical impressed whistle, noticed they were doing so simultaneously, and abruptly stopped. The Purple Shirts saluted and then strode toward the exit.

  Drillbot and Alex followed.

  Chapter 26

  NOT HOME YET

  When Normal-Art and Bagoo caught up to the Landing Crew at the extraction point, Art was out of breath to the point of losing consciousness. He began to teeter and collapse, but Drillbot caught him and held him upright.

  The group stood in a clearing in the forest to the southwest of the city. Rather than clamber back up into the mountains to the spot where they entered this dimension, the extraction point was set farther south, which took them on a slight slope downhill to where the forest met the sea.

  Bagoo swirled like a cyclone above the group, removing his marigold toga and wig as he flew. He landed in front of Alex, who had also removed his disguise and was now back in his B.T.T. uniform. Bagoo held his disguise in the crook of his right arm and said to Alex, “We saw some corpses near the door on our way out.”

  Alex nodded. “That was us. Had to fight our way out. Thought we’d need to use a Purple Shirt as a decoy, but Drillbot was like a one-man execution squad.”

  “[whir] Initiating blush sequence,” responded the robot.

  “Who were they?” asked Bagoo. “Anyone we need be concerned about?”

  Alex shrugged. He said, “Some trickster god support group. Shouldn’t cause too much of a stir when their corpses are discovered. Their ilk is always backstabbing and killing one another.”

  Bagoo nodded. Alex pointed at Drillbot and said, “Our robot friend killed Balroth the Bemoaned.”

  Bagoo whistled. “Wow. That is huge.”

  “[whir] Why is that – CLACK – is that huge?”

  Bagoo patted Drillbot on the back and said, “Balroth the Bemoaned is responsible for the deaths of a few quadrillion mortals when he causes the Dynamite Kitten War of Earth 209,900,878. By ridding the Space-Time-Multinuum of him, you might’ve just earned yourself an officer’s uniform without even trying. Be careful, or you’ll steal my job while you’re at it.”

  Normal-Art felt Drillbot nearly drop him. Normal-Art steadied himself on Drillbot’s shoulder. Drillbot did not seem to notice. He said, “[whir] Drillbot intended no – CLACK – no theft of your – CLACK – your position.”

  Normal-Art patted Drillbot’s shoulder. “I think he was joking with you, buddy.”

  “[whir] Oh. Drillbot will ensure he uploads this interaction to his – CLACK – his Humor Matrix.”

  Normal-Art shrugged. Then he heard the bog ghost whisper to Alex, “But what does this mean for us? Balroth the Bemoaned was destined to destroy the Unicorn Husker in the Dynamite Kitten War.”

  Alex shrugged and whispered back, “I don’t know. I imagine he’ll come back somehow, or something else will cause the war, and his Bombardier Kitten Armada shall claim our lives, anyway.”

  Bagoo stared at his feet. “Oh,” he said. “I had hoped maybe this meant that outcome would have been prevented.”

  Alex patted the bog ghost’s shoulder and said, “We won’t know until it happens. It does no good to fret about it now.”

  Normal-Art leaned over into their personal space. Mimicking Alex’s gesture to Bagoo, Normal-Art patted them both on their shoulders. Then he said, “You two are really bad at whispering. We could hear everything you were saying.”

  Alex sighed. Then he tapped the B.T.T. badge on his uniform four times in quick succession—activating its communicator functionality—and said, “Officer Trixie, this is First Officer Alexandros ho Megas. Our mission is complete, and we have arrived at the extraction point. Jump us aboard, please.”

  A squawking voice replied, “At once, sir.”

  Normal-Art felt a sharp twist deep in his bowels as the teleportation beam ripped his molecules apart. He knew nothing but blackness for a few moments, and then he reappeared fully formed in the Jump Chamber of the B.T.S. Unicorn Husker.

  He smiled. He glanced over at Officer Trixie to wave his thanks. She happened to be leaned over her kiosk, paying no attention to the Landing Crew as she cleaned her sunglasses with a cloth. Art felt a tingle in his stomach and without knowing why, he felt compelled to gaze into her uncovered eyes. A sharp nudge jolted him in the stomach, breaking whatever hypnotism had just overwhelmed him. He looked down and it was Ginny. She had elbowed him. He sighed in relief.

  “Thanks,” said Normal-Art, realizing that she had just saved him from inadvertently killing himself by looking into Officer Trixie’s eyes and falling victim to her death stare. “I owe you one.”

  Ginny replied, “Didn’t do it for you. Did it for future-you.”

  Before Normal-Art could reply, she strode forward, following Alex and the rest of the Landing Crew. Normal-Art rubbed at where her elbow smarted. Then he shrugged and followed the group.

  *

  The Landing Crew entered the bridge, and as soon as they did so, they heard a slow clap emanating from the Captain’s chair. Leif son of Erik joined in, but with only two people involved in the gesture, it felt more sad than celebratory.

  Captain King Solomon spun his chair slowly toward them. Then he stood and proclaimed, “Well done, my good and faithful servants! The Space-Time-Multinuum thanks you!”

  The Landing Crew cheered in response. Normal-Art squealed in delight, mainly because the crew’s success meant he was going to be free to return home soon. He held up a hand to the remainder of the Landing Crew for a high-five. They promptly ignored him.

  Normal-Art shrugged and spun to face Captain King Solomon. He proclaimed, “Since our mission is complete, I’ll go ahead and walk back down to the Jump Chamber so you can send me home. I don’t need to collect anything from my quarters. I can leave right away.”

  Normal-Art began to walk toward the exit. He made it a few steps before Alex’s hand closed around his upper arm. Alex said, “Wait, Arthur. You have not yet been granted leave.”

  Normal-Art squealed in fury. He was so close to leaving. Why wouldn’t they just let him go? “It’s Art! And why not?”

  Captain King Solomon said, “Because the mission is not yet complete. You have merely planted the seed of a plot. We must ensure the plant blooms and creates ripe fruit.”

  Normal-Art frowned. “I don’t understand what you’re saying,” he said.

  Ginny sighed. “He’s saying we need to travel to the future to confirm that our mission succeeded. You are such a fool. I don’t understand how we lasted so long.”

  Older-Art cleared his throat. Ginny replied, “You got better.”

  Older-Art smiled. Normal-Art groaned, “Fine. Let’s get it over with already.”

  Captain King Solomon returned to his chair. He said, “We would have already begun if you could keep yourself under control.”

  Normal-Art crossed his arms over his chest. Captain King Solomon nodded. “Very well. Officers, attend to your stations.”

  As the men and wo
men and creatures in marigold shirts moved to their stations and the Purple Shirts shuffled to the side to get out of the way, the Captain pressed a button on his chair and said, “Chronal Date 4,890,888,579. Our mission: to seek out chronal anomalies and fix them diplomatically. The B.T.S. Unicorn Husker just prevented the Conspiracy of the Gods. The mission was seemingly a success, and we now travel to the moment the gods enact their mathematical virus to ensure that our metaphorical vaccine took effect.”

  The Captain released the button, and the recording stopped. Captain King Solomon then ordered, “Leif son of Erik, hold us steady at our current point in space. We shall remain cloaked in orbit above this earth for the next two days.”

  Leif nodded, his long blond hair bobbing up and down on his shoulders.

  Normal-Art said, “Wait, what? I thought we were traveling to the future to confirm that we won. Take us there now! I want to go home!”

  Ginny sighed. Bagoo floated from his security station and stopped in front of Art. He gently tapped one of his floating bandage-like tassels on Normal-Art’s shoulder. “Calm down,” he said. “Or I will calm you myself.”

  Normal-Art could see Captain King Solomon through the bog ghost’s translucent body. The Captain ignored Bagoo’s threat to Art and said, “We are traveling to the future, Arthur. We’re merely doing so at the speed this timestream takes us. We shan’t risk jumping our gigantic ship and potentially alerting hostile forces to our presence, especially when such a jump would only take us two days into the future. There is no logic in the risk if we may otherwise remain cloaked and risk nothing.”

  Normal-Art stomped his foot on the ground and screamed, “Aargh! I’ll be down in the stupid Scouting-Whatever-Room with my couch! Nobody speak to me until you’re ready to send me home!”

  Ginny and Drillbot and Older-Art all began saying something to him. But he ignored them and shouldered past them to the exit. He stormed off the bridge and wished the doors did not open and shut automatically, because he really, really wanted to slam the door for effect.