“What about the trousers?” the guard asked, gesturing to my audacious fashion. I gulped. If they took away even that from me I was finished.
Behind the reception there was a weary sigh. A sigh from someone working in public healthcare. I felt relief spill over me. "Not my problem," she said distantly, "it’s not technically contraband. Someone will take his belongings later."
With that I was hefted away from her desk and toward a dispiritingly heavy looking door. It opened for me, like a tomb.
Private Hardcore, she had said. The fog in my mind lifted its skirts a little bit to reveal Space shooting me. I had gotten in touch with him! He had shot me in the face! So close, I sighed. Well, if I was insane anyway then there was no point in holding back.
"You don’t understand!" I yelled, "I was sent from the future! I’m here to save you all! The universe is at stake. I’m a time traveller!" I screamed, straining in the arms of the orderly as he shoved me through the doors.
"I have to save the universe. It’s coming!" another voice joined in from beside me.
"The very fabric of time-" I continued.
"The very fabric of time is at stake here!" appended a third voice.
"Quite." I agreed, slightly deflated. "Also there’s a Captain I need to speak to-"
"I need to speak to the President! We only have days to avert the uprising," came a new voice from behind me.
The doors slammed in front of me and my little chorus and we took a moment to look round at each other. The other three chaps were looking dejectedly at the door with me. Wearing asylum jumpsuits and wild looks they were three malnourished looking humans, some still sporting scars and visible tattooed barcodes and mohawk haircuts from their respective dystopian futures. Or maybe they were crazy. Annoyingly, I began to sympathize with the receptionist.
The room was a large open plaza, broken up by only a few columns and some decidedly soft furnishings draped with the crazy and the temporally misplaced. Within the limbo-grey walls the jumpsuited inmates wandered in lazy spirals like dying bees. Some hummed, some sang, some busied themselves with scripture or the construction of paper hats. My companions were looking at me with fresh curiosity.
After a few seconds of chuckling and regarding each other one fellow with sandy coloured hair and a series of numbers tattooed across his temple gave me a friendly grin and shot out his hand.
"Time traveller?" he asked brightly.
"Yes," I replied and he nodded pleasantly.
"COAR scientific wing?" he asked.
"Right again."
"Let me guess; you materialized, warned them of coming atrocities and they locked you up in here with us loons," he laughed, a little edgily.
"Well, yes, actually."
He made a mock annoyed sound and looked up at the ceiling as he shook his fists, generally. "Ugh! Bloody bastards. When will they learn?"
"You get a lot of us?"
"Us? You? I am one of you? Came in two weeks ago when they turned the blasted time machine on. Most of the inmates here came in a few days ago. Depends on how well calibrated their time machines are. Yours must be a bit sloppy, I hate to say. My one’s top of the range. Or it will be. Unless I can stop them making it." He seemed to become lost in thought for a moment, "You’re the only new inmate all day. The day I was committed there was a line around the building. I was one of the first," he said with a tone of pride. "Chad Maxwell. Leader of the human resistance against the machine uprising of 4985. Sent back to stop it from ever happening, like most of this motley crew." He pressed his hand into mine and gave a firm handshake.
"Charmed," I said.
"I’m here to stop time travel from being invented, since it’s fallen into the hands of the machines and they’re using it to…well, it’s all a bit of a mess in the future to be honest. Came back to the inception of time travel to destroy it at the source." He put his arms out apologetically and made another annoyed ‘argh’ sound. "Not doing terribly well, I admit. Still, at least there are no bloody robots in here. Clean water, decent food, more than six hundred remaining humans. Warm meals, beds, yeah, not bad…." he trailed off a little. "I’ll get to dismantling time travel in a bit, I’m sure. But it’s nice and comfortable here in the interim," he said vaguely. He suddenly snapped back to attention and took my hand again. "My God, where are my manners? Let me introduce you around. This-" he pointed to a young shaven headed man with one eye who was regarding me with bug-eyed, naked alarm, "is Slave 562. Come to save us from…"
"The apes!" 562 broke in, suddenly animated. "They rise up, you know. Take over the whole planet! Got to stop it now. Wipe out the population! Kill the apes. Slaughter the monkeys! But do they listen to me?"
I shook his hand a little limply and my guide pointed me to a gaunt elderly gent standing next to 562.
"And this is Elijah. He’s come to warn everyone of the replicant takeover, isn’t that right Elijah?"
Elijah looked at me ecstatically. "They’re already here! In the highest seat of government. You could be one. I could be one. He could be one. I could be one, as well. You never know. They wear our skin, want us in their hive mind. Got to kill them."
"Kill the apes!" interjected 562 urgently, poking his head between us.
"My God, yes. They could be apes." Elijah agreed with dawning horror. "They could replicate anyone, anything. They could be in our zoos right now, on our tyre swings. It’d be the perfect cover. Damn those replicants!"
"Kill the apes. Monkey hunt," prodded 562.
"Oh yes, kill the apes. Replicant apes," agreed Elijah, distantly. 562 Nodded happily.
"Yes, yes, kill the apes," Chad said smoothly and patted 562’s arm. We moved off a step and he began to point out nearby inmates
Chad pointed a finger at a few of the inmates walking past. "That fellow’s from a future of evil clones, she’s another robot uprising, he’s here to warn us about global warming of all things, he’s hunting Jack the Ripper through time, he’s a fugitive from a totalitarian future government of psychics, he’s Jack the Ripper (keep that one quiet) and he’s, well, he suffers from chronic schizophrenia. He probably should be here, all things considered. Charlie!" Chad called to the schizophrenic, who looked casually over from his recliner. "Are you from the future?"
"Nope," Charlie called back happily. "I’m Cleopatra!"
Chad looked back to me with a shrug, "Yeah, not everyone’s a time traveller, I suppose. Poor Charlie. Anyway, that’s the gang. Welcome to the madhouse and all that. You don’t have to be mad to work here and so on. Meals are at six, lights out at ten and try not to talk too much about promising developments in the field of artificial intelligence, there’s a good chap. We try to keep the time travellers separate from the delusional personalities, just so you know. Cliques." He shrugged, "What’s your story then?"
"Wait, they just lock all the time travellers up in here? Why?"
Chad flopped lazily onto an empty old taupe couch and I followed suit. "Oh convenience, I suppose." He sighed, "I was pretty angry too, but look at it from their perspective. You invent time travel and before you even have time to open the bubbly a slew of raggedy men appear in a flash to deliver prophecies. It’s an admin nightmare. And even if you make time to interview them all, what are you going to do? Act on everything immediately? You’d have to kill the President about fourty times, smash all the computers in the world and shovel all the primates into a great big furnace. Nobody wants that."
"Kill the apes!" Came a voice from across the room.
"Now, every so often someone comes around and has a bit of a chinwag with one of us, get through the complaints in an orderly fashion, but really, what’s the rush? We’re all from the future. Meanwhile, it’s more convenient to just stick us in the loony bin and sift through us when it’s easy. Speaking of which-" He held a finger up as a chiming klaxon went off and a few lights flashed orange on the walls. "That’ll be a representative of COAR now. You can see for yourself. They’ll take one of us away for an in
terview, see what they need to look out for and get a few little glimpses of the future for their trouble." He tugged on my sleeve as the inmates slowly took note of the klaxon. "Come on, we’ve got to line up when that goes off."
I fell into step beside him as the inmates began dutifully forming a line against the far wall. Behind the thick security door I heard muffled and officious voices. We ambled over to the end of the line.
"Couldn’t time travellers just pop up any time, though?" I asked my guide.
"Oh yes. And many do. But it’s easier to telephone someone when you know someone’s on the other end, isn’t it? And this is the first point where time travel became a thing. If you wanted to destroy hamburgers you would go back to the opening of the first McDonald’s. Actually, that’s what that chap over there wants to do. No idea why."
I sighed and looked down the line. I had fallen at the first hurdle. I had failed the Captain and, to a greater degree, the fabric of space and time. In front of me were dozens of equally intrepid and determined saviours of the future who were now lining up at the behest of a bell, to be interviewed and then discarded by this early version of COAR. I looked at Chad, whose mission had been eschewed in favour of being a tour guide in a sanatorium. I had to stay determined. I had to try to fight. I couldn’t just wait for Tempus and Space to come to me. That would be ludicrous.I took my place in line.
"I’m not letting you off the hook here, you know." Chad nudged me, "You still haven’t told me your name and what you’re saving us all from. Robots again? Ooh, maybe something more exotic. Go on, indulge me. They could be coming for you this time," he said, motioning to the door behind which I could hear activity, "and I can’t let you go without knowing."
He had been kind so I tried to set it out for him. In so doing maybe I could straighten it out for myself. "Fair enough. I’m chasing a man who’s chasing a man. There’s this fellow- Tempus- who’s out to kill my commanding officer; Captain Space Hardcore. Tempus is travelling through time to kill Hardcore’s ancestors (i’m guessing) and I’m here to stop him."
Chad raised a polite eyebrow. "Hardcore, eh? You’re in good company. This fellow here’s after the same chap!" He said happily turning to his neighbour and tapping his shoulder. "Introduce yourself." He said, nudging the man and signalling to me. A chill of anticipation ran through me. Distantly I heard the security doors swing open.
The short fellow in the line turned to me.
"Tempus." I gasped.
"Funkworthy!" he replied with a hiss.
"You!" I cried.
"You!" he returned.
"You!" came a new voice.
We all wheeled round. The security doors stood open and flanked by two other security officers was a young private.
"Hardcore?" asked Chad.
"Hardcore." I affirmed.
"Hardcore!" Tempus hissed.
"Apes!" added 562, unnecessarily.
"Tempus?" Chad asked, pointing a thumb toward Tempus.
"Tempus." I affirmed.
"Tempus?" asked Private Hardcore, taking a step into the room. The door closed behind him.
The door made a locking sound and we stood there for a long moment.
"Jack the Ripper?!" gasped someone further down the line.
"Jesus," muttered someone else, either through shock or as a way of identifying themselves.
Then it happened.
I ran at Tempus. Tempus ran at Space. 562 ran at Jack the Ripper. Cleopatra ran at Chad.
And that’s how the riot in the Delusionals wing began.
---=◈◆⬤◆??◆⬤◆◈=---
"Nice, uh, nice day we’re having."
"S’alright" he said grudgingly.
"Your... You’re looking very fine today."
"Right."
"Sooooo what’s your starsig-"
"T-MINUS SIX MINUTES TO IMPACT."
The seduction was not going well.
Funkworthy yanked me around by my elbow, apparently so that I could more fully appreciate the incredulous expressions he and the professor were making.
“What exactly do you think you’re doing?” he asked.
I had been trying to romance a computer but I was coming up rather short. Tempus had tinkered with EVA to transform her into a truculent electronic chap. Cunning. I will admit that it had thrown me for a loop. But Tempus obviously had no regard for my level of charm and sexual prowess which broke all conceivable barriers and several galactic laws. If the man had done any research then he’d know I was far from above the notion of throwing my musk at any gender (and indeed at several newly discovered species that had evolved past the notion of gender) in order to get my way, to get out of a speeding violation or even if I’d simply had too much red wine of an evening.
No, my pansexual allure and the tightness of my trousers weren’t the problem. When were they ever? Seldom. The problem was this STEVE-A construct was a deliberately brusque, asexual thing. It was a burly IT manager, a dull personality with the appearance of a substitute geography teacher and the programmed mannerisms of middle aged linoleum wholesaler. I turned to Bathby, agitated.
"Why the hell isn’t this a sexy female?" I demanded, pointing to the screen.
A moment of puzzled silence fell.
“You could have made this into an attractive robot mind,” I persisted.
Bathby turned to Funkworthy. "Does he ask this a lot?" she enquired in a small voice.
I stalled. To someone not aware of the alternate timelines that question could, I supposed be considered somewhat out of the blue. I interrupted Funkworthy surreptitiously nodding and shrugging to the Professor.
"I mean, why have you programmed this AI to be so…truculent and offputtingly male?"
“Is now really the time?” she asked, putting a hand out to the windows that were showing our rapidly accelerating descent and the door which was buckling and glowing under a robot onslaught behind it. “Very well. The personality is of no importance really but one of our financial backers- one of the few who showed faith in the project stipulated that the AI have a personality similar to this. In fact, I modelled him on my own father- a retired colonel, if you must know, and that seemed to satisfy Mr. Tempus.”
I mashed my fist into my hand in frustration. Romancing a sexy female computer had been a dawdle, seducing a much less sexy male computer would have been a welcome challenge but seducing a murderous computer simulation of an elderly colonel was asking far too much. I considered briefly running back to the ship and changing into something even tighter-
“T-MINUS FIVE MINUTES THIRTY TO IMPACT"
-but thought better of it . I’d need more time than that to get into my most flattering jodhpurs. No, as I looked at the face of STEVE-A as he sent his robot army, I decided that seduction was off the table, and I’m a man who is not used to seduction being off the table (that was one of the main reasons I was banned from so many furniture retailers, restaurants and table warehouses). This new AI was too intangible to be harmed by my karate, too unsexy to be charmed by my wiles and too complicated to be reprogrammed even by its own creator. I looked over at Bathby. Briefly I toyed with the notion of seducing her instead, but really, that that would get us nowhere. I just had too much pent up musk. She looked a little uneasy at my seductive appraisal and shuffled her feet.
Funkworthy came over to me urgently and spoke in an undertone.
"Sir," he said, audibly sweating, "are you alright? We are in rather mortal peril and for the last few minutes, after you seemed to have been struck with some great idea all that you have done is chat up a disinterested computer. I’m used to your methods, but even for me, this is unusual." he looked at me meaningfully. "Do you have anything?"
I looked from him and back to Bathby, who was putting out a fire with a small extinguisher and back to Funkworthy. I looked back at Bathby, who was piling furniture up by the door, back to Funkworthy, back to Bathby and then back to Funkworthy who was pointedly checking his watch.
"Is that a
‘no’ then?"
Somewhere in the pit of my stomach something said ‘yes’, though I tried to convince myself that that was just those onion bhajiis that I had had for lunch. The truth was, I was coming up dry. Charm- one of my four foundational pillars of my CALAPAW- was not applicable in this situation.
“If this thing goes south, old man (and it may this time), remember me as a man whose CALAPW never failed him,” I said.
Funkworrthy looked a little curious at that, maybe because I had yet to give the notion a name at this time, or maybe because it would be hard for him to carry on this legacy if all of us died by burning up in a sun.
"T-MINUS-"
"Quiet!" I screamed at STEVE-A. I needed time to think and, with the robots and the falling and the sun and Funkworthy’s expectant looks, that was the one thing I didn’t have. What was I expected to do? Form a brilliant plan out of nothing? Take some offhand remark and extrapolate it into some kind of masterful escape plan? Ludicrous!
"I’m sorry, Captain. I shouldn’t lay all the onus on you. This is quite the puzzle after all. Maybe if we all just work together and-"
I grabbed him by the face. Something he had said had struck me. This was a notable occasion in and of itself, but something he had said had struck a chord somewhere.
"What did you just say?" I demanded.
"We should work together?" I shook his face angrily in my hands.
"No! You said something useful. What was it?"
"I shouldn’t lay all the onus on you?" he tried again.
I made a face at him. "Eugh! What a filthy mind you have. I don’t even know how you would—"
"Onus, Space," he interrupted. "onus. It means burden of responsibility."
"Oh. Not that either. And use plain language. You know I can’t stand linguistical obfuscation and syntactical constructs that render and nullify what meaning that sentiments may heretofore contain, unintelligible. Quoth."
The Time Trousers of Professor Tempus: A Captain Space Hardcore Adventure Page 10