* * *
‘You never knew, did you? All that fine work, that travel, those people you helped? All this time you searched. The answer was inside you this whole time.’ He said.
‘You mean…?!’ Peter asked brightly.
Papa Fransisco nodded sagely. ‘Yes, my boy...yes….’
‘My colon!’ Peter yelled
And there was much rejoicing in the village that night.
L.L.E Lopez
To Have Loved, To Have Lost, To Have Littered
Ѻ
The muzzle of the gun lay before me, big as a tunnel (subjectively speaking, of course, it was actually only a few centimetres in diameter but moments of high stress induce unhelpful moments of poetry). Behind it Space looked at me expectantly, his eyes hard and untrusting. I had to answer correctly.
“Um….Four hundred?” He shook his head and kept the blaster on me.
“No. I can do a thousand.”
“Sir, no you c-”
“Calling me a liar?”
I rubbed the bridge of my nose and winced. “Sir, this isn’t strictly relevant. I do know you. Ask me questions that would prove that. A question that only someone in the future who was your closest ally would know. Not how many squat thrusts you can do,” I begged.
“Well, I think it was a very good question. I’d have said two thousand. Your thighs are in incredible shape,” Tempus added quickly.
Space's eyes flicked over to him .The gun stayed trained on me and Space nodded “One point to Ebenezer,” he said.
“I am Ebenezer!” I pleaded.
It wasn’t going well.
Finding the two of us fighting, Space had clambered into the pharmacy office and had us line up against the wall at gunpoint. Two people claiming to be Ebenezer Funkworthy stood before him and only one of us would be able to prove it. Having no other recourse I had suggested to him that he could try asking us probing questions about himself; things only his true friend would know, logical questions to establish the real Ebenezer's identity.
He was not great at it.
So far he had asked us how handsome he was 'on a scale of one to extraordinarily', asked us to guess how many fingers he was holding up behind his back and asked us what the capital of Paris is. It was difficult to tell how to win the game. Even Tempus was looking panicked, as the gun swung between us as erratically as the thoughts in Space’s head.
I massaged my temples slightly. “A question- not an opinion- that someone who is really your friend would know. A fact. About you.” I spoke slowly and emphatically.
He furrowed his brows for a second and then a smile lit his face. Eureka.
“What colour are my eyes?” he asked, eyebrows arching.
“Sir, we can see them now!” I insisted.
“Blue!” Yelled Tempus, shooting a smug look my way.
Space held out an open palm to Tempus.
“I'd have accepted 'piercing blue', 'ocean spray' or 'vermilion' but yes. Two points to you”
“Vermilion doesn't mean blue,” I noted.
“Three points.” Space said. The gun stayed on me and his gaze returned to me too. “For a man who knows me from the future, you don't seem to know me too well.”
It dawned on me then- for the first time, Space was right, I DID know him. I was playing too rationally. This Space didn't know me. Even the one who did sometimes still shot at me for correcting his words. Tempus was pandering to him. I'd have to take him on at his own game.
What colour...” Space started, warming to the theme of colours and his own appearance, “is my hair?”
I let Tempus charge in. “Blonde!” he cried.
I groaned inwardly and answered. “Spun-gold, sir. The colour of a lion under a sunrise.” I fought back a queasy feeling.
There was a beat as Space sized up our answers.
The gun barrel turned towards Tempus.
“Good work, Ebenezer. I also would have accepted 'bronze supernova', 'strawberry brown' or 'vermilion.''” Tempus gnashed his teeth and I bit down on my need to correct him.
It was a bind. On the one hand I had I had spent years writing reports in Space's voice but on the other hand I had spent years trying to tune his constant white noise of boasts out of my head, like a man living under an arrogant waterfall. But on the other hand I had ghost written his memoirs, but on yet another hand I had undergone intense hypnotherapy to erase that incident from my mind. It was a lot of hands to consider. But on the other hand it was really quite simple: the person who could flatter Space the most would be dubbed Funkworthy. The other would be shot.
“What star sign am I?”
“Leo!” yelled Tempus. It was an easy mistake to make, if you went by dates and times. I knew better.
“You are Zodiac! King of the animals,” I said calmly. The gun stayed on Tempus.
“Two-to-three. Let's do a lightning round: You,” he swivelled the barrel back to me, “my favourite colour, my height, my favourite animal, my favourite word, the capital of Belgium, my nickname and my blood type.”
“Strawberry-brown, imposing, the sperm whale-No wait! The whale sperm, 'sextastical', the floating city of New-Brussels, 'The Iron Messiah' or 'The Chocolate Landslide' and...unknown (since you have never bled your own blood)”
I felt pretty confident about those. All except for the nicknames, which were constantly changing and evolving. There had been several weeks when he would only answer to the name 'The Hammer'. It wouldn't have been so bad if he hadn't been in the middle of a court martial. Space was doing his best poker face at me, but I could tell by the slight way that he was nodding his head and giving me a thumbs up that I had passed.
He turned to Tempus. “You, the maybe-Ebenezer inching his way closer to that needle. Tell me my weight, my catchphrase, my favourite smell, the best way to tie a tie, the best thai, the worst colour of tie, how do I like my Mai Tais, how do I like my ties and what number I'm thinking of right...now? It's not seven.” He looked expectantly at Tempus, Tempus looked warily at the gun and the gun looked blankly back at him. He looked unsure (Tempus, not the gun). Beads of sweat dotted his forehead and his eyes darted around the room unsurely. I smiled inwardly and then outwardly, growing more confident. Tempus had some facts prepared but dealing with Space was seldom about facts. To Space facts were just rules made by reality and he was,as he always said 'in the business of breaking rules and shaking fools'.
“Um.. weight is around two hundred and twenty pounds-” he started.
Space thumbed back the safety on his gun. “Three-all,” he said darkly to Tempus, sucking in his stomach a touch. “Continue.”
Tempus put out his hand placatingly. “I apologize, but come on, Space, Space-y old buddy. It's me! We don't need these questions do we? Who showed up first? Me. Who has all the headlines from the future? Me again. You were born on a Tuesday, You're right handed, you have an allergy to satsumas, your original name before you changed it to Space Hardcore was-”
The shot rang out, the laser pranging off of the wall inches above Tempus' head.
Space's eyes were wide and wild.
“‘Name before I changed it’?” he asked incredulously. Tempus had a lot of facts and details correct, but he obviously didn't know the man. Time to step in.
“He has always been Space Hardcore, sir!” I cried, pointing to Space. “Even if the details of the letters of his name have not always matched that he is as he has always been: Space Hardcore. After all, there are only three constants in this universe: time, space and Space Hardcore!”
Space looked over to me admiringly. “I like that. Good saying.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“I think I made that up didn't I?”
“I am quoting you, sir,” I said. It was even true this time, in its way.
“Very good, Funkworthy.” It was good to hear him call me that again.
“I'm Funkworthy!” Tempus insisted. But Space was shaking his head sadly at the man.
“No. No you're
not. It was a cunning ruse, sir, but you didn't reckon with the observational skills of Private Space Hardcore. This gentleman is wearing golden trousers with my initials welded into them. Now I may not know much about time travel but I'm pretty sure that the man in possession of a pair of my own trousers is the closest to me. And, of course, you made the mistake of being a little too obsequious. I'm not the kind of chap who needs to surround himself by yes men, isn't that right Funkworthy?”
“Absolutely, sir, yes,” I agreed
Tempus dropped his arms to his side and let the pleading look melt from his face until only an icy contempt remained there; his true form revealed. It sent a chill up my spine. He gave a parody of a smile to Space and looked in disgust at me. He spat his words out of his mouth as though they were venom. “Ah! Look at you two. Funkworthy and Space Hardcore together again. Touching. Yes, I admit it is I; Professor Tempus!”
“Who?” Space asked.
“Professor Tempus. You don't know me yet. I'm from your future.”
“We don't know you then,” I noted.
“That’s the point! “ he shrieked. Calming himself he continued, “Never mind. The future is not important. Only the past is; more importantly your past, Private Hardcore. If I can't kill you here then I'll kill you somewhere...or somewhen else. Perhaps your lineage will be of more interest. Do you have anything to say to your great-great-great-great grandfather?”
“What?”
“Your family tree. Wonderful thing; genealogy. I can trace your family line back through the ages. Each one with dates, names and addresses. Perhaps I’ll visit your ancestor living in the Second Great Depression of 2021. Or maybe earlier than that.” My eyes widened. We had him cornered but, of course he had another way out.
He was reaching towards his trousers again, his fingers working at his groin surreptitiously.
I pointed to them frantically, still wary of Space's suspicions and his gun. I couldn't make any sudden moves myself. “Space! Look at what he's doing!” I shouted, pointing toward his pelvis. “Stop him!”
Space recoiled and cast a wild look at me. “Um, I'd rather not.”
Tempus looked briefly up at us, still fiddling away. It had to be now.
“His trousers, Space, we need to get his trousers off! It's the only way to beat him!” Tempus, knowing he had only seconds to spare was bent double, his hands working furiously at the controls, mashing numbers into it.
“Look!”
“I don't know what I do in the future but as for now-”
“If he finishes what he's doing, we're screwed. You need to take him in hand! Take his trousers off and beat him!” I cried but Space was too busy averting his eyes and blushing.
It was no good. With one last triumphant look up at us Tempus punched in the last number and a crease in the fabric of space and time swallowed him whole. Gone.
“Well, that's a new one on me,” commented Space, turning back around. “Now-argh, you too?!”
I didn't look up. I was busy working at my own trousers. Tempus had just left and that meant the time energy was fresh. I'd be able to tune into it with my own trousers and follow him to wherever he was going. I could arrive minutes after him, not weeks, but I had to concentrate. I rewired the trousers, doubled over in concentration.
“I'm not used to having this affect on people. Is it me or this damn asylum? I am using a new cologne,” Space murmured but I ignored him
“Shh! I'm close. Let me focus,” I said distantly, my hands working steadily as I aligned myself with the temporal vibrations. “I'm almost there, almost there.” Sweat dappled my brow.
“Sh-shall I go? I can put a tie on the door knob if you want.”
“Don't speak. I'm close. Close,” my fingers worked nimbly on my inferior machine but I could feel the crackle of time energy rattle through my upper thighs. The time void was close. 'Hold on, Tempus, I'm coming for you' I thought.
“I'm coming.”
Space took a step back and began whistling to himself.
I punched in the last numbers and-
With a staticky buzz and a flash of purple light a rift opened up where Tempus had escaped, a portal of quivering time energy, open but unsteady, ready to collapse. I'd have to be quick. I looked back at the young Space Hardcore who was looking incredulous but somewhat relieved at the portal.
“I have to go, Private.”
“Wait, you're from the future, you have to give me some advice, tell me what to avoid, what dangers are coming for me?”
I had to go but I couldn't help it. I had dreamed of the day when Space would actually ask my advice. I paused at the lip of the portal. “Yes sir. Well, look out for me in your travels, of course. In the future you always pay very close attention to what I say and follow along with it. You listen to my advice and act on it in almost all circumstances. This is why you're so successful. As for concrete advice, I can say that one of the more important things you can start now is a system of financial responsibility and retirement fund planning. Part one of a simple seventeen point plan would be your 401k. For example-”
“Oh, blah boring blah”
With that, he took my face in one hand and shoved me through the portal.
Bloody typical.
But that time ripped away from me as I found myself in the void again. I turned and saw a fleeing figure in the distance.
Tempus.
---=◈◆⬤◆??◆⬤◆◈=---
Time ripped me away from me. And it felt alright.
I mean, not the ripping part. That was absolutely awful. I realized that it is a wonderful virtue that few people discuss, but occupying one's own body is absolutely top notch. I was ripped out of my own by the time energy, exiting from my own body with the speed and violence of an undercooked burrito. In one second Funkworthy and Bathby were in front of me and in the next I was torn away into the time stream.
No, it was not the physical act of being removed that felt alright, it was simply leaving a disastrous situation. I was relieved to be leaving the station. I felt...embarrassed, or at least that was what I assumed the feeling was. There had, up until that moment been no cause for embarrassment in my life so I was unfamiliar with the sensation.
I didn't quite know how the incident had spiralled so out of control. I usually have things pretty well in hand. In fact I can ordinarily let things go a little bit too far before saving the day. After all, where's the drama in a bomb defused with thirteen minutes on the timer? None. Half a second? Well now, we’re talking. The only exception is the one time I managed to stop a clock at eighty minutes and eight seconds, since that appeared to spell a rude word on the display, but nobody in the cathedral seemed to find that as amusing as I did. I may live on the edge but I have always had a keen sense of how far I can push myself before falling over, like a puffin on a cliff face.
Could I really convince myself that that had been a victory? That I had planned that last paradox?
I thought deeply to myself as my body tore through the void.
Yes. Yes I could, I thought.
That had been a victory. Everyone was alive, robots were dead, that was all that was important. I had planned that last paradox. Maybe not consciously but probably unconsciously, with that bothersome hidden part of my mind my court mandated therapists kept talking about. They said that the unconscious was a potent part of the mind, always swimming with deep ideas and notions in the furthest recesses of my mother.
I came back into my body. A feeling like a backwards yawn took over me and I felt my physical self again. I entered my own body again and it felt good to be home. I wagged my arms and legs experimentally, just to make sure I still fit me fine. I seemed to. The veil of energy around me and the time void was gone from my vision.. I was once more Captain Space Hardcore. Standing in a room. Looking at...what?
I looked down at my feet. I was stepping in one of Tempus's pant portal contraptions. As I kicked at it a small fizzling corona of energy sputterred around it and died. The device
crackled for a second and then all of its lights winked out of existence, deactivated. I looked beyond that to the chrono detonator, which stood there; a compact black device pregnant with some kind of time explosion I could hardly fathom. As the pants sizzled underneath my boot-heel one of the four central red lights around its top winked out of existence.
One portal down, one light off.
I had no time to waste. I stepped over to the next portal and squared up to it. On the brink of certain death. This would be the part where I told Funkworthy how I should be remembered, but he was . Tradition must be upheld, I decided.
“Remember me,” I declared to the empty chamber, “as a fearless chrononaut, undaunted by the past, and knowledgeable about paradoxes. Like a puffin.”
I nodded to myself. That’ll do it.
I jumped in.
Interlude Two
ʘ
Briefing Summary
Location-- COAR Department of Intelligence and Counterintelligence
Mission Objective-- Extraction of Principal Target (Former Agent Belson Erdinger)
Planning Status- -Stalled
Current Meeting Duration--Seven Hours, thirty seven minutes
The thick fug of cigar smoke almost masked the smell of stale sweat and ancient coffee. Almost. The Major sat at the head of the table and loosened his tie a little more. Of all the men seated around him partially lit by the desk lamps, none could seem to do what he asked. He pounded his fist off of the desk.
“We need to extract him. Pure and simple.”
The man to his left snorted and shook his jowly face “Pure and simple, huh? There's nothing simple about it, but maybe you can't see that well behind your desk.”
The Time Trousers of Professor Tempus: A Captain Space Hardcore Adventure Page 13