From a distance it might have looked to the average person like folk dancing, the two men hopping about and slapping rhythmically at their legs. But to the large black bear watching them, it only looked like dinner; dinner he was determined not to be deprived of again. One hungry roar later and the two men stopped dancing and turned to see the ill-tempered beast, his slobbery tongue hanging from his mouth like a flag on a windless day.
“Quick. Let’s get out of here!” cried Professor Boxley, forgetting all that Big had taught him about the ways of bears. He hurriedly keyed in the code to unlock the pod door and pushed it open. The bear, sensing that the opening of the pod door meant that the buffet was about to close, took off running in their direction. Gateman quickly shoved Professor Boxley to the ground and dove into the time machine. As the bear closed in, Professor Boxley scrambled to his hands and knees, crawled into the LVR-ZX, and kicked the door closed.
“You did it again,” said the professor, rising to his feet. “You left me to be eaten by a bear. That’s twice.”
“All’s well that ends well. That’s what I like to say,” said Gateman. In the commotion, the two men had forgotten that they were awash in fierce biting ants. And that commotion continued when the bear, having just been denied a rather sizable pre-hibernation brunch, angrily attacked the LVR-ZX, slamming his rotund body against its vulnerable outer shell and rocking it to the point that it nearly rolled onto its side.
“Come on, let’s go here!” screamed Gateman.
“I’m trying!” countered Professor Boxley.
“Well try harder!”
Professor Boxley quickly entered the necessary data into the navigation system while muttering to himself. “Longitude: 56.42 degrees north. Latitude: 9.5 degrees east. Factoring curvature of the Earth. There, that should do it. Jutland, Denmark, three weeks from today. Hold on!” Professor Boxley hit the ignition switch just as the bear hit the LVR-ZX again, rocking it violently. The engines whirred and hummed but the date on the chronometer did not move forward. Not by three weeks. Not by three seconds. Not at all. “Uh-oh.”
“What? What is it?”
The bear collided with the machine once more.
“It won’t let me go forward.”
“What do mean it won’t let you? You’ve got to let it know who’s in charge here.” As if he weren’t irritated enough as it was, Gateman’s legs chose that very moment to remind his brain that they were being ravaged by nibbling insects. He screeched loudly and resumed his highly entertaining folk dance while Professor Boxley reentered the data and tried again, stopping when necessary to slap a few biting ants. He flipped the switch, but still nothing. “I don’t understand it. For some strange reason we can’t go forward in time.”
“Then go backward! Just get us out of here!”
With a hungry bear attacking from the outside and pesky ants attacking from within, the professor had no choice. He quickly adjusted the date for yesterday and, once again, punched the ignition button. This time the machine did just as it was told, taking them, in a matter of a few seconds, to Jutland, Denmark, one day before.
“It worked. I think,” said the professor when the engines wound down to the point that he could be heard. “We should be in Jutland and it should be yesterday.”
“Good. Now let me out of here! These bugs are eating me alive!”
“Wait,” said the professor. “Let me run a quick atmospheric test to make sure it’s safe out there.”
“I don’t care,” said Gateman. “I just want these bugs off me.” He pushed Professor Boxley aside, opened the door, and ran out—right into a massive spiderweb strung between two trees. “Ahhhhhhh!” From a distance it may have looked as though he were possessed by evil spirits as he made a desperate attempt to get the webbing off his face while simultaneously slapping at the ants, which had continued their journey northward to his arms and neck. But to the pack of wolves watching him, it looked like dinner.
Professor Boxley stepped out into the Danish forest and immediately saw the wolves beginning to circle, though Gateman was so busy trying to de-web himself that he failed to notice. “Maybe next time you could set this thing down on a hornet’s nest,” he snipped. “Or hey, how about a pit of poisonous—”
“Wolves,” said the professor.
“Wolves do not live in pits,” said Gateman. “They live in forests and … oh.” Gateman finally noticed the wolves that had been noticing him for quite some time. His webby face went white. Quickly, he shoved Professor Boxley aside and ran back into the LVR-ZX. Professor Boxley followed, angrily slamming the door behind him.
“For goodness’ sake. Just once could you manage to think of someone besides yourself?”
Gateman shrugged. “Like who? There are only the two of us here.”
Professor Boxley sighed and groaned at the same time. “Why couldn’t I have hired that nice fellow from Nebraska? Okay, here we go. I’m going to try and send us to this exact location but three weeks ahead. Hopefully, the wolves will have moved on and Ethan Cheeseman will be nearing shore. Now hold on.” The professor entered the pertinent data and hit the ignition switch. The engines wound up, drowning out the sounds of the growling wolves outside. Still, as loudly as the engines groaned, the chronometer simply refused to budge.
“I don’t understand it. It won’t move forward.”
“Then go backward again,” yelled Gateman. “Just get us out of here.”
“I’ll set it for yesterday, same location.” This time the machine acted predictably and instantly took them back one full day, landing in the exact same location.
“It worked,” said Professor Boxley. “I wonder why it won’t …”
Gateman pushed the professor aside, opened the door and ran out, right into the same spiderweb, hanging between the same two trees. “Ahhhhhh!” He frantically wiped the web from his face. Professor Boxley, stepping out into the forest, could not help but laugh.
“What’s so funny?” sneered Gateman, hunting down the last few remaining ants and flattening them with his palm.
“You ran into the same spiderweb twice,” chuckled Professor Boxley. “You have to admit, that is pretty funny.”
“And you have to admit that you are an idiot!”
Professor Boxley had had just about enough and he cautioned Gateman to mind his tongue.
“I will not mind my tongue,” Gateman bellowed. “I am tired of minding my tongue. You, sir, are an idiot, because you have invented a time machine that doesn’t work.”
“It does work,” said Professor Boxley. “It’s just that it goes back in time but won’t go forward.”
“Then fix it so it does,” barked Gateman.
“That’s the problem,” said Professor Boxley. “There’s nothing wrong with the machine. It’s the science. Something’s wrong with the science behind it.”
“Well, then fix the science.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Professor Boxley. “You can’t fix science. It is what it is.”
Gateman grabbed the professor by his puffy shirt and pulled him close to his clammy, shallow face. “Are you telling me we’re stuck in this miserable place in this miserable time with its miserably clean air for the rest of our miserable lives?”
“I can’t answer that,” said the professor. “The only person who might be able to is Ethan Cheeseman. I’m afraid the man we came here to rescue may now be our only hope of getting home again.”
Some Timely Advice for
time Travelers
No one has done more to help us understand the concept of time than celebrated physicist and part-time hand model Albert Einstein, whose theory of relativity tells us that time is relative to the circumstances of the individual. For example, we all know that when an elephant sits on the fence it’s time to get a new fence, unless it’s an electric fence; then it’s time to get a new elephant.
Time, you see, moves at different rates for all of us. Even a time period as short as a second can mean different
things to different people. Consider how when your big brother says, “Hey, let me see your bike for a second,” what he really means is, “I am going to take your bike and ride it until the chain falls off.”
Or something like that. Actually, I must admit I have absolutely no idea what Einstein is talking about—and it has nothing to do with that German accent. It has to do with the fact that I failed high school physics because I mistakenly thought I was taking a class called psychics.
This is why, when it comes to explanations of time and space, I rely on the theories of celebrated rock star and part-time physicist Steve Miller, who points out that time keeps on slipping, slipping, slipping into the future.
And though time may be slipping into the future, the closest most of us will ever get to traveling forward in time is when, each spring, we fearlessly set our clocks one hour into the future for daylight savings. We take this annual trip into the future despite the risk that we may awaken the following morning to find that our planet has been taken over by renegade robots, talking apes, or—worst-case scenario—talking renegade robot apes. (Another very good title for a sitcom.)
I thereby advise anyone who wishes to go slipping, slipping, slipping into the future that you may not like what you find once you get there. And for those who choose to slip into the past, I hope very much that you do like what you find, because there is the very real possibility that you may be stuck there forever.
Chapter 15
Sailing a ship the size of the Sea Urchin requires a great deal of work, and by the end of the first day both Jibby’s crew and the newcomers were fairly exhausted. But with a steady wind at their backs and calm seas ahead, there was time for all to grab a little rest after a delicious supper that Juanita had managed to whip up with the limited provisions stored in the galley.
Mr. Cheeseman was leaning against the ship’s rail, taking in the sunset and trying to imagine how someone from the future with an old magazine was able to track them down. He was nowhere near coming up with a logical explanation when Juanita approached with a plateful of food. “You eat, sí?” she said. “Para fuerza.” She flexed her right bicep. “For the strength.”
“Thank you.” Mr. Cheeseman smiled. He took the plate and looked at its contents.
“Try. Es muy bueno. Very good.”
“I’m sure it is. It’s just that I don’t seem to have much of an appetite these days.”
“You miss her, sí?” said Juanita.
Mr. Cheeseman nodded. “Sí. Mucho.” The dull pain that followed caught him quite by surprise. It started somewhere deep in his chest and moved swiftly upward, as if trying to escape his body, finally finding a way out through his eyes. He wiped the tears with his shirtsleeve and turned away.
“Lo siento,” said Juanita. “I am sorry.”
“It’s okay,” said Mr. Cheeseman, feeling more than a little embarrassed. “No problema.”
“You see her again. Pronto. Soon.”
Mr. Cheeseman’s smile did not match his mood in any way but smiling seemed like the polite thing to do. He did not want Juanita to feel bad for trying to cheer him up. But he had to wonder if she was right. At this point, it seemed the likelihood of seeing Olivia was fading away as quickly as the day itself.
Chip was wondering the same thing as he leaned against the railing next to Big, the two staring at the same setting sun from the rear of the ship. “What’s it like?” asked Big after a long silence.
“What’s what like?”
“The future.”
Chip laughed, turning from the sea and leaning back against the railing. “I was only kidding about that.”
“I don’t believe that you were,” said Big, her face completely void of expression. “When I saw you in the forest, when you stepped out of that strange device, I knew you were not of this time. I believe it to be true, as the painting said, that your father really is a scientist of tomorrow.”
The first thought Chip had was that, before saying anything, he should discuss the matter with his father. But he had just traveled several centuries into the past, had been chased by witch hunters and pirates, had nearly drowned in an ice-cold river, and had just put in a full day’s work aboard a borrowed ship bound for Denmark. All this, he decided, earned him the right to speak without consulting his father or any other adult.
“Yes,” Chip relented. “We did come here from the future.”
“It is most wondrous? The future?”
“It is pretty great,” said Chip. “We have airplanes, giant metal birds that carry people through the sky. And we have cell phones and pizza. And baseball.”
Big noticed a fresh sparkle in Chip’s eyes when he mentioned baseball. She wanted to know more about this thing that had so obviously captured his imagination. Chip tried his best to explain the game, but Big found it confusing.
“And a home run is when the batter hits the ball out of the park,” he explained.
“And this is a good thing?”
“It’s a very good thing if you’re the hitter. Not so good if you’re the pitcher.”
“I don’t quite understand it,” said Big. “But I get the feeling you’re quite good at this baseball.”
“I’m not bad, I guess,” said Chip with a shrug. “I’d like to pitch in the World Series someday. That is, if we ever make it back home.”
“Perhaps I could go with you. And I could watch you pitch in the World Serious.”
Chip smiled, thinking there was nothing he would like better than for Big to one day watch him pitch in the World Serious. “I don’t know,” he said. “It’d be great if you could come with us, but I don’t think you’d like it very much.”
“Really? And why do you say that?”
“Well, for one thing, you said you don’t care too much for towns. In the future, there are towns everywhere. And cities. Huge noisy cities with buildings so tall they vanish into the clouds. And trucks, trains, and cars. Millions of cars.”
“Cars?”
“Automobiles. Think of a horse-drawn carriage but with a kickin’ sound system, cup holders, four hundred horsepower, and no horses. I can drive one, you know. I mean, technically, I’m not old enough, but my dad taught me just in case.”
“In case of what?”
“Ah, it’s a long story,” said Chip, turning back to the sunset.
Big looked out at the endless expanse of water. “I think we’ve got time.”
As Chip started in, the sun soon retired for the evening and, over the next couple of weeks, the days passed one much like the other. Ethan and the children worked hard to master the art of sailing. They learned how to trim and reef the sails and how to tie a host of essential knots: the French bowline, a Tom Fool knot, the lighterman’s hitch, and the highly intricate double carrick bend.
They learned the proper names for all the parts of the ship. Port was the left side and starboard the right. The rear of the ship was known as the aft or the stern, while the front was called the fore or bow. They learned that a staircase was a companionway and the kitchen was known as the galley.
But most important, they had learned to duck when Three-Eyed Jake turned the ship’s wheel hard to port or starboard, sending the massive wooden boom of the mainsail sweeping across the aft deck with enough force to send anyone in its way careening over the rails and into the drink.
All in all, the newcomers adapted quite well to life at sea and even found themselves enjoying the adventure of it all. Teddy never missed a chance to help Jake steer the ship. Big’s arm improved and so did her willingness to take orders, though Jibby still had strong reservations about her. Pinky and Digs slept a lot, usually curled up together inside a large coil of rope. Ethan replaced the batteries in Dizzy’s earmuffs with those from the Empathizer and once again the former tightrope walker was a climbing machine, scaling the shroud to the crow’s nest each day, searching for any sign of bad weather or bad people.
One day, he spotted both.
Dead ahead, purplish b
lack clouds hung low over the water. A shard of lightning shot down from the darkened sky all the way to the growing swell. Dizzy pulled the earmuff away from his head, then cupped his hand around his ear and counted. He got to eight when the thunder caught up to the lightning with the sound of a low, slow timpani roll. A few moments passed before the next lightning strike. This time Dizzy counted to seven before the thunder arrived, sharper and more crackly than the last burst. It was a pretty nasty-looking storm, and they were headed right for it.
As he turned to begin his downward climb on his way to make a full report to Captain Jibby, he saw something in the other direction that gave more cause for concern than the electrical storm ahead. It was a ship far off in the distance, approaching from the stern and becoming less distant with every second. Dizzy slipped his spyglass from his pocket and brought it to his eye.
The first thing he noticed was that the ship, a quick and agile sloop, sailed without a flag, a practice common among pirates. The next was a strange shimmer coming from the ship’s deck. As the vessel moved closer, the sparkle seemed to be emanating from a man standing on deck or, more precisely, from the man’s head. One more look and Dizzy realized the true source of the light. It was the sun, dancing on the two hundred shiny gold and silver rings that covered the hideously ugly face of the Mailman.
Long before Dizzy had spotted the approaching ship, Captain Jibby knew that something was not right. For the past ten minutes or so Pinky had been standing at the ship’s stern, her front paws upon the railing, growling steadily. Jibby lowered his spyglass and handed it to Mr. Cheeseman.
Another Whole Nother Story Page 14