Synchronic: 13 Tales of Time Travel

by Michael Bunker

  It always felt to Horatio like he was revealing something of epic importance. It was exciting, because he never really knew what he was going to uncover within the rock. Maybe a bone that would help fill a gap in one of the existing skeletons in the archives or on display. Maybe an entirely new species never discovered before.

  So far this one looked to be a carnosaur of some kind—possibly an Allosaurus, judging from the size of the leg bone. Secretly, Horatio hoped it might be a Tyrannotitan, because only a very limited, partial skeleton of that genus had ever been found. Imagine the prestige it would bring his museum if his team were to become the first to uncover a nearly complete Tyrannotitan. This sedimentary rock came from a region known for its tyrannosaurids, so with luck…

  He was exposing an interesting part of the fossil at this very moment. It seemed to be a rib bone of some kind, though it was strangely out of proportion to the rest of the skeleton. Long and thin like the pole of a tent. Intriguing. It was possible this was a bone from an entirely unrelated species—perhaps some hapless mammal the carnosaur had eaten before it died.

  Horatio heard footsteps behind him. By now he could recognize the footfalls of all his colleagues without looking, but this impatient tread proved unrecognizable to him. A museum visitor perhaps, wandering around in the off-limits area.

  “If you’re looking for the tour guide, I’m afraid you’re well off the mark,” Horatio said.

  “Horatio Horace?”

  Horatio paused. Who could be bothering him?

  He hesitantly put down his rock hammer and chisel, and turned around.

  The visitor looked like he could have been cut from rock himself, with that face of rough peaks and weathered valleys. He dressed in the suit and tie of a blue service uniform; shoulder boards on his pea coat indicated a military rank of some kind.

  “I’m Captain Abraham Ford,” the man said. “And I’m putting together a team.”

  * * *

  Horatio was panting. Heavily.

  He wasn’t built for this crap.

  Everything had been great up until now. The buffet dinners, the planning, the build-up to the Event. But after they arrived here, things immediately soured.

  The insertion site was a barren, hilly landscape of treeless shale, stunted shrubs, and scraggy rocks. Megan Brocks, paleobotanist (and former student of Horatio’s), insisted she needed fauna to study, not rocks. She wanted to leave the insertion site immediately and explore this great undiscovered country.

  Horatio stressed that it was far safer to remain close to the insertion site. That going out there was the equivalent of suicide. But Megan wouldn’t hear it.

  Horatio didn’t like Megan. His former student was one of those people who always believed she was in the right, even when she was wrong. Megan was charismatic, and crafty to boot. She played on the warrior mentality of the military escort (Horatio thought of them as an escort, but in reality it was he and the other civilians who were the tag-alongs, much as he hated to admit it). Megan questioned their manhood. She said something like, “Are you men, or are you mice? Are we here to explore? Or cower?”

  The Travelers had promptly loaded into the Hummers and barreled onward, caution be damned.

  “Come on, Horatio,” she’d said at the time. “Live a little.”

  The barren landscape soon fell away, replaced by oversized conifers. Proto-pine trees. Megan had her fauna.

  The Hummers halted some distance inside the forest. An appropriate site for the “Forward Operations Base” was picked out, and the Travelers piled out of the Hummers.

  Horatio had been forced—indignity of indignities—to lug all his heavy equipment from the Hummer by himself, including his bulky tent. No one would help him. No one! All these strong military boys around him, and none would lift a finger to help a middle-aged man. They were too busy “securing the perimeter,” as it were. Whatever.

  This was still the opportunity of a lifetime, Horatio had to admit. A chance to get up-close and personal with living versions of the creatures he’d studied his entire life. He would confirm once and for all the validity of the theories regarding these prehistoric animals. He hoped to put to rest the debate on protofeathers—or “dinofuzz” as some of his lesser-esteemed colleagues dubbed them—and to prove exactly which species, at least in this time period, had them. He also hoped to verify some of the leading theories regarding dinosaur behavior, such as pack mindset and pecking order.

  The foliage was thick, and it could almost be called a jungle—of cone-bearing conifers, anyway. Pine needles were everywhere. The trees had them. The shrubs had them. Proto-leaves.

  Megan must be pleased.

  The air was tepid and heavy with humidity, so that by the time he settled on a spot for his tent, he was drenched in sweat. He chose a location close to the center of the camp, near the captain’s tent. Horatio figured he’d be safest there.

  He flung his equipment to the ground and wearily unzipped the tent bag. He tossed the tent rods to one side, sending a herd of some small creatures galloping away through the thick undergrowth. Startled, Horatio watched the branches and proto-leaves sway as the things fled, but he couldn’t actually discern any of the creatures beneath the thick foliage.

  One of the navy boys had set up his tent nearby, and he bent over and caught one of the creatures as it hurried past. He brought the struggling animal over, cradling it in his arms.

  “Lose something, Doc?” The navy boys all called Horatio either Doc or Professor, even though he didn’t have a degree.

  “What is it?” Horatio said, somewhat afraid. He himself certainly wouldn’t have picked up any random animal he found in this time period. He lacked the temerity for such things.

  “You tell me.”

  It was a small animal, roughly the size of an adult cat, with hooves, a short mane, and a relatively hairless tail. All in all, it was similar to a modern horse or deer, except in miniature. Even its muted neighs were a subdued version of the real thing.

  “Amazing!” Horatio said, feeling his excitement build. “And to think, the commonly held belief is that the Hyracotherium, the ancient forerunner of the modern horse, existed solely at the end of the Cretaceous period, after the dinosaurs died out! Ha! Hold still!” Horatio delved through his bag, searching for the approved digital camera. All of their equipment was specially made—the cameras, even the guns—of biodegradable materials. That way if someone misplaced something, the timeline wouldn’t be affected.

  That was the theory, anyway.

  The rules clearly stated no personal, non-biodegradable electronic items could be brought on this trip, but that hadn’t stopped Horatio from sneaking his smartwatch along. He was secretly wearing it even now, under his sleeve. He didn’t go anywhere without that smartwatch, and he wasn’t about to do so now just because some pompous, self-important navy captain told him to.

  The Travelers had been given other, more reasonable rules. They were here strictly for observational purposes. No killing of any life whatsoever, except when facing extreme duress. Horatio could agree to that. The Travelers even had to be careful about uprooting or trampling too many shrubs. Sure, whatever.

  Despite all these rules, accidents could still happen. What if one of the Travelers inadvertently stepped on and killed a small rodent or monkey that turned out to be the precursor of the modern human? Maybe the tiny Hyracotherium the navy man was holding was the actual genetic forebear of modern horses.

  And maybe it was about to have a heart attack.

  What a terrible thought.

  Horatio found the prescribed digital camera and took a snapshot, followed by a quick video. “Good, good. Now let it go. Let it go!”

  The navy man shrugged and set the tiny horse down. The thing immediately galloped away into the undergrowth.

  Horatio took some pictures of the foliage for good measure.

  “Finish setting up your tent, Doc,” the navy man said. “Supper’s at seventeen hundred.”

&nb
sp; “Ah, the regimented life of the military. It’s why I never signed up, you know.” Horatio’s own life was regimented to the extreme, but he wasn’t about to admit that. “What’s your name, son?”

  “LPO Franks, sir,” the man said.

  “Ah yes, that’s right,” Horatio said. He’d been introduced to everyone earlier, though for the most part he’d forgotten everyone’s name the instant after it had been spoken. “No acronyms, if you please. I’m not a Navy SEAL.”

  “Call me Franks then, if you want,” Franks said.

  “Very good, Franks.”

  While he was setting up his tent, Horatio heard sporadic gunfire near the perimeter of the camp. He rushed over to find out what it was (despite Captain Ford’s very specific orders restricting civilians to the center of the “base”).

  When he got there, Horatio was told that some dinosaur was making exploratory tests of the perimeter, and that if he didn’t want to be devoured alive, he should return to the camp center pronto.

  He did so. Grudgingly. He was a palaeontologist, after all—and dammit, he wanted to see a dinosaur.

  Horatio didn’t hear any further gunfire, and assumed the dinosaur had been chased off. Too bad.

  He took his time setting up the tent and unpacking his equipment, so that he was the very last person to join the other Travelers for supper. He was never a big fan of food anyway. It was just a rather crude vehicle for enabling nutrient absorption and caloric energy replacement. Necessary, yes, but highly inconvenient. He usually delayed eating for as long as he could, and often forgot about food entirely, much to the detriment of his health. Especially when he got caught up in his work.

  Someone had jury-rigged an air conditioner to the battery of one of the Hummers. The team was gathered around it, eating their MREs in the cooler air.

  “So how are you tonight, my fellow Laurasians?” Horatio said, sitting down.

  Someone threw him an MRE. Meal, Ready-to-Eat. He caught the parcel, ripped it open, and examined the contents with a shrug.

  The “meal” proved to be a disgusting hodgepodge of pasta and meat that was supposed to be spaghetti alla bolognese. It had the texture of string beans dipped in lumpy tomato sauce, and it smelled like diarrhea. Though, since Horatio had never tasted diarrhea, he couldn’t say whether the taste matched the smell. But it must be said: it did taste fairly horrid. Even so, he forced himself to down the stuff. Nutrient absorption and caloric energy replacement, after all.

  About the time he reached the halfway mark on the MRE, a giant insect—roughly the size of his face—buzzed past.

  Horatio ducked in terror.

  The insect hovered above the air conditioner.

  “Relax, Doc.” Franks plucked the insect out of the air. The navy man was a quick one. “Just a dragonfly.”

  Franks tossed the insect toward Horatio, who barely shielded his head with his hands. Those giant, papery wings rippled across his forearms before the insect flittered away. Laughter ensued.

  “Funny,” Horatio said. “Torture your elders, would you?” He shivered involuntarily. “I hate bees.”

  “It wasn’t a bee, dude,” Franks said.

  “Ah, yes, yes. You are right. I’m merely overreacting,” he said dryly.

  “You are. When you find yourself face to face with an aggressive dino in camp, that’s when you can start shitting your pants.”

  “Harrumph.” Horatio wrinkled his nose. “Do you have to convey yourself so rudely? Please, keep the swearing to a minimum.”

  “You ain’t heard swearing yet, bro,” Franks said. “Believe me.”

  “Oh, I believe you.” Horatio took another forced gobble of his fecal-smelling meal. He seriously began to wonder if one of the navy boys hadn’t purposely defecated inside it.

  A distant roar arose, and everybody froze, listening nervously.

  The sound didn’t come again.

  “We shouldn’t be doing this,” Megan said into the nervous silence that followed.

  “Doing what?” Franks said. “Teasing the ol’ doc?”

  Megan frowned. “No, you can tease the bastard all you want. I mean traveling back in time. It’s wrong. We could return to a future where humanity doesn’t exist. A future where some dinosaur-like species has assumed dominance. Or we could all die out here. Let’s go back.”

  Horatio gasped, and looked at her in disbelief. The damn girl was so mercurial. First she wanted to come out here and leave behind the safety of the insertion site, and now she wanted to go back? She’d been the same way when she was his student. Always so fickle. It’s why he swore never to date any of his trainees ever again.

  “A bit late for second thoughts, isn’t it?” Franks said, putting words to Horatio’s thoughts. “A few hours ago you were all gung ho about marching ahead. What was that you said? Are we here to explore, or cower?”

  “That was before dinosaurs started testing our perimeter.”

  Franks hefted his heavy gun. “We’re big boys here. From the future. I think we can handle ourselves against some prehistoric reptiles.”

  One of the Hummer drivers spoke up. His name was Wilson, Horatio thought. “If we returned to a changed world, it wouldn’t be so bad. Sure, we’d have to listen to crocodile rock, watch crocodile TV, and get used to everyone speaking crocodile slang, but hey, we’d be celebrities.”

  “Assuming the crocs didn’t decide we’d make better TV dinners than celebrities,” Megan said.

  Franks grinned ironically. “And you do realize, Wilson, if we returned to a future where humanity didn’t exist, that would mean the only girl in town was Megan.”

  “Like I said, wouldn’t be so bad.” Wilson gave her a wink.

  Megan rolled her eyes and got up. “I’m going to take a nap.”

  Captain Ford held up a raised palm, and Megan stopped. He glanced at the lieutenant commander, one Douglas James. “Is the perimeter watch set?”

  Lieutenant Commander James nodded. “It is, sir. The motion detectors are in place, and we’ve got men on patrol.”

  Captain Ford scratched his chin. “Seems too quiet out there. I don’t like it. Any news on the T. rex?”

  The lieutenant commander shook his head. “I think we scared it off.”

  “That was the dinosaur your men encountered out there?” Megan said, eyes widening. She glanced at Horatio. “A T. rex?”

  Captain Ford nodded. “I wasn’t going to tell you civilians, but you have a right to know the situation.”

  Horatio felt his own dread rising. “Wait a second, a tyrannosaurid was testing the perimeter? I was under the impression it was a herbivore. Maybe a Triceratops, or Ankylosaurus?”

  “Nope.” Captain Ford studied him. “Something on your mind, Professor? Something we should know?”

  Horatio examined the Travelers. Hard, military types. Some were still smiling, though they could surely read the fear in his body language and tone.

  “Don’t be so sure you scared them off,” Horatio said. “Let me explain something to you. tyrannosaurids weren’t stupid. We’ve done skull casts. Their brains were three times larger than those of most dinosaurs living at the time. They were far more dangerous than most people imagine. They weren’t simply dumb brutes; they used strategy to take down their prey. You military men take pride in your small-unit tactics, but these tyrannosaurids were the ones who invented them. I believe they hunted in bloodthirsty packs, with each tyrannosaurid assuming a different role. The young were swift and agile, and chased down the prey. The slower adults would bring up the rear, and deliver the crushing mortal blows.”

  “What are you saying?” Captain Ford said, a bit too coolly.

  Horatio stared him down. “If a tyrannosaurid was probing our outer perimeter, then we’re in big trouble. Because he was doing so for the rest of the pack. Prodding our defenses, looking for a weakness. To the tyrannosaurids, we’re fresh tuna inside a can. Just because they don’t have a can opener doesn’t mean they won’t find a way to peel open the
lid and get access to the meat. No matter how many machine gun turrets and rockets you think you have guarding the perimeter, the tyrannosaurids will find a way inside. Eventually.”

  The mood among the Travelers darkened. No one was smiling condescendingly at the middle-aged paleontologist anymore. Good.

  “See, this is exactly why we brought him along,” Captain Ford said. “Douglas, I want you to fortify the perimeter. Now.”

  “Yes sir. Bravo Platoon, with me!” The lieutenant commander stood up, saluted, and hurried off with half the navy boys.

  Megan sat back down. “Suddenly I don’t feel like napping so much.”

  Horatio finished his MRE in silence.

  “Tell me, Professor, what do you think so far?” Kichio Mato said into the conversational void that followed. He was smiling slightly. Maybe the Japanese physicist felt culturally obliged to brighten the mood, or maybe he hadn’t actually understood what Horatio had just said.

  Kichio Mato. He had invented the time machine, while Captain Ford’s navy had paid for it.

  “What do I think of all of this, you mean?” Horatio said.

  Kichio nodded indulgently.

  “Despite the risks, I think it’s amazing. It’s stupendous. Time travel is a boon to humankind. It will change everything. Research. Paleontology. Everything. Thank you, Kichio, for inventing this.”

  The physicist inclined his head.

  Now if we can just get back home in one piece… Horatio thought.

  “I still don’t understand exactly how it works,” Megan said. She was trembling somewhat. Still afraid, because of what Horatio had said about the tyrannosaurids. Wanting a distraction. Some reassurance that everything would be all right.

  A pack of tyrannosaurids prowling the outer perimeter, probing our defenses. Horatio didn’t blame her for being afraid.

  “It operates on the principle of the Matryoshka wormhole,” Kichio told her.

  “And what is that exactly? In English.”

  “How about Japanese?” Kichio grinned.

  No one got his joke. Well, Horatio got it, but he didn’t find it funny, especially not now. Horatio kept eyeing the tree line, expecting a tyrannosaurid to come racing out of the foliage at any second.