by James Riley
“What?” the Countess shouted, whirling around on them. “How did you find me here?”
“How did you figure out who the founder was?” Kara asked.
Dolores grinned, dropping her victim to the floor. “The TSA stuck him in the one place no one could touch him, the time prison. TIME-R’s cell was next to mine, and for a robot, he liked to chat. Probably didn’t think I could do anything about it, being locked in there with him.”
“DO NOT HURT MY CREATOR,” the robot TIME-R said. “HE IS A MAN OF PEACE AND HAS CONSTRUCTED ME TO SERVE MANKIND, SPREADING JUSTICE WHERE I CAN.”
The Countess laughed, bringing her glove down close to the robot. “Oh, this will be just a pleasure.”
“Stop!” Kara shouted, and went for the Countess.
A super-fast Dolores slammed her into a wall so hard she slid to the ground, not moving.
“No!” Owen shouted, and started speeding himself up, but a so-fast-it-was-invisible fist pounded him in the stomach and he collapsed to the ground in pain.
“Try to have some dignity, Dolores,” the Countess said, sneering at her daughter. “They’ve provided us with a gift here by delivering themselves for punishment. The least we can do is grant them a swift, if painful, death.”
“Sorry, Mother,” Dolores said, and moved toward Kara, hands outstretched. “I’ll just freeze her heart, then.”
“Try not to make a mess when you do it, please,” the Countess said as she moved her own glove toward TIME-R. “Really, you’d think you were raised by wolves.”
Dolores paused, annoyance flashing through her eyes, then continued on her way.
Owen pushed to his feet unsteadily, throwing one hand out to the nearby wall for support, then shoved off. He had to stop Dolores somehow! The bald woman looked over her shoulder at him with a smug grin. “Wait your turn, boy,” she said. “You’ll get what’s coming to you soon enough.”
He couldn’t let her freeze Kara’s heart! But what could he do? Even with his time powers, there was no way he could move faster than she could. She had too many years of practice with them, knew the powers better than he did.
Kara’s eyes fluttered open, and she weakly put up a hand to defend herself, but Dolores smacked it down.
He might have enough time to push Kara out of the way of Dolores’s hand, but that’d leave his own chest open for freezing. What would that accomplish other than getting himself killed first? He’d just be sacrificing himself . . . for her . . .
Right. So in other words, he’d be fulfilling Kara’s destiny. And maybe it was time to just let go of control and see what happened.
Readers, I need your help! he shouted in his mind, then silently ran through a plan, imagining it like a movie. Can you make that happen? Please, I think it’s our only chance!
There was no time to wait to see, though. With one last burst of energy, Owen leaped forward and shoved Kara out of Dolores’s reach, then fell to the floor where Kara had been. The bald woman gave him an irritated look, then shrugged. “You really couldn’t wait? Fine. You go first, then.”
And with that, she touched her hand to Owen’s chest.
UM, WE DIDN’T ACTUALLY SEE OWEN’S PLAN. BUT WHATEVER, GIVE HIM THE POWER TO MAKE HIS PLAN WORK!
Turn to page 157.
NO, HE DESERVES THIS.
Turn to page 81.
STAY AWAY FROM THE WINDOW, IT’S TOO DANGEROUS. LISTEN TO THE VOICE.
Owen nodded, thinking how right that thought was.
“Though your sentence extends for eternity, we wish for your last day to be comfortable,” said the friendly voice over the speakers. “So please feel free to explore the prison at your leisure, and partake of all the comforts we have provided.”
A last day that somehow extended through eternity? How did that make any sense? Owen’s hands began to sweat, and he searched around his small cell for clues as to what might be the cause of his “last day.” Was it some kind of airborne virus? Poisoned food? Or maybe just the obvious: the gigantic human-crunching monsters just outside his window.
“You’ll find that you’re not alone,” the speaker continued. “Time criminals from across all of history have been brought here for punishment. Of course, the Jules Verne Memorial Time Prison is not intended for rehabilitation, so none of you will ever be paroled or released. We do encourage you to be social, however, as we imagine it will make the day pass a little faster.”
Owen slowly peeked around the corner of his cell and caught sight of several other people in orange jumpsuits out in the hallway. Farther away, he thought he could make out other people talking, so not everyone cared about hearing the rules, apparently. He pulled back into his cell, not wanting to be seen just yet.
“You’re free to do whatever you like here at the Jules Verne Memorial Time Prison,” the voice said. “Use your time wisely, though, as when the clock strikes midnight, time will jump backward by one day.”
Owen blinked. Time would do what? Jump backward? He must not have heard that right. It sounded as if the prison would make them relive the same day over and over!
“Don’t worry, though. We aren’t making you relive the same day over and over.”
. . . Oh. Okay. Phew.
“In fact, you’ll have no recollection of anything that happened on this day. All of time will reverse, not just your surroundings. That means as far as you’re concerned, today is the very first day you’re here, while in reality it could be your hundredth, thousandth, or even millionth chance to live this exact same day. You’ll be doing so, after all, for eternity.”
Owen’s mouth dropped open, and he slowly slid down the wall to the floor. This couldn’t be real. By “last day,” she really meant their last day. So they’d live the same day over and over, with no memory of having done it? How was that even possible? What kind of horrible punishment was this?
Another even more terrifying thought hit Owen. What if this wasn’t even his first day here? How long could he have been trapped? Had Nobody already found Bethany? Had he managed to separate the worlds, too? There’d be no way of knowing!
Okay, panicking wasn’t helping. Owen forced himself to take deep breaths as spots began to pop in front of his eyes. It was going to be okay. It had to be. This was a book about time travel, clearly, and the main character must have been sent here, to the Jules Verne Memorial Time Prison. And if the main character of this book was trapped in the time prison, then he or she was going to get out, or else there wouldn’t be much of a book. It had to just be a matter of time.
Which meant there had to be a way that Owen could escape too.
“As to the matter of escaping,” the voice said, as if listening to his thoughts again, “we don’t want you wasting your precious time trying to figure out the prison’s time travel technology in order to turn it off. Still, we’re quite aware that many of you won’t stop until you find a way out. For those prisoners, we will tell you exactly how to leave this place and time, if you so desire. However, I’d recommend that you instead enjoy the indulgences the prison has to offer and spend the rest of eternity relaxed in complete luxury.”
“Tell us how to leave!” someone shouted just outside Owen’s door, making him jump. Several other people chimed in from either side of Owen’s cell. None of them sounded particularly friendly, which wasn’t too surprising given that they were in a prison. Owen pushed himself farther back against the wall, trying to stay out of sight.
“To leave the Jules Verne Memorial Time Prison, you must input a three-digit code into the exit door on the north side of the common area. Don’t worry, the door is clearly marked. However, if you input the wrong code, the day shall immediately begin again for all inhabitants of the prison, so we recommend against guessing. Your fellow inmates might not appreciate it!” The voice laughed.
“Great, so there’s no way to use trial and error,” one of the voices outside his cell said.
“It’s only a thousand or so codes,” said another. “Maybe someone wil
l get lucky.”
“You’d have no idea if you were trying the same number every day,” a third prisoner said.
“Don’t worry, there is a way to learn the code,” the voice continued. “For those of you who choose not to live out your day in comfort, we have created three challenges. Pass a challenge, and you’ll learn one digit of the exit code. We do ask that if you wish to attempt the challenges, please leave those who don’t to their relaxations. After all, there are no guards or wardens on premises, so kindness is appreciated.”
What? There aren’t any guards? So all of these criminals could just murder anyone they pleased? Owen frantically wiped his sweaty hands on his jumpsuit, all of his calmness evaporating again. Deep breaths, deep breaths.
What would happen if someone was killed, though? Would they just reappear again unharmed when the day reset? Seemed like that’d make the most sense, though it wasn’t like he wanted to test it out or anything.
“Directly opposite from the exit door are three air locks, one for each challenge,” the voice on the speakers said. “The first digit of the exit code is found in air lock one, the second in two, and the third in three.”
“Come on,” shouted the voice just outside Owen’s cell, and he heard footsteps moving away from him. “We’ll split into teams and each take an air lock.”
“However,” the voice continued, “keep in mind that each challenge is not only potentially life-threatening, but we make no guarantees that you can finish even one, let alone three, before midnight. So attempting the challenges might mean you spend eternity in great danger, when the alternative is a wide assortment of food, entertainment, and interesting company. We of course suggest you partake of the latter. And don’t worry about eating too much . . . you’ll wake up the next morning without having gained a pound!” The voice laughed again.
The footsteps in the hallway stopped. “How do you know we haven’t tried this before?” asked one of the prisoners. “We might have tried the air locks over and over and failed every time. We’d never know!”
“But if we don’t try, then we’re stuck here for the rest of our lives. Longer, because we’ll never age!”
“Is that so bad? Get a load of that food out there. There are worse ways to live.”
It seemed like most of the prisoners had passed his cell now, so Owen edged himself to the door, ready to poke his head around the corner.
He’d have to approach this very carefully. First thing he had to do was find the main character of whatever book this was and get close to them. That way, when they escaped, he’d get out too. After that . . . well, he’d be stuck in prehistoric times, but maybe the main character had a time machine or something.
Either way, he couldn’t just stay here in his cell. Whatever was happening with Bethany, he needed to find her quickly, and that meant getting out of this stupid time prison as fast as possible.
With that, Owen slowly pushed his head out of his cell door.
And found himself staring into a pair of deep blue eyes just inches from him.
The eyes widened in surprise, and a cute girl about his age with dyed-pink hair cut just above her shoulders took a step backward. Her look quickly shifted from shock to something odd, almost like a mix of relief, anger, and strangely, recognition.
But that was completely impossible. There was no way anyone in the prison knew who he was.
“Owen,” the girl said, her face settling on irritation. “What are you doing here?”
. . . Okay, maybe not completely impossible.
NO ONE SHOULD KNOW WHO HE IS. DENY EVERYTHING AND RUN, OWEN!
Turn to page 89.
HAVE OWEN ASK THE GIRL HOW SHE KNOWS HIM.
Turn to page 103.
That was . . . my home?” Owen asked, full of confusion but not wanting to anger the Magister. “It can’t be, really. It’s impossible. I can’t explain how I know that, but—”
“I saw it from the start, child,” the Magister told him. “You come from the future of our old world. Your magic has been removed, but you have a strong connection to the worlds we now create still. That was the confirmation that set us on this path.” He sighed. “I deeply regret what we had to do, removing the Naturalists’ magic, as well as that of everyone left behind. Unfortunately, they left us little choice, and now you and future populations will suffer. Perhaps at some point the worlds might join again.”
“No, but seriously,” Owen said, not really caring anymore about angering the old man. “That’s not my world. It can’t possibly be. We came backward in time from Kara’s dimension. That was her world, not mine!”
They must have floated down through the new planet’s atmosphere while Owen was distracted, and Adelaine landed their bubble softly in a pristine green meadow. Wildlife unafraid of people grazed peacefully nearby. The Magister glanced around, then began chanting as more magic-users landed on the planet. The grasslands around them slowly transformed as a small village built itself out of wood and stone from the ground and nearby forest, while in the distance, a castle began to assemble itself.
“Come closer, child,” the Magister said to Owen as the new town grew. “We should converse in private.”
Owen wanted to give some excuse, any excuse why he couldn’t go off alone with the magician, but the Magister gestured with his hand, and Owen found himself floating toward the old man anyway.
“You believe you recognize me, don’t you?” the Magister asked quietly, when Owen was close enough that no one could overhear.
Again, Owen wanted to say something, but had no idea what. Yes, I met you in a fictional book series right before you trapped me in a void, and then left me behind using my friend’s powers to jump out of books. You also had an insane idea to destroy an entire planet full of scientists, so yes, I recognize you. Also, I’m very, very terrified of you.
As memories raced through his mind, it occurred to him how much the history of Quanterium and Magisteria in the Kiel Gnomenfoot books matched what had just happened between the Naturalists and the magicians of Atlantis. In fact, hadn’t Kiel learned that Magisteria and Quanterium had once been one planet, but the magicians had fled to create their own world after being threatened by science? Did that mean . . . was this new planet they were standing on somehow Magisteria? Could he and Kara have ended up in the history of Quanterium, before the magicians left? But that didn’t make sense, unless Kara was from there as well, and—
“Do not be afraid, Owen,” the Magister said, then sighed. “I am not the man you knew, though I do see in the mists of time that he will be a descendant of mine. I’m truly sorry that his descent into evil will cause you such trouble.” He took Owen by the shoulders and bent down to get closer. “However, he is not me. Look closer, child.”
Owen looked everywhere but at the Magister until a quick snap of the man’s fingers forced Owen to stare him in the face. And now that he was looking so closely, he did still see a resemblance, yes, but differences as well. This Magister had well-worn laugh lines in his cheeks and was staring at Owen with what looked like compassion.
Could this man really be the Magister’s ancestor? And if so, what did that mean?
“I’ve also seen from your memories that this world I’ve chosen will someday embrace the very science we left behind,” the man continued. “Millennia in the future, this world will someday become . . . Quanterium.” He wrinkled his nose as he said it. “And from there, my descendant will follow my lead and create another world for his people. Perhaps my bloodline is cursed to repeat the same mistakes until someone shows us the error of our ways.” He smiled slightly. “And I see that in this case, someone will. One of my descendant’s pupils, this Kiel Gnomenfoot boy.”
“Um, okay, but he had some help,” Owen said, then realized his part of this wasn’t exactly the important thing. “I mean, yes, Kiel (and Charm and maybe me) did kind of bring the worlds back together.”
The Magister nodded. “I’m glad, as I have such high hopes for this reali
ty. For you see, Owen, I have also seen in your memories . . . a girl of two worlds. A half-fictional girl, as you think of her.” He seemed a bit put off by the word “fictional.” “Granted, you should be aware that this reality is no more fictional than the one we just left, despite the fact you think of that one as the nonfictional world. Both exist equally now, and neither could exist without the other.”
The Magister’s words took a moment to sink in, but when they did, Owen almost choked. “That really was the nonfictional world?” he whispered. It couldn’t be. There was no way! Magicians had never lived on Earth, and those war machines were decades or centuries beyond any technology that had ever existed so far.
The Magister nodded. “That was your world, yes, but millennia in the past. I see that in your time, the Naturalists will have forgotten much of their technology, and are in the process of rediscovering it.” He half smiled. “I also see that many doubt science’s power. While that brings me no small amount of perhaps petty pleasure, it’s the wrong path. The ideal would always be for their science and our magic to become one and coexist harmoniously, as they did in my youth.” He winked. “Even if that was a very, very long time ago.”
“So . . . you just created the fictional world?” Owen asked, his head aching from trying to wrap his brain around the idea. “I mean, I know it’s real. But this is where we get all of our stories in the nonfictional world?”
The Magister covered his eyes wearily. “I apologize for that. To create this reality, we did have to remove all magic from the remaining humanity. However, we left you connected to that magic, a window within your mind to the power you once controlled. From that connection, you can witness the infinite possibilities that occur here naturally, though you’ll be unable to affect them.” He paused, looking off into the distance. “At least, I assume you won’t. And that the connection only works in that one direction. With magic such as this, there are very few definitive answers.”