Ryan Time

by Craig Robertson

  She smiled meekly. “Maybe you were.”

  “After you see life-lesson number two, I doubt you'll be as cheery.” He pointed to his computer monitor.

  She craned around, half-standing to read it. Time Vanishing as a Possible Mechanism for Missing Central Galactic Masses. It was posted on Rapid Communications in Physics's website. They were a reputable organization to publish brief articles. That way the author could get the word out quickly and secure first dibs on credit. The article had only two authors. N. A. Stoltzfus and R. Sherman. Noami and Tank. Sachiko's heart fluttered and she threw up on Tank's desk. Bleh, she just hurled as if on command.

  “Okay, I know I deserved that. I'll get a couple towels,” he said pushing back quickly.

  He returned and started wiping up.

  “Tank, how could you—”

  He held up a hand. “Stop right there. I didn't. I saw this just today, since I subscribe to the service.

  “Are you saying—”

  “Yes, I am. Noami betrayed us. She tossed in my name as second author to defuse me. If I don't lose my spot on the podium in Stockholm, she figured I'd not shoot her down.”

  “Yeah. They only award the prize to two people from the same discovery.”

  “And never three.”

  “So you're—”

  “Don't even finish that sentence either. I've already written Rapid Communications in Physics's, telling them exactly what happened. I also CCd every dean and above, including the Faculty Discipline Committee. Noami'll be out the door this week.”

  “You think they'll forfeit the chance for another Nobel Laureate on the faculty?”

  “They'd better, or this one's leaving. Look, I'll make this right.”

  “If it can be. Me getting credit over her now'll be sort of like me trying to regain my virginity.”

  “Ah, TMI, Shaky. TMI.” He shuddered. “Don't forget, we have the recording. I'm telling everyone that dates your discovery as occurring before her claim. Aron'll write letters, too, he's already promised.”

  “Okay. Shit. Whatever. We still have a lot of work to do. I can't let a little distraction like this derail me.”

  “Little distraction? Huh, you serve with Custer in a prior life, kiddo?”

  “I found tunnels in three of our local-group galaxies. The others are too far away to resolve. But there's a definite pattern.”

  “What would you like to do next?”

  “I think we need to tell someone about the threat.”

  “That's not necessarily going to go well. The president's not that easy to get ahold of, and the police would site lack of jurisdiction.”

  “I think we need to call a press conference. We can bombard social media, too.”

  “Bombard social media with talk of an alien invasion. What a new and undiscovered idea that would be. Everyone would lend credence to that,” mocked Tank.

  “A press conference might do something.”

  “Yes. End our careers,” he pointed to me, “yours, before it even began. Kiddo, we'd look like lunatics. It'd be that cold fusion news conference, back in 1989, all over again.”

  “What's your plan, then?” She crossed her arms. She was not happy.

  Tank tented his fingers over his closed mouth. His face showed he had a thought, maybe a good one, which he was reluctant to share.

  “What?” she demanded. “What are you not saying? You think a press conference is not going to accomplish anything? We don't alert Washington, we don't release the information, broadly. What do we do? Wait for everyone to see the ships overhead, and then hope they believe us?”

  “Nah. It's—” He sat forward. “I know this is going to sound crazy, but, bear with me.” He sniffed loudly through his nostrils. “I know a guy.”

  Sachiko flew to the edge of her chair. “You know a guy? Tank, we're not talking about a discount on a set of four snow tires, here, or disposing of a body. You know someone who can get the word out about this?” She threw her hands in the air.

  “He's not a guy. He's a guy. I mean, he's a guy, but, he's one heck of a guy.”

  “Tank started babbling. Then the world blew up, officially.”

  “I'm actually quite serious, here.”

  “Who does Robert Tank Sherman know that can get the word out, credibly? Tank, I know you. You're just a regular g … person.”

  “Well, not so much to get the word out.” He shook his head while crinkling his nose. “That's not likely his thing.”

  “Then what the hell good is he?”

  “He … oh, let's just say, he handles things, situations.”

  Her face went slack. “You know a guy who handles alien invasions?” There was no energy in her words. She was spent.

  “Yeah, pretty much.”

  “Reality testing time. Tank, you know Superman is a fictional character, right?”

  “Yes, of course. That's why I'm calling The Avengers.”

  “Not funny,” she huffed.

  “Seriously, a while back, I met a guy who … well, he pretty much told me fighting aliens was his stock-in-trade.”

  Sachiko leaned back, slowly, in her chair. Her face aged ten years in the span of five seconds. “Robert,” she began in a low, anxious tone, “I know you're a kidder. But now, especially in the middle of a real crisis, I'm worried that you're losing it. I think … maybe we should call Daisy, maybe have her swing by.”

  He shook his head with a grim smile. “No. I'm not dribbling off the court, and we're most definitely not calling in my wife.”

  “Does she know about the alien hunter?” Sachiko asked empathetically.

  “You see me here, in front of you, right?”

  She nodded, softly. No sudden moves involved.

  “Ergo, I didn't tell her about my guy. If she didn't kill me, she'd for sure have me heavily medicated and locked up.”

  “Where is this super hero friend of yours, now?” she asked in a hushed, almost frightened voice.

  “A long ways away. Look, for what it's worth, I know I sound as loony as the Mad Hatter. But I'm being totally serious. I can prove it, too.” Tank reached inside his sport coat pocket. He held up his hand. “He gave me this.”

  Sachiko began to tremble. She'd spent a lifetime hiding her emotions and, above all, being in control. But, she was at her wit's end, literally.

  “Robert, that's a steel ball.”

  “Probably not steel, but, yes, I'll give you that it looks like a small, steel ball.”

  “They sell those in most hardware stores, and online. They're called ball bearings.”

  He tossed it to her.

  She, first, nearly jumped out of her skin. Then, second, she caught it deftly, but held it at arm's length, as if it were a spherical snake.

  “Does that feel like steel?” he queried.

  “No. It does not. I stand corrected. He gave you a shiny plastic ball.”

  “With no seams.”

  “With really well concealed seams.”

  “No, kiddo. It's not plastic. If I cared to show you, I'd hold it to a flame. But, trust me, I did that. It doesn't melt.”

  “I really think I should—”

  “He lives two billion years in the future. He's a human downloaded into an android. He helped save humankind when the Earth was about to be destroyed.”

  Sachiko dropped the ball, her hands were trembling so hard. “Tank,” tears began the journey down her cheeks, “that doesn't make me feel any better.”

  “You'll be fine. Look, the ball is a … a signaling device. He gave it to me. He said, if I ever really needed him, I should use the ball to let him know. He promised to come as soon as he could.”

  She flopped her face into her open palms and really threw herself into a torrent of wails, moans, and abject despair.

  He crossed over to her. He placed an arm around her shoulder, while retrieving the ball. “He told me to break the ball. That would let him know I needed help. When he gets here, you'll see. Okay?”

 
She might have responded in words, but they were too muffled to interpret, if she had.

  Tank rested the ball in his left palm, and slammed his right palm down on it as hard as he could. The sphere collapsed with no resistance, like it was more fragile than an eggshell. He looked into his left palm. Nothing was there.

  “There. It's done. He told me specifically not to leave where I was for a few hours. So, we'll hang out here, if that's okay with you, until he gets here.”

  Again, she might have said something, but he couldn't be certain.

  Miracle of miracles, Sachiko had left her hysterical state behind, and, within fifteen minutes, she was only sniffling a lot, and whimpering, occasionally. She was made of the right stuff.

  Tank found, by then, he was gently stroking her long, luxuriant hair. As soon as he realized what he was doing, his hand popped off like it was fired from a gun.

  “So,” Sachiko began uncertainly, “where'd you meet this guy?”

  “Now that's a story you wouldn't believe.”

  In spite of her distress, she raised off his shoulder, and stared at him dubiously.

  “Well, it is harder to believe, if you ask me.”

  “I am.”

  He gently guided her head back to his shoulder. “You remember when Daisy and I took that road trip in the camper, a couple years back?”

  “Yes. You said you wanted to see America, or something.”

  “Yup. That's the one. Well, truth be told, I really wanted to tour the Oregon coast, in summer.”

  That brought her head off his shoulder, again. Less incredulously, she said, “Because it's so pretty, then?”

  “No. Because that's were The Original Pronto Pup stand is. Rockaway Beach, Oregon.”

  “Rockaway Beach, Oregon?”

  He eased her head back down. “Just west of Portland, along the coast. It's really God's country.”

  “It sounds lovely,” she remarked with no interest or conviction.

  “I honestly can't recall. I do remember it was cold, windy, and it rained more than it didn't.”

  “But it's the home of the Frantic Frank.”

  “Pronto Pup, kiddo. Get it right. Somethings are too important to screw up.”

  “I'll try and remember. Pronto Pup.”

  “So, we spent a week in Rockaway Beach. I gained twelve pounds, and cannot wait to get back there.” He shook his head, discretely. “Daisy said it'd be over her dead body, on account of me dying there, if we ever returned.”

  “Sounds reasonable,” she muttered from a million miles away.

  “By the third day, I noticed there was this other guy, eating Pups every time I was there. No matter how early, late, or often I was able to belly up to the counter, there Jon was.”

  “Jon?”

  “My guy.”

  “Ah. Your Pronto Pup guy?”

  “That's the one. So, by day four, I rustled up the courage to go over and introduce myself. I figured, anyone as fanatical about the best food item on Earth as I was, has to be worth knowing.”

  “Makes sense,” she agreed, staring off into nothingness, perched there, on his shoulder.

  “A couple days later, I brought up a very sore subject.” Tank's voice grew stern.

  “I can only imagine.”

  “I said to Jon that, while these Pups were good, they didn't hold a candle to the ones I used to get when I was stationed in Alameda, back in the day.”

  “They have Pronto Pups in Alameda?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  She peeked up. “Me, either.”

  “No, the Pup stand was next to Sutro's, at Land's End, in San Francisco.” He stopped to reflect on that blessed venue. “You know what Jon said?”

  “I can't think of a thing.”

  “He said I was right. He shook my hand like I was his long-lost brother. He said I had to be the second most perceptive man alive, him being the first, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  “That's when it got … kind of weird.”

  Head-off-shoulders stare.

  Head-rested-back-on-shoulder nudge.

  “Jon said, 'Hey, you know, we should go there and prove the validity of our theorem.'”

  “So you drove all the way—”

  “No, kiddo. Keep quiet, and I'll explain the gravity of his remark. The Pronto Pup stand in SF closed in 2003. The little box it was in was torn down. He made this statement two years ago, in 2044.”

  She sat up straight. There was focused anxiety in her eyes. “How did he propose to go there, then?”

  “First, he swore me to absolute secrecy.”

  “How's that working out, so far?” She winked.

  “Yeah,” he looked down. “Then he took me to where his ship was. Man, was she a beauty. Big cube.”

  “Tank, are you perseverating about Doctor Who?”

  “I'm not sure what that word is, but, no. Jon's ship was shiny silver, not call-box blue.”

  She lowered her gaze, to ask, are you certain.

  “Stingray was silver.”

  “Oh, my. Who's Stingray? Your story's getting kind of expansive.”

  “Kiddo, his spaceship's name is Stingray. That's what we flew in to get back to 1968.”

  “1967?” her face was displaying trepidation, again.

  “Yes, when the Pronto Pup stand in Frisco was still there in '67.”

  “Why 1967?”

  “Why do firemen wear red suspenders? Because we had to go to some date. That's the year I picked.”

  “You picked?”

  “Well, no. I suggested it. But he's the captain. He chose it, based on my suggestion.”

  “And you suggested 1967 because—”

  Tank mumbled something very indistinct.

  “Pardon?” she pressed.

  “It was the summer ummm ovvv.”

  “I couldn't quite get the end—”

  It was the Summer of Love, alright? Sheesh, can't a guy visit an historic period without getting the third degree?”

  “He gave you the third degree, this guy, Jon?”

  “No. You are, and you'll probably blab it to Daisy, first chance you get.”

  Sachiko rose from her confusion and fear, and she smiled. “Trust me on this, Tank. I'm never telling Daisy about any of this farfetched story.”

  “You say that now, but I know you. You're a woman.”

  “Yes,” she began slowly, “I am a woman.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You're … welcome.”

  “Anyway, back to the story. He tells me he can, with great trouble and no little peril, travel through time. He said self-annihilation was a very real risk, but that he was game to go for Pups in 1967. He promised, that, if we didn't die, he'd even bring me back to where and when we were.”

  “In Rockaway Beach, Oregon, in 2044?”

  “Yup. And he hoped he could do so without us both dying.”

  “That was … er, thoughtful of him, wasn't it?”

  “If you say so.”

  “Wait. You two fans risked self-annihilation to get a corn dog?”

  Tank's face tightened and he placed a finger just under Sachiko's nose. “Have you ever had a Pronto Pup from Sutro's Pronto Pup stand?”

  “Ah, no. I wasn't born until a quarter century after it closed,” she said defensively.

  “Then keep your unfounded opinions to yourself, young lady.”

  She saluted him.

  “That's better.”

  “So, Tank, this Jon fellow—whom I believe exists, because you're so very sane—you can send him a signal, two billion years into the future and God only knows how far from Earth?”

  “That's what he said.”

  “Tank, I'm sure, as, you know, an astrophysicist, you know that's more Star Wars than, oh, what's the word I'm looking for, um, real world?”

  “The sphere contained a set of entangled particles.”

  “So, when you crushed yours—”

  “His sphere is designed
to sense the determination of the particles' states, and rupture, itself.”

  “Two billion years from now?”

  “No, right now, two billion years in the future.”

  “I'm going to get some Tylenol out of my purse. Would you like some, too?”

  “Nah, I'm good.”

  Sachiko retrieved the medicine and washed it down with a gulp of tea.

  “I hope that helps,” Tank remarked, cheerily.

  “Unlikely. So, when … when are you expecting him?”

  Tank shrugged. “All in good time,” was his final thought on the topic.

  EIGHT

  I was sitting in the mess, staring at a mug of joe, in which I had no interest. That was, mind you, the most interesting activity I could come up with, at that juncture in time. Seriously, I was so bored, I actually contemplated picking a fight with Al. What level of pathetic had my life descended into? And then, my prayers—or whatever—were answered. My pop-up display tossed up a bright crimson bar. The entangled pod I gave to Tank, all those eons ago, had gone off. As it was keyed to his DNA, I knew it was him calling for help. Nothing else in creation could have set it off. I was out of my seat like it was electrified. When my feet hit the deck, I was already sprinting toward my cabin, to tell Sapale. She'd been cleaning, or something equally pointless, in there for a while.

  As I skidded around the corner, I shouted, “My ball's activated. My ball's activated.” I was stoked.

  Before I was halfway across the room, her palm was thrown into my direct path. “No time. No interest. If there's an issue with your balls and their state of activation, deactivate them, yourself. I'm otherwise more disinclined than busy, but, please note that I am currently both.”

  Wow. Good thing I was talking about my entangled pod, not what she was thinking of. Otherwise, I'd have one of those physiological crises on my hands.

  “No, hon, remember that comm-pod I gave that guy, back in the past.”

  I drew only the blankest of stares, in reply.

  “We went back to get Pronto … wait, er—”

  Right hand, to right hip. Left hand, waving him forward. Scowl on face, troublesome. “Go on. When did you and I ever go anywhere that has reference to those stupid sausages on a stick you have gone on about for two billion years too long?”

  “I guess I went, solo, didn't I?”