Gordy scrambled for the fire extinguisher in Rachel's exit zone. Startled, she fell against a lab stool—backwards into a puddle of lit gasoline.
Rachel screamed. I ran to her, peeled off my sweatshirt, threw it over her, and dragged her across the bit not burning. Then I yanked open the growth chamber door, grabbed her arm and pulled her in, and slammed the door behind us. Rachel, still screaming, clutched her back and rolled on the floor. The room smelled of her scorched hair. I looked down. My clothes hadn't burned, and nothing hurt. I stared out the chamber window. You couldn't see much through the smoke.
I didn't ride with Rachel in the ambulance or see her in the emergency room. After the medics said I was okay, Gordy and I went to the police station and waited in chief constable Rich Bradley's office. I gulped hot tea, good for folks who'd had "a hellava bad time."
"I still can't fathom it," Gordy said. "Tryin' to burn down the place 'cause you added genes to clams? I mean, she did that too, didn't she?"
"Actually, I did all the genetic manipulation. Rachel ran the lab and helped Hal with the clam cultures."
"But when you hired her, didn't she know about the gene stuff?"
I thought back. "Rachel's worked for me for about two years. The genetic engineering research is new for me. I just started doing that a year ago."
"She could've quit then."
I put the mug on Bradley's desk and ran my fingers down my face. "Gordy, I don't know."
"But this craziness. You didn't see it comin'?"
"Well, maybe I should have. Rachel joined some activist environmental group in the fall. But I assumed it was about warming. Pushing for more rapid carbon dioxide decline, that kind of thing. But who'd think—"
I leaned back and closed my eyes. Gordy gave me time to chill out.
We'd already talked about Rachel's future. Arson with intent of burning down our lab was a serious crime. Gordy guessed she'd end up in prison. Still stunned by her Jekyll and Hyde, I just didn't know what to think about Rachel.
Rich stuck his head in the door. "Hey Gordy. Be with ya in a minute."
Like half the guys in Chatham Harbor, Rich fished with Gordy. They got black drum and croaker, what Gordy called visitors from down Chesapeake Bay. The historic fish like cod and striped bass were long gone.
"It could've been worse," Gordy said. "The lab's still standing. Inside's a mess, of course."
"That could be a good thing," I said. "Now maybe UNM will build a proper lab. Seawater's been flooding the basement for years."
"Good to know sea level rise's useful for somebody. Hey, since 10-10's still safe and sound in that chamber of yours, you better get movin' on that patent. We've been bad mouthin' the little guys for nothin'."
"Top of tomorrow's list. Guess what I'll call it?"
"What?"
"Mercenaria gordii."
Double Double, Michael Donoghue
The first time I saw myself was at the Tim Horton's near Memorial University. I wasn't sure right away. I mean, who expects to see himself while ordering a large double double and two maple glaze donuts from his secret-crush Ellie? But, I looked over, and there I was. Sitting at my regular table. Older, wider, with less hair and drinking a double double with a single maple glaze on the side. The clincher was the "M=10^{27} r + 1" tattoo. On my right wrist it was still crisp, fresh from my black hole PhD defense celebration a year ago. On his, however, the ink had bled with age making it blurred, but still recognizable—and entirely unique. I wondered in the future I played the role of inventor or just consumer.
As I walked up behind him, the slap of my Birkenstocks on the tile floor seemed to catch his attention. "Hey," I said as he turned to face me, "I didn't expect to see me here."
"Oh, it's me." He took another slow drink of coffee and smiled like he had recalled a favourite memory. His face was tanned, saggy, with heavy lines around the eyes. Crazily, the tan struck me as the oddest thing about the whole situation. I've never been a vain person that; half my shirts were from Canadian Tire.
Then he seemed to return to present day and said, "Yeah…" as he squirmed on the chair. In that look I recognized what my 14 year-old face looked like after Dad caught me 'borrowing' the Toyota pick-up to drive around the block. I'd never disappointed them after that.
"Look," he said, as if he'd just solved a problem. "I'm here to warn you, Logan." It sounded weird for him to use our name. "Don't ask Ellie out."
"Why not?"
He nodded over to the counter. "You'll just mess it up when you meet her cousin. Then you'll end up alone, broken-hearted. It delays your post-doc by another year. You know what? Go home and work on that application form tonight. Stop putting it off—they'll accept you in a flash—"
"But, what about—"
"Come on." He took another deep sip of coffee. "In your heart you know that's true. It's time for you to grow up and start acting like an adult."
My face went hot. "Don't tell me what to do." This was crazy, I was arguing with myself. Wait, did this make me schizophrenic, I wondered.
"Trust me—you—on this."
"Yeah, well. I don't know how to tell you," I said, leaning down, "but we're not the most courageous person in the world."
"You change."
"I change? You mean, beyond the vain tanning?"
"It's the fucking ozone," he hissed at me in a low voice. "There's none left. Climate change messes everything up. Even wipes out all the decent coffee." He wrapped both hands around the paper cup and held it close. "The spike in temperature was so big it wiped out all the world's Arabica bean. The Robust coffee plants still grow in some really hot places, like Sweden, but it tastes half as good and costs twenty times as much. You know what you need to do? Move to the Northwest Territories or Nunavut as soon as you can. Beat the rush."
Then it hit me—he's acting just like my parents. Our parents. Telling me what to do, ordering me around like he knows better. Making my decisions for me and treating me like a chucklehead. Who is he to lecture me? I shook my head and went to step away, but the old guy grabbed my arm and pulled me closer.
"That's where everyone lives now, north of 60. As soon as you can—invest in land there. You'll make us a fortune. In the future, all Newfoundland is good for is growing bamboo and bananas. Most of North America is uninhabitable, super storms, super fires— "
I pulled away from him and walked out the door.
* * *
Still, he might have a point. Because of my upbringing, I've always been a bit of a chicken. It took me seven years to finish my physics degree on the properties of black holes, not because I was afraid of hard work, but because my parents had drilled into me a fear of failure. Even though my thesis formula had already been accepted for publication in a respectable astronomical journal, it still took another year before I could work up the courage to submit to my committee. Going home, I clutched the warm cup and brought it up to my nose, inhaling the rich smell before taking my first taste. That first sip. For me, it was like that initial gasp right after you've been holding your breath for a really long time. Coffee makes everything better. And I still didn't have the guts to ask Ellie on a date.
When I started University, I enrolled in a philosophy class as an indulgence. Growing up, I'd been indoctrinated with the scientific method, but I craved to grasp the big questions in life. In the first lesson, while we were all waiting for the prof, I felt a poke in my back. I turned around, and the sight made my stomach lurch like being on a roller coaster.
A girl with brown eyes so big they were almost deer like. A perfect smile that, when it flashed across her face, made me feel like a small child on Christmas morning. But, the best thing? Her freckles. They were scattered over her skin, like random flecks of brown paint on a creamy canvas. It's weird what turns us on, but with Ellie, that's what really did it for me.
"Do you have a spare?" She asked, waving a cheap white Bic in front of her face.
My mouth went dry. I shook my head, unable to form
words.
"That's okay." She dropped the pen on the floor and grabbed a bulging pencil case sitting in front of her. "I've got a few extras in here. I'm Ellie, by the way. I chose this seat because I like your face."
At that point, she could have roasted marshmallows from the heat of my face. My brain, which served me well in physics, chess, computer science, decided at that point to fully shut down, terminating any language ability.
Fortunately, the professor arrived.
Next class, Ellie asked, "Do you believe in the philosophic theory of determinism?"
I made a noise similar to a combined hiccup and a burp. But she seemed to understand.
"You know, do you believe in the idea that fate follows a predetermined path?" Her head tilted sideways and she smiled, "Like me sitting here?"
This had to be a test. I always did well on tests, but somehow, with this one, I felt lost. I shrugged, knowing that this had to be the worst possible answer and turned around before I could make things more of a disaster.
By the third class I found the courage to tell Ellie my name. Then my parents found my schedule and made me drop philosophy to take one more calculus course. "Logan, focus on what's important." Their mantra. Their roof I lived under.
Still, Ellie had made those three weeks of philosophy a dream.
I looked for her everywhere, but our schedules weren't fated. Yet, I saw her in the colour of a girl's hair, in the way other girls walked, the freckles on a stranger's face—all made me think of her.
Months later, I found Ellie walking across campus. Some tatted up guy held her hand. I'd blown my chance.
From then on I just longed from afar, but not in a creepy way. She had a couple of boyfriends over the years, but whenever she caught me looking she'd wave and I'd promptly trip over an invisible obstacle or blindly walk into a very visible one.
Then, one year, she wasn't on campus anymore. I guessed some people aren't afraid to leave university.
I avoided real life by doing a master's and then, after that, enrolling in the PhD program. Getting through the course work was a slog, but the thesis turned into a quagmire. I got into a routine where I'd come into Tim's around ten every morning for my coffee and walk to the library where I'd sit for eight hours and do ten minutes of work.
But then, three years ago, I stopped in for my coffee and there was Ellie behind the counter. After that, I pretty much moved in. I wrote, rewrote, and edited the heck out of my thesis there. I swear I'm addicted to their coffee now. For me, home isn't my apartment; it's being surrounded by the familiar smells and sounds of the coffee shop.
Sure, future me had a point, I guess. I should be working on the post-doc application, but who was he to tell me what to do? What if I apply to the best physics lab in Canada, TRIUMF, and they reject me? You can't fail at what you don't try. Besides, there's always next year. What I really wanted, more than anything, was to spend time with Ellie. And to show that jerk face who was in charge.
The next morning I went back and, as I waited in line, I thought about it. I vowed to myself that I wouldn't become him. I also decided I would finally do it. I'd ask her out. When I got to the counter, Ellie took my regular order and then said, "Can I get you anything else?"
"How about a date?"
She tilted her head at me, smiled and said, "A date? Do you mean a date square? Oh, I'm really sorry, we don't have them at this location. You know, Logan, I think the only Tim's that have them are over in Ontario."
"Oh," I said, feeling like I was falling while standing still. I wanted the earth to swallow me and—
"I'm kidding." She laughed. "It's about time you asked."
"So…that's a yes?"
"Don't do it," said my voice behind me.
I could see a look of confusion on Ellie's face as her gaze focused behind me.
"Is that your dad?" she asked, her smile remained, but, somehow, it didn't reach her eyes anymore.
"No, no," I said, as I glanced back. "Never seen him before." I lowered my voice, "Must be, um, you know…care in the community case."
She gave me a look, and it didn't reassure me.
"I would not lie to you. Honest." People always say I'm a terrible liar. I don't think I'm that bad; still, somehow she could tell.
"He can't ask you out, he's got an application to do," the wrinkly version of me said. "If he does go out with you, he'll just mess it all up and end up by falling in love with your cousin Shannon. You know, the one with those huge freckles."
I pivoted around and poked my finger into his chest. "Shut up. I know what I'm doing."
"No, you don't. I know what you're doing. And it won't work."
"You're such an asshole." I couldn't bear to look at that flabby face anymore. I glanced away and automatically found myself checking to see if my regular table was free. That's where I saw two more of me's. They drank coffee, and were dressed the same in tracksuit bottoms and button-down shirts. There seemed to be a correlation between how much their hairlines had receded and their waistlines had expanded.
I turned back to Ellie. She was also looking at my evil twins. She shook her head and just said, "Double double."
"Hey," I said to her, trying to bring her back. "You know that thesis I spent three years writing here?"
"Yeah." Her eyes kept flicking between the four variations of me.
"It was on The Theoretical Creation of a Stable Micro Black Hole in a Controlled Environment. But, here's the thing. With the right tools, like a world-class physics lab, you can turn theory into practice. And if you can build one black hole, you could create two."
"That's right," old-wrinkly me said, edging up to the counter.
"And with two—"
"If they circle each other," he said, twirling his index fingers in the air and giving Ellie a creepy smile. "It creates a spot between them that you can slingshot into and end up being where you were before you started the journey."
"Time travel," said Ellie.
"Yes," said old me. "Now will you take my order? Same as him, but only one donut. They'll give us diabetes, you know. Literally." He pointed at the least-haired, widest-waisted version of me sitting at the table. "And kiss your healthcare system goodbye. Too many people, not enough resources. Canada doesn't even exist as country anymore—the water shortages in the U.S. southwest lead to civil war and then—they invade us. You really don't know how good you have it right now. But you're not going to cut back. Instead, you're going to continue being a chucklehead."
"Can you shut-up?" I told him. "Wait." I grabbed my hair with both hands. "I'm not going to cut back?"
"Not a chance."
"Because—all this is…"
"Predetermined," said Ellie. "Right?"
"No, no…Well, not…Look," he tapped the counter. "Can you just take my order, okay?"
It was like being on the cusp of a discovery, I could tell I was so close to understanding. But it hovered just beyond reach. Mornings before coffee I always suffered fuzzy head. Things were like a fog for me before that first drink of the day. If only I could…then, I got it. "You're not coming back to give me life, career advice or investment tips. That's why you looked so guilty when I first saw you. Everything that happens is inevitable. You're using everything I've learned, and that I'm going to learn, so you can time travel back and…" I took a deep breath and balled my fists. "You're coming back for the coffee. Aren't you?"
"No, no," he said, palms up in surrender with beads of sweat breaking out over his ugly forehead. "It's not just about the coffee and air conditioning. I would not lie to you. Honest."
Wow, I really am a lousy liar.
"You have no idea what it's like in the future." His pupils widened. "The equator is a pyrosphere with vast swaths of forest always burning— everything is so hot. People will kill to be able to sit in an air-conditioned place like this. Forget trying to hook up with Ellie. Focus on your post-doc. Too bad you can't listen to me."
"So," I faced Ellie with newfou
nd confidence. "How about tonight? If I'm going to mess this up, then the sooner we start, the more time we'll get to be together."
Ellie shook her head, but said, "Logan, you remember me asking you about the theory of determinism?"
I stopped holding my breath to say, "Yes, about fate following a path."
"Yes. I majored in the opposite. Libertarianism. The original philosophical conviction is that we have free will and we're able to make our own choices. We're not locked into causal laws or events." And she raised one eyebrow towards older me. "Still, you know what?" And she smiled her beautiful smile, "Just to be sure, you're never going to meet Shannon."
It Won't Be Long Now, JoeAnn Hart
At first, Belinda fought against her bedclothes that seemed to be strangling her, then heaved herself upright, alert to the point of fear. "What?" she asked, a variation on the question she usually asked to no avail: "Why?" There had been a prolonged wail, she was sure. Maybe. It was silent now. In the dark, the blinking red light on the monitor told her the unit was on, but not whether her daughter was breathing. She tried to slow her heartbeat to the machine's pulse, and hoped it had been just a fitful dream. Just. But she heard the pained cry again, seeming to come from all directions at once. She could not locate it even as she stumbled across the hall to Rowan's room. At the open door she held her breath and listened without turning on the light. She could hear blood pulse in her temples, but otherwise, nothing. No life-or-death fight for air going on here. Not this time.
She gathered herself together in the doorway, where for so many nights she'd slept on her feet like a horse. It had been a warm September and wet besides. The humid air that made the toilet paper damp and magazines curl encouraged the spores that were her daughter's mortal foes. Single-celled creatures that didn't even know if they were animal or vegetable could take her down like gunshot. Belinda kept a trigger list on the refrigerator, but it might as well say "The World." Not only mold and mildew spores, but pollen from trees, grasses, and weeds, exercise, exposure to cold dry air or hot humid air, industrial emissions, vehicle exhaust, smog, and other air pollutants. Strong emotions. How could she protect her daughter from feelings? It would be easier to hold back the sea with a rope.
Winds of Change: Short Stories about Our Climate Page 15
