“I’ve just about got it,” Marvin snapped back to the present, then screamed a blood-curdling scream. The creature that had been Jordan Slane was still alive, though barely. It’s still half-morphed body had swum, bleeding, over to Marvin and bit his leg with whatever strength it had left, letting out some gurgling sounds of evil satisfaction.
“Marvin!” Samantha yelled, almost in concert with Brianna and Suki.
“Stay!” Marvin winced. “Samantha–get in your footprints! It’s done!” He struggled to release the dying shark-man’s jaws from his leg. In the next few seconds, several things occurred:
Polly, sensing her friend and favorite dog-walker in pain and in need of help, dove from the platform, landing on Jordan’s mortally wounded man-shark body and sunk her teeth into his flesh. He hissed-howled-gurgled in pain and released his jaws from Marvin’s leg. Marvin ran for the footprints (as well as an injured boy can run in almost three feet of water), grabbing Samantha on the way. The time machine began to glow blue and crackle. Their footprints glowed quite clearly despite being under a good bit of water, and they planted their feet in them, next to Brianna’s and Suki’s.
“Polly!” Samantha screamed, her eyes searching the hazy middle distance for signs of her dog. “Polly, hurry!” There was no time. The time machine was producing an expanding bubble of blue energy, the likes of which they had never witnessed before. It would reach them in seconds. “Damn it!” Samantha cried, wiping tears from her face as she pressed the talk button on her wrist-communicator, weeping into it “now, Professor.” It was a split-second decision - no one else would have done it–they probably would have waited for Polly, and probably would have all died or been sucked into a timeless oblivion. She was the team leader, Alpha Prime. She had had to make the call. And she did. It crushed her with guilt as they dematerialized, appearing soaked, injured and exhausted back at the Montreal dome. They had, miraculously, accomplished their mission and made it back alive. Polly had not. Samantha dropped the NEPTUNE-60 onto the stone platform of their familiar time machine and collapsed to her knees. It must have been hours that she cried.
Samantha stared at the gift-wrapped package in front of her, her face devoid of emotion. It was January 19, her twelfth birthday and probably the worst birthday she had ever had. Todd had given her a gift from their dad which he had brought back with him from the west coast, a deluxe “Bratz” doll which was her favorite toy–three years ago. Now it seemed childish and irrelevant. How little my father knows me now, she thought sadly. How much of my growing he has missed. It made her even sadder than she already was.
She opened the package in front of her at Suki’s insistence.
“It’s from Professor Smythe,” Marvin indicated. Samantha nodded.
Inside the package was, wrapped in a piece of paper, a beautiful silver pocket watch, probably a hundred years old and still ticking. She made a weak smile at the irony of the gift, then unrolled the piece of paper around it. It was a poem, or a statement of some sort, written in The Professor’s handwriting:
Time is like a river
Flowing
Sometimes fast
Sometimes slow
Diverging
And Converging
But all of its being
Including we who make it
And are made by it
Come together
At the sea.
It was signed “A.E. Smythe.” Samantha choked on a sob. She missed her dog so much, her best friend, her constant companion. It had been almost a month since Alpha Team had returned that same Christmas day that they had left, and they could not go back. Double-occurrences were still one of the biggest no-no’s in time travel, creating paradoxes the complications of which might not be evident for centuries. And they couldn’t chance screwing up the mission that they had, barely, achieved successfully. It didn’t make her feel any better; she had betrayed the trust of the most loyal creature she had ever known, to save herself and her other human friends. She still wondered sometimes if the Slanes had been right, if the world would be better off without humankind. Perhaps Boston terriers should run the world–she didn’t know.
She had been forced to lie to her mother once again, something which she was growing tired of. Polly had “run off into the park” and not returned, frightened by some “stray rottweiler” who had attacked her down in the athletic fields. They had also used this imaginary incident to explain Marvin’s badly injured leg. Cindy had been very compassionate and had even offered to get her another dog for her birthday, but Samantha had declined. She wasn’t ready. Polly was not easily replaced–she died a hero in Samantha’s mind, and Marvin’s and everyone else’s as well. She deserved to live on in memory, unchallenged, for quite some time as the sole object of Samantha’s love, respect and admiration.
“Hey, Samantha,” Suki said in a hopeful, cheery voice, “is your laptop plugged in?”
“Yeah,” Samantha responded, wiping a sniffle away. “It’s in my bedroom. Why?”
“C’mere, we should check something out.” Suki took Samantha’s hand and led her into the bedroom; the rest of her friends followed. “I got this weird email the other day–from myself. I don’t remember writing it at all. But the weirdest thing was, it was dated November 23, 1967. That’s almost thirty-five years before I was born! Anyway, it was just a quick note, to myself I guess, that said to tell you to check your email from me on your birthday–that is, your, uh, special email.” Suki was referring to the ‘agent’ account that The Professor had set up for her (and all of Alpha Team). She hadn’t checked hers since Christmas day.
She did so now, her friends gathered round, and indeed found one message waiting, with a picture attachment, from Suki, aka [email protected] . The message was brief. “This never happened,” it said. She looked at Suki, who only shrugged. She double-clicked on the attachment and opened the picture file. Indeed, it was a picture that was very mysterious.
It showed them all together, the inside of the massive “Bucky Ball” headquarters apparent in the background. They were grinning, and the picture made them giggle, with its added text that spelled out “Alpha Team” in dramatic, comic book cover letters and Marvin giving some rabbit ears to Suki behind her head. Not one of them remembered the moment ever having happened. It was bizarre.
Samantha decided to print out copies for everyone–Jason had got her a nice new color printer for her birthday to go with her laptop. She tried to smile as she handed them out to her friends.
It was about three in the afternoon, the party-goers having been in attendance for a few hours now and having begun to grow depressed by their hostess’s steady air of mourning. There was great anticipation of something better to come when the doorbell of the Brooklyn brownstone rang unexpectedly.
Who could that be? Samantha wondered. Everyone she had invited to the party was here–Jason was out with their mother for another hour, and seemed to have his own key now anyway (an intriguing recent development). She decided as she walked to the door that it must be one of Todd’s friends, come to meet him and facilitate his escape from his little sister’s boring party. She undid the chains and deadbolts and opened the door–and promptly fainted.
*
The next thing she remembered was a wet tongue licking her face–it was the best birthday present she could have asked for. Impossibly, when she opened her eyes, she saw Polly, furiously licking her and whining with excitement.
“POLLY!” everyone screamed with joy (and bewilderment). Samantha got up onto her elbows and blinked, wondering if she was dreaming. Behind the hero dog stood Professor Smythe–with Agent Stiles. They were both grinning, and all of the party guests looked very confused. Todd was especially perplexed, still totally unaware of what was going on but glad that Polly was back and that the mood of the party had just taken a dramatic upswing.
“Where–where did you find her!?” Samantha whimpered happily, hugging Polly tightly and smiling through her tears.
> “Oh, eh–Agent Stiles here has some connections in the, er, Brooklyn Animal Control department,” Smythe fabricated, casting glances at Todd, who was still not in on their schemes. “They picked her up from a spot near where you lost her.”
“It’s all right, Samantha,” Stiles smiled, sensing the birthday girl’s nervousness. “We’re all friends here, now. The Professor here has explained everything, and my... people are in your debt. We’ve actually been watching the Slanes for quite a while now, and we believe that you and your friends have done a brave, important service to all of us. We’ll, ah, talk about it more later, at your convenience, of course.” She smiled and looked up at the party-goers. “Good work, Alpha Team!” She gave the ‘thumbs-up’ sign.
They were, of course, invited in for cake and ice cream, even Polly, though they didn’t allow her any of the chocolate cake, because everyone knows that chocolate is especially bad for dogs. Todd’s questions about who Alpha Team was and who the Slanes were were brushed off, and though Samantha’s mind was now brimming with questions about the fate of their enemies and the rescue of Polly, she decided to leave them for later and try to truly enjoy her birthday party, which was, at least in her mind, a thousand times better than it had been an hour before. In the midst of the celebration, the phone rang.
“Hello?” Samantha said, picking up and giggling through her answer.
“Samantha?” It was her father. Now she was even happier. “You sound like you’re having a good time,” his voice said good-naturedly.
“Hi, Dad!” she beamed. “Yeah, I’m having the best birthday ever! Thanks for the present, and thanks so much for calling... ”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” her dad acknowledged. “What have you been up to?” he asked.
Samantha looked around her, at her fellow time-travelers, her dog who had somehow been miraculously rescued from a “time-hole,” a Professor of forensic anthropology who owned a time machine, an agent who allegedly worked for the F.B.I. and her oblivious older brother who was stuffing cake into his mouth and watching Marvin attempt to break-dance on his leg that had been wounded by a boy-band singer-turned-man-eating-shark.
“Oh, you know, nothing much,” she laughed.
THE END
Samantha Smart Page 26
