by Eric Nixon
I got into the elevator, dropped down three floors, and headed to the maintenance office. My co-worker, Dr. Jim Mead, is out on vacation all week, so our office would be quiet. Once there, I swapped my winter coat for a freshly cleaned lab coat and checked the dry erase board that the scientists like to call the “Big Board”. The top half has the testing schedule for The Machine. Yes, they capitalize it. Partly because of the reverence everyone has for this machine, and partly so Frank doesn’t find out what we really do here, as he’s the only person in the building who actually thinks that this is an FDA facility. The bottom half of the dry erase board has important issues that need to grab my attention RIGHT NOW and can’t possibly wait for me to read the log book.
Last night they blew a power coupling...and someone spilled a Mountain Dew on the control panel. Wow, I bet they caught hell for that. That’s fine, it keeps me gainfully employed, although, it would need to be fixed before the next test at 1pm. No biggie.
I grabbed my toolbox, a power coupling from the shelves of spare parts, and walked down the hallway past offices for the other, more real, scientists that work here. Halfway down, I poked my head into a doorway marked, Dr. Ron Mason, Project Director. His desk was neat and tidy. The shelf above it had small models of the Tardis from Doctor Who, the time machine from the H.G. Wells novel, and a bobble head of the cyborg from the cover of the Iron Maiden album, Somewhere In Time. There was also a big frame of him and his brother who died a couple of years ago. “Mornin’, Ron.”
He turned from his computer, “Oh, hey, Tim. Mornin’. Did you see the Big Board yet?”
“How could I not? Who spilled the soda?”
Dr. Mason shook his head and sighed deeply. “Who else?” That meant Dr. Goodwin again. A few weeks ago his Cheetos-laden fingerprints had somehow gotten all over a photon refraction mirror, causing a misfire, which sent half a probe back only a minute in time and the other half back thirty years. “I’m probably going to have him transferred to a job much less important and very far away, like the HAARP project in Alaska or something. I figure that a weather-control project is a lot less delicate than a time machine.”
“That’s a good idea. I know I wouldn’t want to be the one to use The Machine after he’d been near it. I’d probably end up spread across a dozen time zones. Anyway, the power coupling will only take a few minutes and I’ll call and let you know how bad the panel is damaged.”
“See what you can do to get it back online by 1pm. It’s not a critical experiment, although Dr. Patel would say otherwise. Anyway, I’d rather not have any downtime if possible, especially with that big military delivery next week.”
I nodded, “Got it,” and headed down the hall.
The military loved the time machine. It was a perfect way for them to put satellites in space without using rockets. They would put a satellite in The Machine, set it to go just a few hours in the past, but appear in the exact same location along the Earth’s orbit around the Sun. When it was sent through, the satellite would reappear in space and settle into a proper orbit with a minimal of fuss. They’ve even sent spacesuit-wearing Special Forces team members to eavesdrop on and sabotage other country’s satellites. They pay a lot for using it, so we’re glad to help in any way we can.
The door to the room where The Machine lives is nothing fancy, apart from a menacing sign: Food & Drug Administration - Irradiation Lab and under that, WARNING RADIATION HAZARD - Level IV Radiation Suits Required Past This Point. The door handle has a standard card swiper. I swiped and entered without the radiation suit, as the sign on the door is meant as a last-ditch attempt to dissuade anyone from entering. While The Machine really does have some heavy-duty radioactive bits, they’re safely shielded in another room, which, thankfully, rarely needs maintenance.
I entered and walked over to the control desk. On first glance, the setup looked somewhat like a recording studio. The control room has several seats facing a long desk with a large array of computer monitors, keyboards, as well as other dials, switches, and buttons. Above the monitors is a window running the length of the room that reached almost to the ceiling and faced into the room beyond at The Machine. Essentially, the whole setup is little more than a riser upon which sat an oversized arched metal doorway. The inside of the doorway is covered with hundreds of small lens-looking objects, focused inwards every couple of inches. It’s so big you could drive a large truck through it, which I’ve actually seen happen before. There’s a side truck entrance to the The Machine on the wall to the right. At the moment, it doesn’t look like much, but when that sucker’s on, wow. It’s a sight you’d never ever forget.
I looked down at the control panel and saw the sticky remnants of the Mountain Dew spill from the night before. Geez, they didn’t even try to clean it up. I unscrewed and opened the right third of the control panel, checked it out, and called down to Ron’s office.
“Hey, it’s Tim.”
“How does it look? Think we’ll be able to do the one o’clock?”
“Yeah, I think so. It doesn’t look so bad. It’s just a big sticky mess that needs to be cleaned up. Thankfully only one keyboard is dead, and that’s easily replaceable. I’ll get this cleaned, run a diagnostic to verify that everything’s working, just in case, and replace the power coupling. I’ll be done by 12, 12:15 at the latest.”
He sounded happy. “Oh good. Just in time for lunch. We’re ordering pizza from Moz’s today.”
“Great! In that case I’ll definitely be done by noon.”
“Cool. Thank you, and see you for lunch.”
We hung up and I got to work.
***
