by Eric Nixon
By the time I got home at 11pm, everything had changed at work. Frank was gone. The ordinary x-ray had been removed and would soon be replaced by an impenetrable new checkpoint in the lobby flanked by a dozen armed SWAT-like troops. Several 30-millimeter radar-guided Phalanx cannons for the roof had been ordered along with some kind of coverings to make them appear to be air conditioning units to the casual observer. A new checkpoint had been planned for the drive-up truck entrance to The Machine with guards galore. The Pentagon had flown up new bio, chemical, radiation, and weapon-identifying security measures for every doorway between the driveway and The Machine. You couldn’t look in the general direction of this part of the office park without being scanned and identified quicker than a box of cereal at the supermarket check-out. At least we’ll finally be able to identify what type of bird hang out in the woods out behind the building. Unfortunately, my plan for tomorrow was just as much a part of history as Frank was, only I didn’t have as many options. Everything ruined because of one time-stealing idiot.
I laid down on the couch, and turned on the TV, not to watch it, but just to have some noise on in the background while I thought. Mark Robbins was the time-stealing idiot’s name. Actually, he wasn’t an idiot by any means; in fact, he was pretty brilliant to not only have discovered the existence of the time machine, but its location, and how to use it. Those were the only three questions that remained unanswered by the time I left work. Within half an hour of his little stunt, the NSA, CIA, FBI, and Homeland Security were all on the case. No one knew what he had done, but it was a directive from very high up to find out as much about Mark Robbins as possible. When the Man said jump, everyone jumped.
And jump they did. Thirty-five minutes after the incident, he had been identified from the footage we got of him on the lobby’s security camera. Five minutes later the NSA pulled rank and ordered the other agencies to stop jumping, and stand down in the search. Apparently, they found some good stuff they didn’t want to share with anyone. Well, anyone but Dr. Mason. His phone and email rang and chimed like a group of caffeine-crazed kids who had been left in charge of a large set of church bells. At least that’s what I had heard from other co-workers who had offices closer to his. I had been busy with my own overactive phone and email as security experts from various agencies were telling me how they were going to re-do our security setup. I don’t know why this stuff fell to me, but it did pound the point home that once these measures were in place, I wouldn’t get another chance.
Around 9pm, we had a meeting with those of us who were still working. Dr. Mason went over the information we had so far. Going through the data our facility had been collecting on lottery results, they had a hit. Bingo. Mark did exactly as anyone else would have done if they had access to a time machine. He went back in time with the winning numbers to the Fantastic Fortune lottery, found a date when there was a huge payout and picked the previous drawing to win the jackpot. He even lives in the area. I was especially excited about this because my favorite part of watching shows like Law & Order was when they busted someone’s door down to nab the bad guy. I pictured this guy, sitting on a gold couch watching a gold HDTV, drinking a gold drink and having a priceless look on his face when the police knocked through the solid gold door to his mansion (also gold, or maybe platinum). Of course he’d still have a bandage on the back of his head from where I hit him with the flashlight because it was such a mighty blow.
Unfortunately, Ron was told that nothing would happen to Mr. Robbins. Nothing. Can you believe it? It turned out that this flagrant lawbreaker, who blatantly stole my shot at sneaking into the time machine, used the vast fortune he won with multiple lottery tickets to fund a radical new gene therapy which was able to code, attack, and destroy any disease on the planet. He assembled the scientists, funded the operation, and, in the end, was the nice guy who let his scientists bask in the glory, and awards while he kindly took the riches associated with this scientific windfall.
Because of his, we would not be going after this new national hero, although, the new security measures were still being implemented. Hmm. This got me thinking. In the next day or two The Machine’s control panel would be re-wired so it could only operate with two people at the controls. For the time being, the only thing new in place at The Machine itself was two heavily armed guards. Two brand new guards who knew nothing about The Machine. Maybe I can still do this tomorrow after all. Well, I’ll have to, otherwise I won’t get another chance after the system’s been changed.
Tomorrow’s still the day.
***
