The Navigators

by Dan Alatorre

  Each breath Roger took was assisted by a machine. It hissed and clicked with every labored rise and fall of his chest.

  Barry stepped to the bedside and placed his hands on the rails. “Tell me what happened.”

  The breathing machine hissed again as Roger tried to speak. He could only manage a small groan.

  Hiss, click.

  Roger tried again, straining to raise his head. Barry leaned in.

  Hiss, click.

  Roger’s voice was a weak, raspy whisper.

  “It’s not a viewer.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  My cell phone rang with an incoming call. Riff’s name appeared on the screen.

  “Who is it?” Melissa asked, grabbing my phone.

  “It’s… Riff.”

  She swiped her finger across the screen and mashed the speaker icon. “Hello?”

  “Melissa? What the fuck? Did I misdial? Where’s Peeky?”

  “He’s right here. Tell me what’s going on.”

  “We’ve been trying to call you guys for, like, two hours. I thought you fucking got arrested or something.”

  “I turned my phone off.”

  “Why the fuck did you do that? You were supposed to be getting supplies! Everybody wondered what happened to you two.”

  “Riff, calm down. Tell me what happened.”

  “Oh, man,” Riff continued. “Roger got messed up, big time. That time machine is a motherfucker. It beat the crap out of him.”

  “What? How did that happen? Did they try to test it again?”

  “Yeah. It was fucked up, too. Roger was burning to try the thing out. It’s supposed to be a viewer, you know? So you can just go see the reflected light from a prior event, like watching a movie or some shit? Barry tried to talk him out of it...”

  “What did he do?”

  “He waited until you were gone and then he said he wanted to try it.”

  “And Barry let him? Are they crazy? The first test nearly gave us all concussions.”

  “There was no stopping him. That’s why Barry made him wear earplugs and welder goggles. ”

  “Where did he get those?”

  “Radio Shack. We tried to call you.”

  She frowned. “Then what happened?”

  “It was loud, like you said. And the big flash. It was intense. I think we still might have gotten concussions. That thing is definitely a self-limiting use vehicle.” Static crackled over the line. “Listen, I’m on my way to get some of Roger’s stuff and take it to him at the hospital. I’ll head back over to the apartment afterwards and meet you guys, okay? Just stay put.”

  “Riff, what did the doctors say? Is Roger hurt bad?”

  He wasn’t there. The call had dropped.

  * * * * *

  “Roger, can you talk? Can you tell me what happened?”

  He had bruises everywhere. Temporary air casts held his broken legs in place. Bandages closed wounds. His ribs were taped; his arms and head were wrapped in gauze. Swollen and lame, he was barely recognizable as the cocky athlete he had been just a few hours ago.

  Roger pushed himself up in the hospital bed, shooting a sharp wince across his face and spraying saliva onto his chin. His breath came in short, painful bites. “I made it.”

  “Take it easy.” Barry reached behind Roger and adjusted the pillows. “What do you mean?”

  A grin tugged at the corner of Roger’s swollen mouth, but his answer was a spoken groan. “Rome. I was there.”

  Barry’s jaw dropped. “Get the hell out! What did you see?”

  “Everything.” He whispered. “We nailed it. I was right there. Big columns, all painted in bright colors. A big room, with banners.”

  Barry was amazed. Roger had seen ancient Rome. “Go on! Did you see Caesar?””

  Roger closed his eyes and barely moved his head back and forth. “It was hot. Smelly. They saw me right away.”

  “Who’s ‘they’?”

  Roger grimaced. “Fucking Roman guard. Soldiers. Palace guard or something.”

  He wheezed a little and licked his lips. Barry grabbed a cup from the bedside tray and held the straw up to Roger’s mouth.

  “They were on me in a minute. A ton of them.” Roger groaned. “I never had a chance.”

  He took a sip.

  “I fucked up. I was completely out of place. Jeans. T-shirt. Not speaking fucking Latin.” He managed a slight chuckle, immediately followed by a wince.

  “That’s amazing, Rog,” Barry said. “Amazing. You’re a pioneer, now. A hero, or something.”

  Roger groaned. “I’m a fuckup. Look at me.”

  Purple welts rose from every spot on his bruised, swollen body. The visible skin that wasn’t covered in bruises was covered in blood.

  “Roger, I… I’m so sorry, man.” Barry swallowed, the words catching in his throat. “This, what happened to you—it’s my fault. We should have known it wasn’t a viewer. The time on the clock changed during the test. That wouldn’t have happened if it was just a viewer. I should have known that.” He lowered his head. “I should have stopped you.”

  Roger closed his eyes. “You tried.”

  A nurse appeared at the door. “Sir, I’m afraid he’s had enough for one night. You should go. Your friend needs his rest.”

  “Okay.” Barry stepped away, unable to take his eyes from his bloody, beaten friend.

  She slipped a syringe into the IV. “This is for the pain. He won’t be awake much longer.”

  Roger uttered something. He was weak and fading fast.

  Barry leaned in again. “What is it, Roger?”

  “Learn,” he rasped. “Learn from this.”

  * * * * *

  Melissa paced around the living room. “We should get over there.”

  “No, they said to stay here. If Roger were at death’s door, they’d have said that. In the messages, Barry said stay with the machine.”

  She plopped down on Barry’s couch, frustrated. “Ugh! A week ago, my life seemed perfect! Now, everything’s all messed up! School, the project… men!”

  I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “You need some sleep.”

  “I’m too wound up to sleep.”

  “A drink, then.”

  “What do you have? Or, what does Barry have around here?”

  “I am from India, my friend. We shall consume the only thing that a truly civilized person should drink at this late hour.”

  “Rum and Coke?” Melissa asked.

  I frowned at her.

  “Rum and Pepsi?”

  “Tea.” I wagged a finger at her and moved to the kitchen, opening a cupboard. “In India, we drink more tea per capita than any other country.”

  A frown flashed across her face. “Um, I don’t think that’s true…”

  “Well, if it isn’t true, it should be. Here.” I handed her a cup and returned to the kitchen. “Don’t try to solve all your problems at once. It doesn’t work.”

  “Yeah…”

  “Now, regarding your problems with men…” I took out the teapot. “Dating men is like shopping for a convertible car.”

  “Don't I know it.” Melissa sighed. “They're always trying to take the top down.”

  I smiled. “I mean, it’s like that commercial for the Auto Trader. The announcer says, ‘Show me all the green cars’ and a thousand green cars show up. Then he narrows it to cars with two doors, and there are still two hundred green cars with two doors, you know? You keep narrowing it down until you find the right one for you. The sports car may look good, but you can't put kids and groceries in it.”

  She chuckled. “It’s a fun ride, though.”

  “For a while, sure. In time, your needs change and so do your interests . . . so you must be selective—but open minded. Of course, you can try several before deciding on the one that is right for you. Isn't that what you are doing now?”

  “You make it sound so easy.” She slouched further down into Barry’s couch. Slipping off her shoes
and perching her feet on the edge of the coffee table, Melissa stared absently at the oval bronze machine across the room.

  I shook my head. “Matters of love can be far from easy, but they are a worthwhile pursuit—and a necessary one—if you can be clear-eyed and honest enough to truly pursue the right thing.”

  “That can be scary. If you blow it, you've lost the one.”

  “Hmm. You don't strike me as a girl who’s afraid of very many things.”

  “I hide it pretty well.” She shifted on the couch to focus directly on me. “What would you do if you were me?”

  “About men? That's difficult. But anyone can see Roger is not the best choice for you. Not for the long term.”

  “No...” she whispered, looking away. “I know.”

  “Do you want to know what my father said to me when I was a young man and I asked him how to pick the right wife?”

  “What did he say?”

  “He said, ‘Ask your mother.’”

  Melissa laughed.

  “But he was serious,” I said. “After all, who better to find a woman for her son?”

  It was working. Melissa’s face brightened and her smile returned. “What did your mom say?”

  “She said, ‘Ask your dad.’ I think they wanted to avoid the conversation.”

  Melissa chuckled.

  “No, my mother said physical beauty is a sign of good health, and for thousands of years it was what caused a young man’s fancy to turn to thoughts of love. Or lust. I forget which.”

  “Stop it.” Melissa put her hand on my knee and shoved. “I’m trying to be serious here.”

  “She cautioned me, though. She told me physical beauty does not last, and should not last. ‘A beautiful woman’s breasts will eventually sag and her hair will turn gray. What will you be married to then? If you choose wisely, you will be married to a beautiful personality and a curious mind that loves your children and who would do anything for you.’ That is true beauty.”

  “Hmmm.” Melissa closed her eyes, appearing to postulate on the idea.

  “I know. Where’s the fun in that, right?”

  “Well…”

  “Relax,” I said. “It isn’t easy. You are a beautiful young woman who’s had men throwing themselves at you all your life. That makes it hard to know who cares about you for you, and who just wants to be seen dating an important lawyer’s daughter… ”

  She nestled her head into the back cushion. “You’re quite a good girlfriend, Peeky.”

  “Thank you. I grew up with three sisters. I learned a few things.”

  The teapot whistled from the kitchen. I rose to tend to it. “Now, think of all the men you know.”

  “What, guys I could date?”

  “Well, yes. Let’s not get all gross and Oedipal here. Break it down. Whose intellect at school do you respect the most? And who would put your needs above their own? And do not say Roger or I’m leaving.”

  She laughed. “No, definitely not Roger. He is totally out for himself.”

  A long moment passed. Melissa cradled her cup in her lap, letting the wheels turn.

  When it seemed like she had arrived at an answer, I still had to pull it out of her. “So? When you think of all the men you know, and trust, and who enjoy your company, who among them would put their own needs aside? Who would do anything for you?”

  “Barry,” she whispered. “Barry would do anything for me.” She peered up at me. There were tears forming in her eyes. “But he doesn’t think of me like that.”

  “Doesn’t he, Baloo? Are you sure?”

  My reply surprised her. She let it sink in. “No, I'm not sure...”

  I smiled. “Then I’d say maybe it’s time for a test drive.”

  “What if kissing Barry is like that phrase, ‘like kissing my brother’?”

  “You don’t have a brother, and I don’t think you have to worry about that. I kiss my sister every time I see her when I return home. Barry won’t kiss you like that. I’ve seen the way you look at him, too, you know. When you think nobody’s noticing. But saying things like that keeps it all safe, doesn't it?”

  She nodded.

  “It's like this infernal machine.” I waved my hand at the bronze metal egg. “We never built one, because we didn’t think along those lines. But somebody else did, and now here it is.”

  She smiled and blinked back her tears. “Peeky, I don’t think I’ve had a conversation like that ever, with anybody.”

  “But you had a conversation with yourself.” I rose, taking a blanket from the closet. “I just asked some questions.”

  “Your wife is really lucky to have you. Your daughter, too.” She started to drift off. “You’re a good dad, Peeky . . . I can tell . . . .”

  I draped the blanket over her. Then we sat there, the two of us, exhausted and sleepy, staring over at the time machine, daydreaming about it until our real dreams crept in and put us both to sleep.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The apartment door flew open with a loud bang. I jumped off the couch to see Barry barging in, a complete mess from head to foot. Dried blood covered his shirt and neck.

  “Peeky. Good, you’re here. Call Melissa and tell her to come over right away.”

  Melissa’s head popped up from the couch as she pushed the blanket to the floor.

  “Oh.” Barry hesitated for a moment. Melissa’s wrinkled clothes and disheveled hair obviously indicated we’d spent the night together. “Um, okay,” He mumbled. Glancing down, Barry fumbled with a sports gear bag.

  “Barry—” Melissa sat up. “This isn’t… I mean, we—Peeky and I, we didn’t. Nothing…”

  I shifted on my feet. He couldn’t think anything happened. Could he?

  “Never mind.” He waved a hand. “We have a problem.”

  She blinked. “What kind of problem?”

  “Who is ‘we’?” I asked.

  “All of us. And it’s a big problem.” Barry set the bag on the table. “Findlay went crazy and told everybody about the time machine.”

  “When you say everybody…”

  “I mean everybody, Missy. The local news, the college brass, everybody. The whole campus is buzzing about it.” He came over and grabbed the remote off the coffee table, turning on the TV. “New trucks have been rolling in all morning. They’re everywhere. Findlay’s getting ready to hold a freaking press conference right in the middle of the campus commons in about fifteen minutes.”

  Melissa watched the live feed on TV. “Holy shit.”

  “What do we do?” I asked.

  Barry ran his hand through his hair. “We don’t have a lot of time. Maybe you guys can go stall them. Cause a ruckus, some sort of distraction. I can’t go like this, all covered in blood and crap. I’ll be down in a minute.”

  “Go stall Findlay, cause a ruckus, keep it from happening. Got it.”

  Melissa held her hands out from her sides. “What’s that going to accomplish?”

  “I think it’s me he wants to confront,” Barry said, “so he can take our discovery away from us in front of everyone. So I’ll confront him.”

  “How are we going to stop him?”

  “Just buy me some time. Cause a distraction.” Barry motioned to the hall closet. “Hell, Missy, grab a pair of sunglasses and one of my hats if you want. The crazier, the better. Throw water balloons, whatever you can think of, just don’t let that thing happen until I get there!”

  “Okay, Barry. We’re on it.” Melissa jumped up and grabbed her car keys. “Come with me, Peeky. I have an idea.”

  Everybody knew what to do but me.

  As we headed out the door, she shouted, “Barry! Don’t take too long!”

  The commons was nearly full when we drove up. The normally half-empty summer session parking lots were jammed. Barry was right. All the local news crews were here, and with one glimpse of that machine from the locals, national news networks would start covering the story—and all hell would break loose.

  Melissa w
heeled through the parking lot. “There are no spots. Do you see any?”

  “No.”

  “Screw it. This will have to do.” She drove the car over the curb and into the grass by the dumpster.

  “Can you do that?” I asked, getting out.

  “Looks like I just did.” Melissa jumped out and ran toward the gathering crowd. “We’ll be out of here before they have a chance to tow it!”

  In the middle of the open grass of the commons, Findlay sat perched upon a stage that had been erected for an upcoming concert. Chairs had been arranged for the audience, and some of the deans of the college were gathering on stage. University workers rushed out a huge projection TV screen along with some stage lights. Findlay plucked at the ridiculous pompadour on his over-moussed head, makeup powder covering his pasty white face.

  Melissa stopped and observed the scene from a distance.

  “What should we do?” I asked. “Go tackle him?”

  “Wait here.” Melissa sprinted toward the campus bookstore. “If Findlay starts to talk before I get back, then go tackle him.”

  “What! I never played American football! I don’t know how to tackle!”

  “Keep your eyes open!” She yelled over her shoulder. “This will only take a minute!”

  “Don’t be long! The extent of my extracurricular activities was chess club!”

  “Then crown his ass.” She flung open the bookstore doors.

  “That doesn’t mean what you think it means!”

  I faced the gathering crowd. Holding my breath and kneading my hands, I crept closer to the stage and pulled Barry’s baseball cap down over my face. I slinked up behind a fat guy buying cheese Danishes from one of the commons’ vendor carts.

  More students collected in front of the chairs. Then, Findlay appeared. He strutted to a table microphone behind a small sign with his name on it, and sat down.

  “Testing, one two three,” the idiot Findlay said with a grin, enjoying his voice over the loudspeakers. He put a hand over the mic so it wouldn’t pick up his voice. I could just overhear him tell somebody in the crowd that they would begin in just a few minutes. “We are waiting for Jonas Brown,” Findlay said with a smile. Brown was a popular local news anchorman.