I’m going to need some way of checking this. Quickly never mentioned this problem, but it probably just slipped his mind. I look around for things that might have changed in the last seven hours. Looking up, I can see a lot of stars but no constellations I recognize. They should have moved anyway. I study the star patterns above me, then take the pen out of my pocket and draw one of the shapes on my hand. Okay. Diamond-shaped cluster above the Banyan. You should be moved in an hour. As I’m staring at it, I see a dark spot drift across it. Another cluster disappears next to it and then it reemerges. Don’t get cloudy on me now when I need you!
The little diamond cluster is back to shining at me so I decide to take my chances. I set my chronometer for an hour and jump again. This time I keep my eyes open and stay staring at the cluster of stars. I push the pin on the chronometer and they disappear. All the stars are gone. In their place is nothing but a charcoal blackness. As my eyes probe the darkness, I can just make out the reflection of the city lights in the layer of cloud. Figures. At least I know it worked.
Another idea occurs to me and I climb down the monkey bars to the last rung of the ladder and bend down to grab a piece of the redwood bark mulch. I carry it back up the monkey bars to my perch on top and set it on my lap. When I jump it should fall back to the ground. I nestle back into my space between bars and recalibrate my chronometer settings. Okay, it ought to be sometime around 4 am now. Playground still should be safe for a couple of more hours. I set my chronometer for a two-hour jump and grab the bar next to me.
The moment I push the pin, I see the sky light up. The blackness is now a predawn blue. The clouds are gone again. One bright point of light is still shining in the sky and I imagine it must be a planet. The neighborhood is now clearly visible around me. I can hear cars on the street a block over. Off to my right, beyond some trees, a car door slams. Saint Petersburg is awake. I twist around to look behind me and am surprised to see a young blonde woman on the walkway, jogging toward me around the lake less than fifty yards away. She seems concentrated on the sidewalk ahead of her feet. Had she been looking up when I arrived, she would have had a clear view of the whole event.
She looks up and sees me. Our eyes meet and she looks surprised. After a moment, she turns her attention back to the path and it curves away following the contour of the lake. I pivot to watch her but she doesn’t look back. I let her colorful figure disappear behind the next curve of foliage before turning back to my chronometer. She was cute. Probably doesn’t go for grown men hanging out on top of jungle gyms . . .
I look down at my lap and see that the piece of bark is gone. I lean to my left and look at the ground, but can’t identify my piece among all of its contemporaries. Clearly I’m going to need a better method. With the early morning light I can see well enough to fill in my logbook for my last few jumps. I climb down and carefully walk across the bark to a picnic table sitting under the Banyan. I sit down and flip to my log page. One of the columns I’ve been leaving blank catches my eye. It’s labeled “Duration of stay.” What was that column for? Quickly’s lessons obviously did not stick as well I would like. Is it for how long I stayed in a particular time, or a particular location? I decide to just write in both and try to list my stints on top of the monkey bars throughout the night as best I can.
Six more hours and I’ll be about caught up with when I left. It’s an odd feeling to be thinking of a specific time as being home, but I’m realizing more and more how much it matters to me to be in the same flow of time as my friends. We’re all displaced, but being displaced together is much less stressful than being stuck away on my own. I know I can walk over to Mr. Cameron’s house right now and find them all sleeping. In the next hour they’ll all be getting up and getting ready to head for Quickly’s place. It would be so easy to just go join them, the only problem being that I’m already there. I’m going to be getting up and making myself some toast and jelly before too long. Banana. Bowl of cereal. Breakfast feels like a long time ago. It’s odd to realize it hasn’t happened yet. My stomach is feeling pretty empty. I’d been looking forward to lunch when we got done with Quickly’s lesson in the neighborhood. That’s a long way off now.
There are a couple of grade school boys walking down the street with backpacks. They get to the corner of the block and stop. They’re joking around with one another. One boy pushes the other off the edge of the curb. The slightly thinner boy immediately jumps back onto the sidewalk even though there are no cars coming. They linger around the stop sign. It appears to be a familiar routine.
Having my monkey bars so near a bus stop puts a damper on my traveling for the immediate future. The random activity on the street is now becoming a factor, too. The odds of someone seeing me depart or arrive have gone up significantly. I stand up and slide my logbook back into my pocket. I walk back out of the park and check the intersection street signs. I realize I’m almost an equal distance from Mr. Cameron’s house as I am from the street where we were practicing with Quickly. An idea occurs to me and I start heading for Mr. Cameron’s house.
It takes me about half an hour to navigate the neighborhood barefoot and arrive at Mr. Cameron’s street. I don’t head for the house immediately. There’s a bicycle shop at the end of the street that is not open yet, but I can see the clock on the back wall through the plate glass window in the front. The clock reads ten past seven. I still have a little waiting to do.
Dark clouds are moving across the sky as I walk down the sidewalk a half-dozen houses away from Mr. Cameron’s house, then cut through someone’s side yard to the alley. We were picked up in the front of the house this morning but we went out the back door and walked around because Spartacus had wanted to get out into the yard. If I can get a good view of the back of the house, I can see all of us leave.
I sneak into the garden shed and look out the dusty window. A few minutes go by and I hear the back door. Spartacus dashes out into the yard and begins sniffing the flowerbox near the screened porch. I duck instinctively when Mr. Cameron appears. I peer over the ledge of the window. Francesca files out after Mr. Cameron, followed by Carson, and then there I am. A shiver runs down my neck. This is so weird. The other me is followed by Blake, then Robbie comes to the doorway and lingers, leaning on the doorframe. Mr. Cameron stoops and hooks a leash to Spartacus’s collar. I see us saying pleasant goodbyes and watch as I lead the way around the side of the house and disappear. I know it will be only a couple of minutes until we are picked up.
Mr. Cameron is patiently taking Spartacus on a tour of the yard. Robbie has stepped back inside. I slide over to the door of the tool shed and peer out the crack. Mr. Cameron and Spartacus draw slowly closer. What if he comes in here? I hadn’t thought of that eventuality. I might startle him to death. What if I end up being the reason Mr. Cameron dies? My mind races with awful possibilities. My worries quickly ebb as Mr. Cameron pulls on the leash and steers Spartacus toward the house.
I have so many questions to ask Dr. Quickly when I see him. My detour has raised all sorts of variables and problems with time travel that had not previously occurred to me. I’m eager to get back in sync with my life here so I can be less stressed about my actions.
I watch Mr. Cameron go back inside and then wait another ten minutes before leaving the shed. We have to have left by now. I work my way up the walk to the back door. I’m struck with the compulsion to knock, even though I basically live here now. I compromise and give a quick couple raps on the door with my knuckles before turning the knob and poking my head inside.
“Hello?” I call.
Robbie appears around the corner of the sitting room doorway. “Hey. You forget someth—” He stops talking as he gets a look at me.
I look down and realize that in my dirty jumpsuit, cut up arms and no shoes, I differ greatly in appearance from the version of me that just left.
“Hey, man.”
“Hey. What happened to you?”
“Is Mr. Cameron handy? I may as well fill you bot
h in on this at the same time.”
Robbie goes and gets Mr. Cameron and we sit down around the kitchen table. It takes longer than I suspected to tell my story, largely since Robbie frequently interrupts with questions. I tell them my whole experience and how I encountered Stenger. That fact does not affect them as much as I had imagined but they are still largely surprised that I’m from five hours in the future.
“So the other you is over at Quickly’s place right now, and has no idea you’re here?” Robbie asks with amazement.
“Yeah, I never suspected anything this morning.”
“That’s crazy. It’s so weird that we were just talking to you and now you’re like a whole different person!”
“What is your plan now?” Mr. Cameron asks.
“I was hoping that I could just lie low for a few hours, and then when we get close to the time when I disappear off the roof, you can drive me over and drop me back off. I don’t really want Blake to be stuck on that roof waiting for me for too long.”
“We can certainly do that.”
“I could use a bite to eat, too.”
Mr. Cameron gets up to get something for me but I gesture for him to sit back down. “I can get myself something.” I stand up and go to the refrigerator. “I don’t want to screw anything up by changing your day. I may have already I suppose, but I’m not trying to. I suppose it would be best if you two carried on as best you can like I’m not here. I’m just going to go upstairs and try to stay out of the way.”
Robbie and Mr. Cameron seem agreeable, though Robbie is still incredulous, so after I finish a yogurt and another banana, I make my way upstairs. I take a shower and wash my dirty, cut arms, but climb back into my jumpsuit afterward. I find an extra pair of flip-flops to wear and set them by the bedroom door, then stretch out on Carson’s bed. I stare at the ceiling with my head reeling with possible things I might be screwing up, but before long my eyelids start to droop, and before I really notice time has passed, I feel myself being shaken awake by Robbie.
“Hey. We should probably get going.”
I’m sluggish and half awake in the back of Mr. Cameron’s car, but as we near Quickly’s neighborhood, my apprehension starts to build. What if Quickly is upset with me for screwing up the time jump? I’ve never seen him get angry yet. He’s been a patient teacher so far, but until now, none of us has screwed up quite this badly.
“It’s the next street down,” I say, guiding Mr. Cameron toward our destination. “We should probably take it slow from here. I don’t know exactly what time we left.” I direct Mr. Cameron to an intersection a couple blocks down the street from where we were working with Quickly. As we cruise through the intersection, I look down the street and see the group of us standing around a mailbox. “It’s almost time.”
Mr. Cameron parks the car along the next block and the three of us get out of the car. I creep back to the corner and peek around a tree. Mr. Cameron and Robbie linger along the side yard on the sidewalk. Through a crook in the trunk of the tree, I watch the group break up and head in different directions. Blake and I disappear beyond some trees to go climb the roof of the rancher.
Francesca and Carson cross to the opposite side of the street and head toward me. They make it almost to the end of their block before walking into a driveway and climbing into a person’s aluminum boat that is parked on a trailer. I watch with interest as they arrange themselves along the bow of the boat, gripping the bow rail. I signal for Robbie and Mr. Cameron to look around the corner.
“This is going to be cool to watch.”
The two of them join me by the tree and I point out Francesca and Carson off in the distance. Mr. Cameron raises his glasses and squints toward where I’m pointing.
“You have much better eyes than I do. I can’t see much of anything that far.”
“Carson and Francesca are in a boat down there,” Robbie explains.
I keep my eyes fixed on them and watch as first Carson disappears and then a few moments later Francesca follows. The boat is empty.
“That is so wild,” Robbie says.
We stare at the boat a few more moments before I straighten up.
“I guess we should be pretty much in the clear now. As long as Blake and I are gone by the time we walk down there, I think things will be back to normal.”
“Want to just take the car?” Robbie suggests.
“Yeah, I guess that will work, too.”
We get back in the car and go around the block. As we pull up to the stop sign nearest our jumping off point, I slouch down in the back seat and peer around Robbie’s headrest to glimpse the rooftop of the rancher. It’s empty. I see Dr. Quickly lingering around in someone’s driveway, still jotting notes, and point him out to Mr. Cameron. He pulls the car over again and parks. I watch Dr. Quickly’s face as I get out of the car. His reaction is far less surprised than I had imagined. In fact, he doesn’t seem surprised at all.
“Messed that one up a bit,” I say, walking up to where he is on the sidewalk. He looks at his watch.
“You’re a bit early. What happened?”
“I went backward instead of forward.”
He looks a bit more concerned.
“By twelve hours.”
“Oh my. That is a mess,” he replies. “You successfully survived until now though, so that’s something. Did you log your jump?”
I nod.
“Let me see your logbook.”
I hand it over to him. “I think I may be missing some information still.”
When he flips to the page I’ve been using, his eyebrows raise in surprise. “You made five jumps?” His eyes have an avid interest now as they look into mine.
“Yes, counting the mess up, I guess it was five.”
He’s studying my entries. “A toilet railing and some monkeybars?”
“Um, yes sir.”
A broad smile breaks across his face. “There may be some hope for you yet!” He slaps me on the shoulder.
When Blake arrives on the roof of the ranch house, I’m standing in the front yard. It takes a few moments for him to see me. “Hey!” he yells down. “Did you chicken out?”
“Not exactly.”
I wait for him to climb down, and when he emerges from the backyard, he’s holding a slightly battered flip-flop.
“You lose something?”
“Ha. Yes. Can I see that?” The flip-flop has some teeth marks on the heel but otherwise is not too chewed up.
“That shows what I know,” I say. Blake follows me as I walk around the corner to the alley trashcan where I deposited the other one. I lift open the lid and it’s still sitting atop a black plastic trash bag. Blake watches me pull the flip-flop out of the bin with curiosity.
“Ben, I sense you have a story to tell me.”
I smile. “It’s a good one.”
Chapter 12
“I lost track of my age some years ago. Now when people want to know, I simply ask them how old they think I am, and then congratulate them on their accuracy.”
-Excerpt from the journal of Dr. Harold Quickly, 2105
The light from the star chandelier is gleaming off the table between my friends and me as I tell my story in the main study of the lab. Mr. Cameron has come with us and is browsing around the upstairs shelves. Dr. Quickly is seated a few feet back from the table in a brown leather armchair, dividing his time between staring out the window at the darkening clouds and listening as I fill my friends in on my adventure.
“So this whole time we were right about it being Stenger who killed those men in the van,” Francesca says. She’s settled herself into an armchair while the rest of us mount stools around the table.
“We don’t have any specific evidence that it was him, but it sure fits,” I reply. “He’s definitely here.”
“So if we’re not the only ones who got sent back in time, does that mean there could be more of us? How many other people might have been made into time travelers?” Robbie asks from across the ta
ble.
I look to Dr. Quickly. He exhales slowly, then crosses his fingers in his lap. “I’ve been working on that issue myself. Malcolm is still watching the Temporal Studies Society for me. It’s the most likely point of contact. You five and Mr. Stenger were very fortunate to survive this jump at all. There may have been others who were less fortunate and were shot into space, or worse. I imagine that when you finally make it back to 2009, you’ll find a number of people in the area have gone missing.” He scratches under his chin briefly.
“Checking it there would most likely be the only way to find out for sure. It’s not necessary that they all arrived this far back either. If people were affected by various amounts of gravitites or voltage, they may have ended up traveling different amounts of time. They could be scattered across the next couple of decades if they were lucky enough to survive.”
“There might be more like the lady in the storage unit?” I ask.
He stares through us briefly, his eyes locked on a non-existent horizon. “Yes. Unfortunately. Also, the effects of the gravitites are relatively permanent as far as I can tell. They come with their fair share of hazards. I would imagine that even if more victims survived, the lifespan of an uninitiated, involuntary time traveler is not likely to be long. The woman in the storage unit may only be one of many fusion events. I don’t know that we’ll ever know the whole toll of that accident.”
“How much more training do you think we’re going to need to make it back to 2009?” Blake asks. “We’ve made some successful jumps now. Couldn’t we just ratchet up the intervals and do our training as we go? I mean, we could be doing this training later on just as easily right?”
Quickly’s eyes slowly focus back to us. “I have a few reasons of my own for being in 1986 right now, but I could see about relocating soon. It wouldn’t be a bad idea to lengthen your jump intervals. You may want to see how that works for your host however.”
In Times Like These: eBook Boxed Set: Books 1-3 Page 15
