In Times Like These: eBook Boxed Set: Books 1-3

by Nathan Van Coops

  Mym wipes away her tears again. She sniffs. “I just didn’t know how you would be once you knew what I’d done.”

  “This is me knowing,” I say. “And I’m not mad. I’m frankly relieved.”

  “Relieved?”

  “Yeah, I thought you just stopped liking—”

  Francesca pokes her head around the corner. “Hey, sorry to interrupt, but your dad is seeming kind of impatient for us to get going.”

  Mym nods and wipes at her eyes again.

  “Okay,” I say. Mym gives me a smile. I reach out my hand and she brushes my fingertips with hers.

  Okay. Now we’re back in business.

  I join the others gathered around Quickly’s anchor. Mr. Cameron has provided a stool to set it on, and everyone extends a chronometer hand to touch it.

  “March 18th, 1300 Zulu, Ben,” Dr. Quickly says.

  I dial in my chronometer settings without having to look. Francesca raises her eyebrows at me. I give her a wink.

  “So, Doctor,” Francesca says. “I know you’re taking us home to our own timestream, but is there any chance I can talk you into making a couple quick stops first?”

  Dr. Quickly looks up from assessing our chronometers. “Yes. I suppose that could be arranged. Let’s just get to my office first. We can sort it all out from there. On the count of three now.”

  I look up to Mym watching me from next to Mr. Cameron and Robbie. Her eyes are bright and smiling. Wait, how am I going to find her again?

  Quickly counts off. “One, two, three.”

  We blink.

  <><><>

  The Friday night crowd at the Green Dragon Tavern is lively. I open the door for Francesca and shut it behind me to keep out the winter chill. A quick scan of the patrons shows me the one we’re after. I gesture toward the blonde head protruding from a booth near the kitchen. “He’s in the back.”

  I watch Francesca cut through the crowd from my position near the doorway. Cole is wiping down the area near the taps at the far end of the bar. Our eyes meet briefly, but he shows no sign of recognizing me. I can’t hear what Francesca says as she reaches the table at the back, but Guy rises out of the booth with a drunken grin on his face. Francesca makes a comment and his smile wavers. He never sees Francesca’s knee as it drives upward into his crotch. He crumples to the floor in a heap. A collective “Oooh!” goes up from the crowd around them, and a quartet of girls at a high top near the bar starts clapping.

  Francesca next strides across the room and walks straight past a server and behind the bar. I see Cole extend his hands down and cover his groin protectively. Francesca reaches her arms around his neck however, and stretching up on her tip toes, puts a hand to the back of his head, and plants a long kiss on his lips. Cole’s hands slowly move around to her back. Francesca eventually releases him and gives him a nod. Without another word, she turns on her heel and walks back through the crowd to me.

  “Okay. We’re done here.”

  I open the door and we exit back into the snow.

  <><><>

  It’s still raining on the softball field. We’re standing in the visitor’s dugout, looking across home plate at the dugout we left from. The powerline is still popping and snapping around the bench.

  “I’m gonna need to do something about that,” Quickly says. “I can’t have a rash of displaced power company employees bouncing around the universe when they try to fix it.” He turns to us and smiles. He points a spectrometer at the bench we just arrived on and then back to us. He shows us the frequency readings.

  “They match,” Francesca says.

  “Just like advertised,” he replies.

  Home. For real this time.

  “I don’t know how to thank you,” Blake says. He extends his hand.

  Quickly shakes it. “I should be thanking you. Without you, I wouldn’t have a timestream to go back to.”

  “What are you going to do now?” Francesca says. “Will we see you again?”

  “Oh, there’s plenty to keep an old scientist busy in this world,” Quickly replies. “And lots of good people to keep in touch with.”

  “Do we get to be some of your good people?” Carson says.

  “The best,” Quickly replies.

  I remove my chronometer from my wrist and hold it out to him. “I guess we won’t be needing these anymore.”

  Quickly crosses his arms and gives my outstretched hand an appraising stare. “Why don’t you hang on to that, Benjamin. The universe is a big place, and time is even bigger. You never know when you might need to get in a little exploring.” He winks.

  “We also still owe you a lot of money,” Francesca says. “We probably disposed of a good hundred thousand dollars of yours.”

  “Then you still owe me nothing,” Quickly replies. “Things that are worth nothing are easy to come by.”

  I smile and snap the chronometer back on my arm. I extend my good hand toward him. “You really are amazing.”

  “You flatter me, but I won’t hold it against you,” Quickly replies. “One does need a good bit of flattery from time to time.”

  Francesca steps forward and wraps her arms around him. “We’ll never forget this.”

  He pats her shoulder with affection. “Nor shall I.” When Francesca steps back, Dr. Quickly walks to one of the support beams and grips it with his chronometer hand. He turns and faces us.

  “How will we find you again if we need you?” I ask.

  Quickly places his other hand on his chronometer. “In a universe full of variables, you can still find yourself some constants. The rest is trial and error. But if you come looking, I’ll bet you’ll find what you’re looking for.” He gives us one last smile and then he’s gone.

  We file out into the rain. We pause near the home dugout and look at our softball gear still lying around the bench. The power line crackles near the entrance. A puddle of rain has spread throughout the dugout floor.

  “Screw it,” Carson says. “We can buy more equipment for the team.”

  “Yeah, I don’t want to go on that ride again,” Francesca says.

  Our cars are still in the parking lot. I pause near Robbie’s. “You still have that letter for his mom?”

  Francesca nods as she tries to shield her face from the rain. “Yeah, I guess I’ll need to go over there after I get dried off. I don’t want his car getting towed.”

  “You need help?” I say.

  “No. I think I’ll be okay. It might be better if I talked to her alone. I know her pretty well.”

  “I can go with you,” Carson offers. “I know her pretty well, too.”

  Francesca looks at him and then nods. “Okay.” I catch the hint of a smile at the corner of her mouth.

  “You know where I’ll be,” Blake says.

  I give him a hug. “Tell Mallory I said hi. I’m sorry you don’t have a ring this time.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Blake says. “She won’t need a ring to know how I feel.”

  “Good luck,” Francesca says, giving him a hug as well. “You going to be able to drive with that sling?”

  “It’s just a couple of blocks. I think I can make it.” He backs up a few steps and gives us a salute.

  “See ya, man,” I say. He turns and jogs for his Jeep.

  Francesca steps over and hugs me next. I wrap my arms around her. “Thank you for coming back for me,” she mumbles from the vicinity of my chest.

  “No problem, Fresca. That’s what friends are for.”

  “You really are pretty great.” She tilts her head up to look at me. “I probably ought to cut back on all the mean things I say about you all the time.”

  I smile down at her. “You’re pretty great yourself. And intimidating. If I ever need to get in a fight with any more murderous thugs, I know who I want in my corner.”

  She squeezes me and lets me go. She pulls her little fabric coin purse out of her pocket and retrieves her car key. “Maybe next time I come to one of your softball games, you’
ll actually play a game.”

  “There’s always next week.”

  Carson slaps my hand and pulls me into a hug. “See you, dude. Thanks for coming back to save me.”

  “Hey, I owed you one, remember?”

  “I still think I could’ve taken that guy. I’d like to know how he got the best of me.”

  “Alternate universe, man. And you were probably out of shape from being so rich and famous.” I smile. “No way he could beat you in your prime.”

  “True story,” Carson says. He bumps my fist and follows Francesca toward her car. She gives me a wave from the driver’s seat.

  I find my car keys in my glove box where I left them. When I pull up to the street in front of my apartment, I sit there for a moment and stare at my door. The rain has stopped, but the trees are dripping large droplets into the puddles in the street. I look around my truck but realize I’ve got nothing to take in. I take the stairs two at a time. When I swing open the door, I find my water bottles and work shoes still on the floor. It feels like I’ve been gone forever. It’s only been a couple of hours.

  I close the door behind me and feel suddenly at a loss for what to do. I pick up the empty water bottles and carry them to the kitchen counter. I come back and nudge my work shoes over by the door where I won’t forget them. Work. I walk back to the refrigerator and read the calendar I have stuck to the freezer. Damn. I’m supposed to be at work at 7 am tomorrow.

  I open the refrigerator. The usual condiments greet me, but not much else. Closing the door and reaching into my pocket, I extract a zip lock bag that has one last survivor from Connie’s batch of chocolate chip cookies. They were worth the return visit. I consider saving it as a memento of the trip, but after a couple seconds of deliberation, pull it from the bag and eat it.

  I trudge back to the living room and collapse onto the couch. I stare at the blank television. How am I going to explain to anyone what happened to me? No one will ever believe it.

  With my good hand, I reach around on the couch next to me for the remote. I pick up my junkmail and look under it. It’s not there. Surveying the room, I spot it on the edge of the kitchen counter. Well forget that.

  I begin to wad up the junk mail advertisements as I eye the trashcan in the corner. Bet I can make it from here. My junkmail won’t compress as easily as I’d hoped. I feel some resistance and give the ads a shake. An envelope flings out and sails into the open area on the floor between the kitchen and me. It lands with the clack of something solid.

  I force myself off the couch and check the rest of the ads. There are no more surprises. I drop them onto the coffee table and walk over to the envelope on the floor. There is a slight bulge at one end. Stooping to pick it up, I turn it over in my hands to check for some identification. It’s blank. I slip my finger in one end of the envelope and tear. Giving it a shake, a silver, horse-head chess piece tumbles into my palm. As I examine it, my heart starts to race. I reach inside the envelope. The photo is of the stained glass window and the other chess pieces. I immediately flip it over and read the description on the back, written out in Mym’s distinctive handwriting. “A great game in the making.” The rest of the back of the photo is still blank.

  I feel inside the envelope again and extract another slip of paper. This one holds a time description and location information. At the bottom is a personal note of only one line.

  “Want to come out and play?”

  I feel the grin spread across my face. The calendar hanging on my freezer seems suddenly irrelevant. I toss the chess piece up in the air and catch it again. I set my chronometer.

  Work can wait.

  THE CHRONOTHON

  The Chronothon

  Table of Contents

  Main Books Page

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  The Chronothon Glossary

  “Time travel is hard. Let’s get that straight first thing. If you think any part of this will be simple, you can stop now and have a safe, happy, life. Of course, if you’re reading this, you’re likely not content with safe.”-Journal of Dr. Harold Quickly, 2037

  Chapter 1

  I feel very alive considering I haven’t been born yet. Across the expanse of grasses and water stretching to the distant shoreline, the rumbling of rocket engines is causing the wild birds to take to the air in droves. As they stream past my perch on top of the abandoned radio tower, their cries are lost in the roar of the machine beyond them. I have a clear view of the amber glow from the Saturn V rocket. Apollo 11 is hoisting humanity’s dreams toward the heavens in a historic panorama in front of me, but I can’t stop looking at the girl.

  This is the third day I’ve woken up and existed as an affront to the laws of nature. I’ve bent them before of course, but this is the first time I’ve journeyed beyond my own lifetime—what should have been my lifetime in any case—and she’s the one who got me into this.

  Mym’s arms are draped on the lower railing while her legs swing gently as they dangle over the edge. Her chin is propped on her arms and her blue eyes are on the rocket streaming its way skyward. After a moment they narrow slightly. “You know, Ben, I may stop taking you awesome places if you aren’t even going to pay attention.” Her voice is scolding, but when she turns her head, her eyes are playful. She tries to hold her mouth tight in an expression of aggravation, but as I glower back at her, her cheeks start creeping upward until she’s grinning uncontrollably.

  My legs are crossed below me, a safe distance back from the edge of the platform. A month ago, I wouldn’t have dreamed of being this high up. A lot of things have changed about me in a month. For one, I used to stay in my own time. The chronometer on my wrist changed that. Mym’s dad let me keep it. I did save his life, but I don’t believe that was his reason for letting me have it. I think he wanted to let me into this world of his—the world where time is no longer about straight lines, but about paths not taken, a secret world where consecutive events in your life don’t have to be consecutive at all.

  Last night, we caught the Beatles in their last concert at Candlestick Park. This morning, I ate my breakfast a table away from Salvador Dali at a café in Spain, and still made it here to Florida in time for the launch. Not a moment was wasted in airport security or waiting for a calendar page to turn.

  Mym leans back onto her hands and watches the twisting trail of rocket smoke dissipate in the wind. She looks happy.

  “Do you just wake up amazed every day?” I ask.

  She tilts her gaze toward me. “Don’t you?”

  “I do now. This is incredible. It’s like every day is your birthday, or Christmas.”

  “I know a guy who does that.” She smiles. “He only does birthdays and holidays. I think every day should be a good day though, if you’re doing it right.”

  “Well, this certainly makes that a lot easier.” I twist the dials on my chronometer. “You get to pick out the really good days.”

  Mym studies me briefly then turns skyward again. “It’s easier to have good days now.” She closes her eyes, soaking in the sunshine. I nod, though I know she can’t see me. In the excitement of our traveling the past couple of days, I sometimes fo
rget that she spent the last few years trying to find a way to keep her father from being murdered. It hasn’t been all good days. But she doesn’t seem to be thinking about that now. Her face is relaxed, her skin lit by the sun. She looks young. I wonder again how old she is. Early twenties? Does she even know? If I hadn’t spent the last quarter century with my days encapsulated in sequential boxes, if Thursday could come after Sunday or spring follow fall, would I know my age? Would I feel it somehow? Would I care?

  Mym is still an enigma to me. As I watch her chest slowly rising and falling with each breath, I wonder—not for the first time—why she picked me to come with her on this adventure. She’s the type of girl who doesn’t seem to realize the effect she has on people. I’m the opposite. I feel like I’ve always known where I stand. I get a few glances from the girls, maybe not all of them, but the ones who don’t mind a guy who gets his hands dirty for a living–the ones who don’t run off if I occasionally let a long swim at the beach pass for a shower, or pick them up for a date on my old motorcycle. I used to know where I stood anyway until I met her—a petite, blonde time traveler with a taste for adventure. Now it’s like starting over.

  I let my gaze drift back to the now vacant sky. “So where’s the next stop?”

  She opens her eyes. “Hmm. We’re still in the sixties. Anything else you want to catch while you’re here, or do you want to head to the seventies?”

  “You’re the pro at this. I’m totally at your mercy.”

  “Ooh. Totally?”

  “Um, maybe I’m going to regret that.”

  “Nope. You said totally. I know exactly where I’m taking you.” She swings her legs up, tucking one underneath her, and faces me.

  “Oh God. That smirk on your face is scaring me. Where are we going?”

  “You just dial the settings.” She rifles through her messenger bag and hands me a long silver tube and a hard rubber wheel. It takes me a moment to identify the wheel without the rest of its parts, but then it dawns on me.

  “We’re going roller skating?”

  “Better. It’s roller disco!” She beams. “Degravitize that.”