by David Staves
His hair and shirt were caught and pulled in grasping gusts.
Wait! He could barely hear it… a voice, barely audible over the noise!
It sounded like a CB radio, full of static and distortion. He could still make out the words.
"Boy! Boy! Found you! I am here, boy! Here! Haste! Haste! Courage!" an electric voice, deep and garbled called out.
His rational mind questioned how he could possibly stay in one place. He was connected to nothing. He had a sense of floating, yet when the air pushed on his frame, he seemed to stay put. Of course, he had no frame of reference other than the bright light.
"Reach boy! Take hold of the claw! We have to get out of here!" the voice crackled, "…machine hand. Grab it! Hold on, kid!"
Cold metal on his bare foot, left eye squinted open: nothing but bright white light. Another piece of frigid metal touched his other foot. He had a distinct impression that a forklift type object was attempting to grasp him. He kneeled down to blindly find the metal with his hands. He held on. It was slippery and cold.
Something else pushed on the back of his neck and lower back, this time it didn't seem to be metal. It was cold and soft, like a piece of rubber. The gusts of wind were loaded with a cool mist, and small droplets of water quickly soaked his hair and clothing. He opened his eyes just as he was placed in a chair. The metal arm retreated and an enameled panel shut behind it, sealing him inside a small spherical chamber. He was inside a rescue craft. It was submarine-like. There were small portholes that filled the cabin with light. An instrument panel glowed in front of him. He tried to look out the window: a blur of light and darkness, distorted by beads of water on the outside of the glass.
A sudden lurch in his stomach made him feel as though the cabin was rushing.
There was a small speaker in front of him. Maybe his rescuer would be able to hear him.
"Hello?" he had hope.
His head spun. The umbra swooped from all sides. He blacked out.
Time Traveler
Mystery and Waste
He never saw or experienced anything like it – the only other documented cases had happened at Saturn and her moons – a dark chapter in human history – it turned out badly for anyone in his profession. That's why it was studied so extensively – it could never be permitted to happen again.
And yet this!
He sensed the disturbance with his naked eyes; his instruments fed him readings that were off the charts.
He didn't know if it was the disturbance itself or the realization of what kind of danger he had stepped into – but his heart was pounding – he was sweating and his breathing was shallow.
Time itself was staggering and stuttering.
Bright static electricity danced around him.
Why here? Why now?
Who would endanger the Earth in such a way?
Saturn had raked a gaping scar across space-time – and yet, according to simulations, it could have been so much worse, and someone would dare to do it again, invite a rupture to the very fabric of the universe? Why?
Who would threaten the Earth in such a way? Had Earth receded in memory this much, that it could be endangered so arbitrarily?
Or was it something else, some reason he had yet to discover?
The guardians would be coming soon, no doubt. He was taking the appropriate steps to cut and run. He had to get out of the epicenter before it was too late. Had the corrupt politician who sent him here done this on purpose? Did he know what he was sending Gus into? He must have. This was a setup – had to be.
He was making the last calculations, his heart was beating in his brain, and he could hear the blood pulsing between his ragged breaths.
That was when he heard something else – another person was here in this mess? There were multiple people present, according to his instruments. Only one was nearby.
Gus was from a time when children were rare.
It was a child!
He was taken aback.
The boy called out, "Mom! Dad!"
Somehow the kid sensed his presence.
"Is that you?" the youngster called out again, "I'm in here!"
Gus's finger hovered on the ignition. Could he leave the child behind? He had walked away from worse – it was his duty to walk away – to be haunted by his own inaction. But that was another life; he left that part of himself behind. He was forced to offer tribute to find his Rose, but this was different. They had broken the contract by sending him into such a situation.
Still, this wasn't his problem. Obviously, the child was destined to die. The variables were converging.
Children had a better chance of surviving temporal extraction than adults. But that bastard politician seeking an old computer hadn't mentioned a kid. By inaction he had decided to dispose of an innocent child.
No - that was the wrong way to think about this. It wasn't his responsibility to save someone who was destined to die!
Or was it? Extracting the kid would have no impact on this timeline. The effect on his own timeline would be inconsequential, he thought.
Not my problem! He told himself again, gritting his teeth with the strain of staying this long, battered by a maelstrom of temporal distortion.
The boy called out again. This time his words were muffled by the temporal upheaval. Whatever he said was unintelligible. Gus didn't understand the words –only the desperation behind them – the emotion in the child's voice was more than enough to change his mind. How many years since he had seen a child or heard one's voice? It evoked powerful emotion, reminded him of his little boy Quincey, so long ago.
He could not be haunted by the specter of this boy. He couldn't bear it!
Instantly he changed the calculations to include the child – whose destiny was poised – his life teetering on the edge of doom.
He would figure it out. He had fixed worse messes than this, or had he?
Meanwhile, he intended to find out as much as he could about the child - homo sapien cub. His organics were consistent with the twenty-first century. He was untouched by the technology of the up and coming Golden Age. He was a specimen of pre-colonial humanity, approximately twelve years old, thin and lanky, dressed in period clothing: sweats and a t-shirt.
His instruments sounded an alarm.
What? His devices indicated the storm was still all around them – he made corrections to the plotted course – it was foolish.
The temporal disturbance, naturally, was drawn by the boy. Pulling a living being out of time, especially before a critical moment (like death), was always a risk, but doing so during temporal upheaval was negligent.
The smart thing to do would be to forget the whelp – the child's survival was not a guarantee even if he was able to get out of this safely.
They called them grieves, people who could survive complete transplantation from one time to the next. Moving a living being from one time to another was traumatic. They experienced separation from all temporal connections. Grieve was no longer just a verb, it was a noun. This child, if he survived, would be a grieve.
I would be a grieve, Gus thought, if it wasn’t for Rose.
Gus looked at the boy, examining his expression. His eyes were open in wonder as they searched the darkness. They settled on something in the shadows for a moment – mouth open in awe. He wasn't going to dump the kid – wasn't going to be haunted by the eyes, powerfully aware, expectant, hopeful.
If it were the end of the boy it would be the end of Gus.
He was a professional. He hadn't survived for this long by taking chances.
So why now? Why this kid? He tried not to think of all the other lives he had witnessed meeting their fate. But none of them had been children. That was the difference. The loss of Quincey had changed him.
He'd never had the inclination to intervene. Anyone who messed with the order of things was playing with fire. The universe was like a rubber band, it could only be bent and stretched so far before snapping. That's why thi
s job was so risky. A handful of his colleagues had paid the ultimate price for lack of basic ethics.
He had to set these thoughts aside. Gus couldn't think of the possible consequences. It wouldn't be him. Not today.
He transported himself back to his vessel, placed just outside the disturbance. He observed the scene through the distortion of incredible energy. He saw the boy's room had one exit.
He made the commands to create a small bubble of protection, suitable to sustain life temporarily. If he could get the boy into this bubble, he could extract him. It was the only way he could think of with the instruments at his disposal and the powerful forces in play. He carefully placed a portal from the exit of the boy's bedroom into the protective bubble.
The portal and the bubble were fragile. Maybe it was too little, too late. Gus expected collapse at any moment…
He watched as things quickly unfolded. He held his breath, waiting, hoping for the boy to realize if he didn't get out of that room, he would die.
He watched the boy fling himself out of his bed, and out of the door of his room.
Only then did he take a breath.
He instructed Casper, his vessel's AI, to retrieve the child.
"Yes, Dr. Plimpt," Casper answered.
He watched as the automation scooped the boy up and gently placed him in the lifeboat.
The boy lost consciousness.
Gus was a little surprised that it had taken him so long to pass out. The kind of traveling he did on jobs like this did not require the insulation of a vessel, but it was a wise precaution.
Years of training on top of genetic and cybernetic manipulation had turned time travel into an art form for Gus. Everything was done with biometric systems and temporal manipulation fields produced by a network of tiny power cells. It was possible for him to move other people and matter through space and time, but it took preparation and effort. His craft was more submarine than spaceship. It had to be capable of withstanding tremendous tidal pressure.
When Gus hit the ignition, he instantly felt the relief of being pulled out of such distress – never had he faced the kind of forces present in that storm.
He had only seen simulations that rivaled it, simulations of the Saturn calamity.
Now what? How was he going to save the kid? What was he going to do with the kid after the rescue?
It was challenging to maintain control in this unnatural environment. It was a test Gus would relish if the stakes were not so high. With so many variables, a minor mistake in the thousands of minuscule course corrections would send them careening into oblivion.
Gus figured he had been set up by the rule makers themselves. Who else would demand he break so many laws? His objective was to obtain an old computer.
Why?
He had no idea. Was there something special about this kid? He wasn't supposed to know. A tribute had no right to ask questions. His only right was to accept or decline. That's it.
Gus accepted the assignment. It was simple. Go to the said address on the stated date and obtain a computer. Now that he thought about it, the job was just wrong. Why not send him before or after the moment when everything was breaking loose?
An A37, like Chuck’s, could pull it off, maybe. People like Chuck never did their own dirty work. He assumed there was more to it but not this much.
He had gotten himself neck deep in trouble and was about to get more. He would be lucky if he got out of this with his own skin.
"What are you doing Dr. Plimpt?” Casper, the ship asked. He didn't answer. Did he even know what he was doing? His instruments analyzed the forces swirling around the vessel. This time and place was a shatter-point: a pivot point where the universe shattered and collided with hundreds, even thousands, of other dimensions.
Time had been manipulated in this place before Gus arrived.
Its rhythm had become irregular.
Its flow interrupted – even stopped, creating violent upheaval.
Like blood from an open wound, the temporal forces coagulated around the rifts – attempting to close them off. Something, or someone, created a gaping wound in space-time.
He couldn't shake the feeling that this was a setup. He wasn't just screwed, he was royally screwed.
At this juncture, it would be suicide to attempt to retrieve the computer. Whoever set this up was going to have to get it themselves. Gus was lucky it wasn't already over. Going into the eye of a shatter-point wasn't a risk anyone in their right mind would take. Ever.
He watched for a way out, a hemorrhage of space-time – a consequence of the shattering – his system was overwhelmed. For the first time in years, Gus had to make quick guesses based on intuition, versus checking and rechecking the data. Any lag, any hesitation, would mean death. A surge of energy boiled and tumbled across their path.
He didn't know what would be on the other side. Gus only knew they would be on Earth in his time, a time so far distant from what the boy knew, he might as well have been from ancient Rome.
But Earth in his time should be a safe place, temporarily. There were no longer people there. He just had to avoid the guardian, an entity set on restoring and conserving the homeworld. If they could get in and out, they would be fine. He had a few places in mind, old haunts that would offer extra shielding from detection, while providing him a chance to get his bearings.
Gus made the final calculations and guided them through the surge of energy. As the tumultuous nether-realm receded, Gus withdrew his life-preserving energy fields. He was still immersed in his instruments – observing the temporal fields to ensure their stability – they were finally safe.
He came back to his senses and started surveying the geography. Something was wrong. A lot of things were wrong. The magnetic fields were screwing with his instruments. The poles seemed to have shifted. But had they really? He expected to be at the site of the boy's home. To his surprise, the geography did not match. They should be somewhere in what was once the state of Washington, which would be suitable since he wanted to avoid any place that might have the attention of the guardians. If he were caught here, he would get more than a ticket. The penalty for venturing into forbidden territory could be death, tribute assignment, or not.
A guardian, particularly this guardian, would not trifle with technicality.
The readings continued to puzzle him. This part of Washington should be pretty dry. Instead, it appeared to be swampland. And though his instruments said it was day time, it was dark as pitch.
The readings made no sense. It appeared they were somewhere near the Appalachian mountain range, nowhere near the Pacific Northwest. He glanced at the monitor, it was keeping watch over the boy whose sleeping body was placed safely in an escape pod connected to his craft.
Before he could continue, sensitive instruments mounted on the hull sensed life. The readings indicated that the life form was out of place here. Just like the boy, there was an eddy of temporal energies surrounding it, as if it too had been pulled from time and space.
He was having trouble honing in on the signal. It approached from the east, from higher ground.
Gus unholstered his weapon. He suspected his employer. The politician who had sponsored his tribute must have tracked them. He couldn't imagine Chuck being too pleased with Gus’ little game before the tribute. This situation wasn’t a game, not even close. It was deadly serious.
Any sign of an A37 robot would be terrible news. Gus was already in violation of interstellar law. Could it be a guardian?
"Hey, boy..." Casper, his ship's robotic consciousness, spoke to the boy in a hushed voice. He was trying to keep the child calm. He turned away from the monitor and trained his attention back on the creature. Its biology was all wrong. It didn't belong here. It definitely wasn't robotic.
He tried to fire-up the craft's temporal field. His system was damaged. Need to abandon the ship here, he thought.
He checked his personal temporal field. It was damaged as well.
They w
ould have to escape the old fashioned way.
Where’s the closest interface? He wondered. He needed to find one to check the damage and make repairs. There were interface stations all over the surface of Earth. Did they still work? It would be his first step to getting them off Earth. He could probably carry the kid for a while if the coast was clear.
He was beginning to feel anxious about whatever was approaching.
The life sign was getting closer, no heat signature. It was organic. The scans detected strange DNA, not terrestrial, maybe alien in origin.
Gus didn't believe in coincidence.
His instruments picked up other signs more consistent with ordinary life. It was still not right for native Earth species. Almost all the readings showed hallmarks of genetic tinkering. At least these creatures had DNA that his systems could recognize. Not so for the approaching beast. It was coming at a slow, steady pace, deliberate, purposeful.
Twice.
Twice in one day he had been placed in extreme peril as a consequence of taking this tribute.
A hatch was opening from the escape pod into the command center, it was the boy.
The boy looked into his eyes. There was a calmness about him.
It had been decades since he had looked into the eyes of a child. Grief clawed his spirit.
He stifled the memory.
He'd rather forget.
This wasn't the time anyway.
"It is my pleasure, as the automated captain of this vessel, to introduce the esteemed Doctor August Flavius Plimpt to Earthling Ezra Quell," Casper had a flair for the dramatic and notoriously abysmal timing. At least they knew each other's name now.
Run
Rescued
The Distant Future
North America
Earth
When Ezra awoke, he was still in a small one-person sized pod. This passenger cabin and the machine hand that had plucked him from the darkness both had an old feeling to them. The metal was rough in spots, and he could see at one time the surface had been painted. There were nicks and grooves all over. A circular door to his left had a wheel on it to seal it closed. His mind grasped for some explanation.
