Out of Time

by Steven Allinson

Neil was not sure what happened, but as he opened his eyes, he was certain he had moved. He was sitting on a chair, pointing toward the glass cabinets in Hybrid. Had he zoned out again?

  He tried to right himself, but found he was bound. Glancing around, he saw two men chatting to his left and Artimus staring menacingly at him from his right.

  “My moronic colleague is awake.” said Artimus, shaking his head. “Now we are both incapacitated, you may as well get this over with.”

  As the two men turned toward Neil, his jaw dropped. One was Gordon Cooper, and the other was a slightly older version of Gordon Cooper.

  The older Gordon laughed, catching the dumbstruck look on Neil’s face. “He said you understood!” he yelped, he glee evident. “He said that you would find a way to stop us.”

  Neil did not respond. He could not respond. Every time he went to ask a question, he realised how stupid it sounded and gave up.

  “Allow me to elucidate with reference to specifics.” said Artimus, sighing. “This is Gordon Cooper,” he said, motioning with a nod of his head toward the younger of the pair, “and the Gordon Cooper who killed the Grayson family three years from now and got our Gordon Cooper to hide them in the Grayson family cellar.”

  “Who did what to a what now?” said Neil, a million miles from understanding.

  “Gordon, dear boy, is an inventor. In fact, he has invented something that is set to change mankind.” Artimus started to laugh, but the sound was hollow. “He is unaware how much, but neither was Oppenheimer.”

  “You keep saying that!” said the elder Gordon, snarling the words out. “Yet, here I stand. Your theory, if it’s not just conjecture, is obviously invalid.”

  “Think what you will. The universe has already gathered all the evidence it needs, and quite clearly the outcome is determined.” said Artimus, unfazed by Gordon’s anger.

  “Can we wind back a little?” asked Neil, unclear what was going on. “Are you saying one of these Gordon’s is a clone of the other?”

  “No.” said Artimus, flatly.

  No? What the hell did No mean? Neil thought back to Artimus’ other options: Lookalikes, twins, and finally clones. What could possibility four actually be? How else could two seemingly identical people do what they had done? Artimus said one was doing the bidding of the other. That one was younger than the other was. That one Gordon… and then it clicked. “But that means…”

  “Yes it does.” said Artimus, his eyes wide.

  “Bullshit!” said Neil, stunned, as he turned to look at the pair. “Time travel is a myth.”

  “Flight was a myth for a few thousand years Neil.” said Artimus, his expression unchanged. “Mister Cooper is just a modern Icarus.”

  “My wings aren’t too close to the sun though.” said the younger Gordon.

  “No.” said Artimus, returning his focus to the two men. “The wings in this case are time itself, which you have single-handedly destroyed. Congratulations.”

  Time travel? Seriously? Neil’s mind swam, as thought after thought flitted through his mind before drifting away. A surreal fog was enshrouding everything, nothing seemed tangible, his brain unable to cope with the information he had been given. Fucking time travel!?

  “Destroyed time? How exactly is that possible?” asked Neil, hoping Artimus was just playing with him again.

  “Our young Mister Cooper here invented a Gödel space-time manipulator.”

  “A what?”

  “A time machine, Neil.” said Artimus, matter-of-factly. “However, in the Gödel space-time model, time travel is only possible in the time-frame of the time-machine itself. Think Rip Van Winkle. It’s now, pop, it’s twenty years from now. The Gödel model suggests more a form of temporal acceleration rather than physical travel. Although time-travel back to the point of the machine’s creation is theoretically not impossible, but no further than that.”

  “Time travel? For real?” Neil looked from Artimus to the pair of Gordon’s before him; both were smiling inanely.

  “For, as you say, real. It appears the research here allowed Mister Cooper to create a vacancy Alcubierre drive.” Sensing the complete lack of understanding on Neil’s face, he groaned and tried to explain. “To travel through time you need infinite speed, infinite energy, or infinite mass. Infinite energy and infinite mass are obviously off the table in a lab of this size, so Mister Cooper was reduced to trying for infinite speed.”

  “But the maximum speed of the universe is the speed of light. That’s a finite number, so can’t be infinite. Surely that makes it impossible?”

  “If you have nothing intelligent to contribute Neil,” said Artimus, his irritation clear, “I would suggest being silent. Good. Now, for the uninitiated, the speed of light is a maximum. However, for those of us who may have read some physics, we understand that Einstein’s famous equations only state that nothing can be accelerated beyond the speed of light. It does not mention things created at speeds greater, and neither does it rule them out. What Mister Cooper did was to use the genetic data he had here to create a map of an entire human. He then calculated the likely quantum vacancy spread, and used the difference between the two data points force a quantum superposition speed greater than that of light. The machines you see in front of you do more than just look good.”

  “Pardon?” said Neil, more lost than before Artimus’ explanation began.

  “Forget it.” said Artimus, giving up and allowing his head to sag into his chest. “He created a time machine by the implementation of long-forgotten mystical knowledge found in an old copy of the Hebrew Bible. Is that easier? The point is that his time machine allowed him to kill the Grayson family in the future, and transport their bodies back here to be disposed of by his former self. He used his position at Hybrid and his knowledge of the activities of Alexis Grayson to add further ambiguity to our deductive efforts. In the process, crafting a near-perfect crime.”

  “That’s all well and good, but how did this near-perfect crime destroy time exactly?”

  Artimus shook his head. “How many time travellers have you ever met Neil.”

  “Two.” Neil said, looking toward the Gordons with a wry smile.

  “Maybe that was a bad question.” said Artimus. “How many have you met until now?”

  “None.”

  “And the rest of the people on Earth, how many have they met?”

  “Er… still none I think.”

  “Yet, we both now know that sometime in the next three years, time travel becomes a possibility. So, where are all the time travellers? Why is there any room in Dealey Plaza that day in December sixty-three? Why were there only five people present at that birth in Nazareth two thousand years ago? Why is any major world event from history not filled to the brim with random idiots from all of mankind’s future?”

  Shock crossed Neil’s face. Artimus was right. Those events were points in time. Unchangeable, immovable. However, as soon as there was a time machine, people from now until the end of time could visit them, and each one would visit the same point; the visitors all arriving at the same destination of time, no matter when they set off. You could not put the lack of time visitors to those events down to the science being kept a secret or the application of laws. Given enough time, all scientific achievements found their way out into the public domain, and too many people broke laws to stop it happening repeatedly. Therefore, the only way that there was no sign of time travellers anywhere in history was if… Neil swallowed hard. He looked at Artimus as nauseous comprehension washed over him.

  “You have to smash these machines to bits.” Neil said, turning to the Gordons. “You’re going to kill us all!”

  “Both of you?” said the elder Gordon. “We’ve been over this. I am still here. No space-time paradox. No endy-worldy. Get me?”

  Paradox? Neil knew the Grandfather Paradox was the best example of what elder Gordon assumed he was causing. The theory went that if a man invented a time machine and went back into his own past to
kill his grandfather, before his father was born, would he be able to? Logic dictated that if he succeeded, he would not exist in the future to create the time machine, to go back and kill his grandfather, and thus the man’s father would still be born, and so would he, and thus he would create the time machine, and on and on and on, ad infinitum. The Grandfather Paradox created a cyclical, unbreakable loop that would collapse the universe, by folding time back on itself.

  However, there was no paradox to be found in this situation. Their issue stemmed from a simple application of logic. If time travel was possible, and if its use could not be controlled, and there was no evidence of time travellers from history, then the only way those two scenarios could happen simultaneously was that shortly after the technology’s creation, there was no one left alive to use it. Neil could not be certain the time machine’s creation was the cause of that, but in all probability in appeared Gordon Cooper’s invention was actually humanity’s doomsday device.

  Neil had to think. There had to be a way out of this. There had to be a way to break the scenario Gordon Cooper instigated.

  Artimus gave a heartfelt smile, seeing the understanding and worry on Neil’s face. “I’m sorry. I thought you would have worked this out and have a plan before you arrived. I’ve run this through every scenario I can think of. I find myself unusually bereft of ideas, I’m afraid.”

  Neil’s brain was blazing through possibilities, every action, every moment of the case whizzing before him. He did not notice the younger Gordon question his state, he did not feel the elder Gordon hit him, and he never realised Artimus had begun to stare.

  Raising his head, and suddenly becoming aware of the pain in his left temple, he winced and looked straight at the younger Gordon. “How did you two make initial contact?”

  The elder Gordon stooped what he was doing and turned to look at Neil, the seriousness of his tone forcing him to respond. “One of the machine’s first tests was to send a message to myself in the past.”

  Neil nodded, that sounded about right. “And it worked first time?”

  “Yes.”

  Neil continued to stare at the elder Gordon, appraising him. “And how did you prove who you were, and you were not just playing a prank on our Gordon?”

  “I sent myself details no-one else could know, but that wasn’t enough.” he looked at the younger Gordon; a quizzical stare that lingered a little longer than it should have. “He said he needed proof. So, I altered the timeline.”

  “Twice, I know.” said Neil. “Once around the second purchase of the Grayson house and once to change the stories of Harriet and Alanis Grayson about what happened on the morning they found the bodies.”

  “How did you..?” said the younger Gordon.

  “Completely unimportant at this juncture.” said Neil, dismissing the question and groaning. To his side, Artimus broke out into a grin. “You hid the damn paradox we needed to avoid in the parallel timeline you created by changing your own past.” He turned to Artimus, one eye hidden from both Gordons and winked. “It should be correctable though. However, I will need my colleague’s help.”

  Neil knew he was gambling. He was relying on his limited understanding of physics, mainly gained through watching Star Trek reruns, being able to convince one of the Gordons to do something stupid and provide him with an opportunity to destroy the machines, and all related scientific data and schematics. It was the only option. The only other out was if the machines were never used again, and the ability to replicate them was lost forever.

  His ruse to do that relied on something known as Multiverse Theory. According to Star Trek’s Commander Data, the theory stated that every action had multiple outcomes. Whenever an action’s outcome was determined anywhere in the universe, all possible outcomes were spawned as what were coined as Parallel Universes. Meaning that what he had said to the elder Gordon was not entirely inaccurate. When elder Gordon rung Missus Grayson from the future, he had in actuality spawned a parallel universe, slightly different to the original timeline, where the phone rang, and Missus Grayson had stayed in the lounge rather than descending the cellar stairs with Alanis. Both versions of the timeline, both Parallel Universes, existing from that point onward in isolation, oblivious to each other’s existence.

  Neil had seen and reviewed the moment of hesitation of the elder Gordon’s face when he asked his questions regarding how the two met. It was clear the elder Gordon knew something was amiss, but was struggling to put his finger on it. That confusion could well be all the advantage they needed.

  “No way!” said the younger Gordon. “You’re bluffing and…”

  “Tell us what needs to be done and we’ll do it.” said the elder Gordon, cutting off his younger self, his brow furrowed slightly.

  “Go fuck yourself.” said Neil, brazenly. “I wouldn’t trust you two dumb shits to tie your own shoelaces. I certainly do not trust you with saving the world.”

  “Yet you trust your colleague? A man who left you by yourself, to attempt to stop us alone.” said the younger Gordon, a tic settling in to one eye and his movements becoming worryingly erratic.

  “You may not have noticed,” said Neil, not looking at Artimus, “but he’s a bit of an arsehole. He is not however, an out-of-his-damn-mind psychopath. Making him, quite clearly, more trustworthy than either of you two fuckwits.” Neil glanced from one Gordon to the other, shaking his head disapprovingly. “Time, as we do keep saying, is of the essence gentlemen. As soon as my colleague passes out from blood loss, my offer is taken off the table.”

  The younger Gordon turned to the elder Gordon, his hands out as if pleading. “They are trying to trick us. Do not set them free!”

  “We never intended to kill everyone!” said the elder Gordon, rubbing his forehead. “We have our revenge. Let them try.”

  “There is no paradox!” shouted the younger Gordon, removing a blood stained knife from his pocket and holding it at his elder self. “I will not let you ruin this!”

  “Whoa!” said the elder Gordon, stepping back. “Attacking me is one hell of a paradox.”

  “WRONG WAY ROUND!” screamed the younger Gordon, advancing on himself. “The paradox would be created if you killed me!”

  With a growl, the younger Gordon lunged at the elder Gordon and the two men tumbled to the floor.

  “You fucking maniac!” snarled the elder Gordon, avoiding being stabbed and punching his younger self in the gut.

  As the two men wrestled, Neil began to push himself across to Artimus and spun his chair. “Turn yourself so you can get to the back of my chair. This make has clasp locks on the recliners, so I should be able to hold mine whilst you lift.”

  Artimus did as asked and soon the backrest of his chair was toppling to the floor.

  “Grab the letter knife.” said Neil, as elder Gordon threw younger Gordon over the bank of desks behind them.

  Artimus scooted over and grabbed the implement, moving back to Neil and beginning to work at his restraints. “This is good thinking Neil.”

  “We can discuss the proper time and place for life lessons later.” said Neil, as one of his hands freed. “Right now we need to ensure our Gordon does not finish the work of the other Gordon.”

  “What?” said Artimus, looking confused.

  Neil grinned. “You seriously don’t get this, do you?”

  “Touché.” said Artimus, rolling his eyes. “Care to explain.”

  “Not right now, no.” said Neil, as his last bond snapped.

  Spinning, he began to break Artimus’ ties.

  Before he had removed more than a few, a blow landed on the side of his head, sending him sprawling across the floor.

  “You lying bastard!” said the younger Gordon, standing over him and kicking him in the sternum. “I told you they were playing us. No fucking paradox I said.”

  “Point taken.” said the elder Gordon, righting from behind a desk with what looked like a broken nose.

  In the momentary distraction,
Neil punched upward into younger Gordon’s unprotected groin as hard as he could. The sheer surprise and force of the attack lifted him a good foot off the floor, expelling the air from his lungs and forcing him to wilt sideways.

  As the elder Gordon charged to protect his younger self, Artimus grappled him with his freed legs and dragged him into his lap. As the man tried to figure out what was going on, he pushed himself back toward the glass cases. Surprising Neil with his suppleness, Artimus extended a leg, bringing his knee up sharply into elder Gordon’s face as he tried to pull himself free.

  “Activate the machines by using the console on the left.” said Artimus, nodding vigorously in its direction. “You want to set the time and destination of both to point at each other.”

  “What good will that do?” said Neil, stumbling over.

  “Short circuit. It is all I have. Unless you bare any stirring thoughts on how else we could decouple the superposition matrix almost certainly employed as the machine’s means of space-time localisation?”

  What did that even mean? “How come you don’t know what a tablet is, but understand how to programme a computer?” he asked, confused.

  “Tablets are a modern invention and computers have been around longer than I have. Think about it and an answer will come to you eventually.”

  “Forget I asked. I’ll just type whatever you ask me to.” said Neil, reaching the console.

  Before Artimus could speak, elder Gordon regained his composure and faced him. Dodging a kick aimed at his knees, Gordon leapt forward and began to strangle him.

  “A little help.” Artimus gasped, his hands still bound behind his back as he thrashed his legs wildly.

  As Neil went to bridge the gap, pain exploded in his calf. He looked down to see younger Gordon chomping down on his leg. On autopilot, he extended a digit and jabbed the man in the eye.

  Young Gordon howled, releasing his bite and raising a hand to his face.

  Striding over to elder Gordon, Neil punched him in the back and tossed him sideways.

  “I really need to teach you how to fight.” said Artimus, coughing. “At the moment, it’s like watching a poet struggle with a tax return. Lots of emotion, little practical end product.”

  Neil went to retort, but younger Gordon charged him from the side, rugby tackling him into a set of filing cabinets.

  “See what I mean?” said Artimus, impelling himself across the office. “If you could keep them busy for a few minutes, perhaps by giving them your best rendition of a good George Bernard Shaw play, I will attempt to make the corrections myself.”

  Neil tried to stand, but younger Gordon was sat astride him. He twisted sideways, throwing Gordon’s mass off, and began to rise as elder Gordon dragged himself to his feet.

  “You two bastards are going to pay.” elder Gordon said, blood flowing freely from his nose.

  “What was that?” said Neil, putting on his most surprised face and cupping a hand to his ear.

  “Are you deaf?” said elder Gordon, leaning forward and raising his voice, “I said…”

  Neil levered on his back leg as soon as the man assumed the prone position, throwing all his weight forward in a giant swat of his head.

  Surprised elder Gordon had fallen for such an obvious playground tactic, Neil was more surprised by how solid male craniums were, their two heads colliding with a heavy clonk.

  Stunned, Neil watched elder Gordon collapse face first to the floor, as he staggered back and flopped against the cabinets, the room spinning.

  “World class combat Neil. Impact the thickest part of someone’s skull with your own. Is that an academy manoeuvre, or one you picked up from The Beano?” said Artimus, typing as fast as he could with just his nose.

  Neil was in no state to do anything. His legs had turned to jelly, and his vision was swimming in and out of focus.

  He watched, clinging to the cabinet next to him to save from falling, as young Gordon began to stir.

  Neil stumbled, trying to bridge the gap as Artimus continued to peck at the keyboard in front of him.

  “Just two more minutes!” begged Artimus, watching younger Gordon begin to advance. “Neil?”

  However, Neil could not keep one foot in front of the other. He shambled about three paces, like a drunkard crossing a road, before collapsing into the space between two desks.

  Cursing his luck, Artimus began typing as fast as his nasal appendage would allow.

  Younger Gordon closed fast, grabbing Artimus around the waist and trying to drag him away from the console.

  Frantic, Artimus stamped on younger Gordon’s foot, buying himself a few more seconds. “I’m going to set the timer for two minutes Neil. Get ready to run.”

  Still bashing keys, Artimus was taken from behind by younger Gordon, the attack sending the keyboard skidding away across the desk.

  Sequence Initiated, a female voice intoned from hidden speakers. Transference in Twenty, Nineteen…

  “Cock!” yelled Artimus, shoulder charging younger Gordon back toward the glass booths. “Get out Neil. Get the fuck out now!”

  Neil raised from his position, his brain still a mess. He looked out toward Artimus, as electric fingers of brilliant white began to spark and cascade from the glass booths. With every contact they made, the air fizzed, showering the surrounding area in a mist of phosphorescent particles.

  Fifteen, Fourteen the woman continued, oblivious to the happenings around her.

  “Run you stupid bastard!” shouted Artimus, booting younger Gordon into one of the booths and trying to hold the door closed. “Ruuuunnnnn!”

  A bolt of brilliance flashed before Neil’s eyes, striking the computer screen next to him and vaporising it instantly. The ejected elements sent horrid metallic sensations down his throat and made him gag, the action like smelling salts, crystallising his brain on his situation.

  Eleven, Ten

  Neil spun to glance at Artimus, his hands still bound behind his back, desperately trying to hold younger Gordon in the booth by pushing his back against it.

  “Run Neil! Please!” said Artimus, a wash of acceptance crossing his face.

  Seven, Six

  There were no options. Heading for the doors to the outside world, Neil hit sprint speed in a few short strides. He slammed through the first set of double doors without slowing, lengthening his gait as the automated voice chased him down.

  Four, Three

  Bounding, almost in a gallop, he reached the doors to the outside and flung them aside as everything went silent.

  One

  A single, immense flash followed, as Neil ran headlong into the open. A shockwave lifted him from his feet, the sound accompanying the blast sounding like wrenching metal.

  Deposited on the far side of the street in an undignified heap, all Neil could do was watch as Hybrid Incorporated dissolved into a maelstrom of crackles. The building, foundations to roof, swirled once around a standing spot, before disappearing into its own footprint with a resounding pop.

  With a sense of deep sadness, Neil realised there was no way Artimus could have gotten out in time. The old goat was right. This really was his last case.

  Head in hands as the shrill of distant sirens descended on his position, Neil could not help but think his life was forever changed for the worse.

  Chapter 38

  External Affairs