Bump Time Origin

by Doug J. Cooper

  “If you go visit one of my sisters and don’t hug her and tell her how special she is, I will be very upset.”

  “In the end,” said Twenty-Nine, “we only visit other timelines for a few hours here and there, with visits spaced by months and even years, so it’s a small issue in the scheme of things.”

  Diesel still felt uncertain and a little jealous but didn’t push back.

  “Since we’re talking,” said Lilah, “can I ask about Bunny? Do you all have her cleaning your place, or was Twenty-Six teasing me when he recommended her?”

  Twenty-Nine looked at the brothers around the table. “I think we can share knowledge within this narrow group, but no chatter about rumors we may have heard from up the line. Only things we’ve experienced ourselves.”

  He looked at Lilah. “We all have her in our timelines. Our Lilahs act as her supervisor and mentor. Broadly speaking, Bunny’s successes will bring you joy and her failures will discourage you, but you’ll find the relationship fulfilling so you’ll continue helping her.”

  “Twenty-Six,” she said. “Does she work for you two days a week or three?”

  “Three days,” he said. The others nodded.

  “Then why did you have me run the ad asking for two days a week?”

  Twenty-Six looked at Twenty-Nine as if he wanted him to answer.

  “Several years ago,” said Twenty-Nine, “we ran an ad for a cleaning person to work three days a week because we knew Bunny ended up on that schedule. For whatever reason, she didn’t apply for the job, not until we re-ran the ad for two days a week. It’s one of those quirks that I’m still not used to. Knowing how something will turn out can sometimes hinder getting there.”

  Lilah held up a finger. “One last question and then I’m done. What is this group doing to keep me from dying fifteen years from now?”

  Twenty-Six’s eyebrows shot up, and he looked down at the tabletop. Diesel joined Lilah in staring at Twenty-Nine.

  “First,” said Twenty-Nine, “this group is fully focused on the issue. It won’t happen under our watch. Period.” All the brothers nodded. “It comes down to finding the right bump. That’s on the agenda for today, so let’s work through it together.”

  “Give me an example of a bump,” said Diesel. “The concept seems so abstract.”

  “Your being told about Lilah’s future is the latest bump that’s impacted this group. It’s Thirty-Nine’s project.”

  Both Lilah and Diesel started to speak, and Twenty-Nine held up a hand to stop them.

  “Until recently, the Lilah problem had been kept secret from the brothers in their twenties through midthirties. Kind of like lying to a kid about Santa Claus, the idea was to give the younger group a happy, carefree life, and then get us involved in the later years to stop the tragedy.”

  “We think that’s the big reason why ‘keep the future a secret’ became such an important practice,” said Twenty-Eight. “They used it to hide information from us.”

  “It didn’t work because we started hearing rumors about tragedies up the line,” said Twenty-Nine. “And then we learned that the interventions they were trying weren’t saving any Lilahs. Thirty-Nine took ownership of changing the way we do things. He called for getting everyone involved in the search for a solution.”

  Diesel shifted his chair closer to Lilah and took her hand.

  “Being told bad news can put people in denial,” Twenty-Nine continued. “But like any good conspiracy, when people discover a secret for themselves, it’s hard to convince them that it’s not true. Thirty-Nine’s approach was to drop hints until Lilah figured it out for herself.”

  “I’m lost,” said Lilah. “Telling me I’m going to die is bumping time?”

  Every one of the brothers except Diesel nodded.

  “If you think back, Thirty-Nine agreed with your conclusions using blunt terms, confirming the reality and changing this timeline forever.”

  “In truth,” said Twenty-Eight, “it’s been a shock for all of us to learn that the whispers were true.”

  “So all my sisters are hearing about it for the first time as well?”

  “We’re learning it, and our Lilahs are too, all the way up through Thirty-Five. Everyone older than that already knows.”

  “The poor things.”

  “If that’s what a bump is, I can tell you mine already,” said Diesel. “Lilah and I are going to make money until we’re somewhere in our mid-thirties, and then we’re going to leave here.” He looked at her. “We’ll go far away and never look back. Done and done.”

  Twenty-Nine pressed his lips together. “I’m going to break my own rule and tell you about something that just happened. Forty-One had arrived at the same plan of taking his money and going. We all have, actually. Anyway, he and his Lilah were days from leaving. She was out running errands, and somehow a truck swerved across traffic and collided with her car. She died instantly.”

  Lilah gasped and put a hand to her mouth.

  “Can you be more brutal next time?” Diesel fired at Twenty-Nine while trying to console Lilah.

  “Was Rose with her?” asked Twenty-Seven.

  “Lilah was alone in the car,” said Twenty-Nine.

  “Who’s Rose?” asked Lilah.

  “Her dog.” Twenty-Nine looked at Twenty-Seven. “She’s safe with Forty-One.”

  After an awkward silence, Twenty-Eight asked, “Was it deliberate? Could someone have caused the truck to swerve like that?”

  Lilah stood up and walked out into the living area. They watched her go, looked at each other, then looked back at her.

  Wringing her hands, she turned and approached them. “This is a murder. I’m murdered.”

  “Why do you think that?” Diesel patted the table in front of her chair. “Come back and talk to us.”

  “I’m thinking about the ways I could die,” she said as she retook her seat, “and the list is short. It could be suicide, accident, or murder. I’m excluding illness and old age.”

  “What about war?” asked Twenty-Six.

  “Or natural disaster?” added Twenty-Eight.

  “Good catches, but I’ll exclude them as well,” said Lilah.

  Diesel detected sarcasm and figured that if he heard it, his brothers certainly did.

  “We can take suicide off the table from the start,” said Lilah. “I’ve never contemplated suicide, not even for a minute, and I can’t see a path where something so fundamental about me would change.”

  “I’ve known my Lilah for four years,” said Twenty-Nine, “and in that time, she hasn’t shown any hint of suicidal tendencies. I agree that’s not it.”

  “And for accidents, there are different kinds,” Lilah continued. “One stems from overconfidence. Let’s say I’m sure I have the T-box modified to work for me and I die testing it. Another kind is stupidity; I brush against a high-energy wire and electrocute myself. I’m sure there are others.”

  “Slips, trips, toxins, and falling objects,” said Twenty-Eight.

  Lilah paused to contemplate the list and continued. “A future truck swerving across traffic? The self-driving vehicles they’re starting to develop in this timeline are darn safe. I have to think that sixteen years from now, the technology is rock solid.” She shook her head. “Someone did something to cause that collision. If it’s not an accident, and we’ve ruled out suicide, that leaves murder.”

  “My thought is temporal constancy,” said Twenty-Seven. “The timeline needed a way to correct for her being alive when she shouldn’t be.”

  Lilah sat back in her chair with a dazed expression.

  “It won’t happen to you,” said Diesel.

  “So, my choices are to stay and die, or leave and die?”

  Twenty-Nine shook his head. “The bump has changed this timeline. It won’t be as it was.”

  “You see?” Diesel acted upbeat, but it seemed to him that knowing of Lilah’s peril earlier or later wouldn’t make much difference in the end. The key was using th
e extra time to do something really different.

  Anxious to change subjects, Diesel fabricated a deadline. “We should probably continue this conversation on the run. We need to leave for the racetrack.” He looked at Lilah. “Are you up for joining us?”

  “Hell yeah. I’m not dead yet.”

  “Would you mind getting Justus moving?” he asked her. “We’ll meet you at the front door in five minutes.”

  “You’re going to talk about me.” She walked to the door and paused with her hand on the knob. “I know you’ll try your best for me. I appreciate it.” She closed the door behind her, and they heard her footsteps on the stairs.

  Diesel became all business. “How many Lilahs are alive in the Thirties?”

  “All of them,” said Twenty-Nine.

  “How many in the Forties?”

  Twenty-Nine paused. “Two. Forty and Forty-Two.”

  “That can’t be right,” croaked Diesel, looking around the table.

  Twenty-Nine nodded. “We have about ten years to solve it for my Lilah, fifteen for yours.”

  “Something is causing it to happen,” said Twenty-Eight. “Once we identify whatever that is, we’re most of the way to a solution. We should have plenty of time.”

  Twenty-Nine supported that sentiment. “I don’t mean to sound insensitive, but while we wrap our heads around it all, let’s go racing.”

  Twenty-Six hit the table with open palms. “Let’s go racing.”

  Diesel stood. “Justus and I are driving, so divide up however you want.”

  “Twenty-Eight and I will go with you,” said Twenty-Nine.

  “Good, because by the time we get back, I need to know what to tell Justus about who we are.”

  22. Twenty-Five and two weeks

  The door to Justus’s office was ajar. Lilah knocked and entered. “You ready? We’re leaving for the track.”

  “Ready to go.” Justus rose from behind his desk. “Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” He came around next to her, his concern evident.

  “I’m a little stressed about my personal life. I shouldn’t let that follow me here to work, though.” She braved a smile. “We’re supposed to wait for them out in the lobby.” She led the way down the hall and turned to him when she reached the front door. Her eyes fell on a big athletic bag he carried. “What’s that?”

  “Helmet, jacket, and gloves.”

  “I’m carrying extra myself.” She patted the tote bag slung over her shoulder. “They have safety equipment at the track if you don’t want to lug that around.”

  “I don’t mind. I prefer my own stuff.”

  Lilah shrugged as the sound of five lumbering men descending the stairs overwhelmed everything.

  “Justus!” called the group as they reached the bottom. They introduced themselves and shook hands, then the group split into two carloads for the drive to the track.

  Twenty-Six and Twenty-Seven rode with Justus. Twenty-Eight and Twenty-Nine rode with Lilah and Diesel.

  During the drive, Diesel asked about the best cover story to tell Justus.

  “What would you tell him if we left it to you to figure it out on your own?” asked Twenty-Nine.

  “You’re not going to help?”

  “It’s important to hear your thoughts first.”

  Diesel glanced over at Lilah, and she spoke her mind. “I’d tell him the truth. If we trust him to keep our secret when people are appearing and disappearing all around him, then telling him how it works doesn’t seem like a much bigger secret to keep.”

  “The benefit of bringing him onboard,” said Diesel, “is that we can call on him for help without needing to invent a cover story each time. I don’t think we need to tell him about Ciopova or our timeline challenges, though.”

  Lilah wondered if “our timeline challenges” was a euphemism for “your impending death,” then suppressed the thought. “I agree. Simple and factual. And ask his objections up front so nothing festers.”

  Diesel nodded and looked in the rearview mirror back at Twenty-Nine. “That’s our final answer.”

  “Who’s responsible for the machine?” asked Twenty-Eight. “Who built it? Who runs it? What is their purpose?”

  Diesel shrugged. “Hell if I know.”

  “He won’t ask,” said Lilah. “But pleading ignorance isn’t far from the truth. I’d tell him it’s a device that appeared in this house at this time. We don’t know where it came from. Justus himself helped hire Diesel, the youngest of the line in this weird time loop, which supports the ‘it just happened’ story.”

  Diesel shook his head. “Justus strikes me as the kind of guy who would appreciate more of a government angle. What if we say we’re a defense department secret project, placed here to keep away prying eyes?”

  “He’d expect to see the general come visit every now and then,” said Twenty-Nine. “A colonel, anyway.”

  They drove in silence for a period, Lilah wishing the brothers would just tell them the answer instead of playing games.

  “How about this,” said Diesel. “If he asks about who or how, we tell him we’re not going to tell him. We’ll reassure him that we’re not an existential threat to society, and he can know that because the only people he will ever see coming and going are the brothers, and their agenda is to eat and drink.”

  Lilah laughed. “It might work.”

  “Twenty-Nine,” called Diesel, “would you be willing to tell him, maybe when we get back? I think it will sound more authoritative if you say it.”

  “I’ll be there,” Twenty-Nine replied. “But you should give it a go yourself. I’ll clean up after you’re done.”

  Diesel bit his lip as he considered Twenty-Nine’s words. “I guess I can try.”

  The conversation drifted to casual topics, and Lilah dug for clues on how to speed development of Ciopova. She gathered a handful of ideas from them, though she wasn’t sure how to do any of them with her current technology.

  When they arrived at the racetrack, the brothers set out to explore the cars, the track, the safety equipment, the race rules, the souvenir shop, and more, their eyes leading them to the next shiny thing. As Lilah watched the group drift around like a litter of puppies, the roar of car engines and smell of gas refocused her to the thrills ahead.

  The brothers, wearing a mix of hats and sunglasses that barely disguised their similarities, gathered at a display that included a map of the track. As they studied the track layout, Otto, the track manager, approached. Lilah walked over to join the group.

  Otto explained that they would be racing against a clock, not each other. He would start one driver at a time, with a thirty-second interval between cars. The winner would be the one with the fastest lap time.

  The Diesels nodded and told Otto they understood. They spoke after he left and agreed to take two laps as practice, then slow down and bunch together. With a rolling start out of the south turn, they’d begin a three-lap race. The winner would be the first car across the finish line.

  Excitement filled the air as the brothers dressed in their safety gear. Justus removed a leather jacket from his bag, and as he put it on, Lilah spotted a small “McGowan Driving” emblem on the left breast. None of the brothers seemed to notice.

  She pointed at the emblem with her chin. “Is there something we should know here?”

  He smiled and winked.

  Lilah did a quick gear check of the brothers, closing buttons and snapping fasteners. She finished with a gear check of Justus, though she sensed that he was the one who should be checking her.

  “Gentlemen,” she called when she was done. “Gather around.”

  While the minds of men sometimes confused Lilah, she felt confident in her understanding of the brains of boys. As they formed a loose circle around her, she demonstrated her mastery.

  “The only way to make this a real race is to have a prize.” Digging into her shoulder tote, she pulled out a winner’s trophy. Made of plastic, the gold-colored cup wa
s the size of a wine goblet, with looping handles on each side and a faux-wood base to complete the trophy effect. She’d found it in the toy section at a department store.

  When she held it up, the group went quiet. All of the Diesels licked their lips at the same time. With the introduction of her trinket, she’d changed the race. Now, winning meant everything.

  After some squabbling, they agreed to line up from the oldest in front to the youngest in back, the reasoning being that the younger brothers would progress forward in the lineup in subsequent years, eventually giving them a turn at the front.

  Otto gave them a safety tutorial, but once they heard that the cars had special bumpers and suspension to maximize stability and minimize injury, they stopped listening.

  Walking as a group, they made for the starting lane—Otto called it “pit row”—where the brothers climbed into their racers. Lilah took the second-to-last car in the line, a dark brown job. Justus took the white car parked at the rear.

  In the minutes before they started, Justus helped Lilah strap into the seat of her open cockpit minicar, then caught her eye. “When I point to myself and then point left, that means I’m going left. If I point back at you and point right, be prepared to follow off my tail and go right.” He pointed with dramatic gestures to show her what the signals would look like.

  She thought he was teasing her. “But you’re behind me.”

  “I sometimes fake the wrong direction, so trust where I point. We’ll practice during the first laps. Once the race starts, if you lose me, I won’t have time to come back for you. You’ll be on your own.”

  “Whatever are you talking about, Justus?”

  He shrugged. “I want the trophy. It will look great in my office.”

  “It’s plastic.”

  “It’s perfect.”

  With the cars in a line, Twenty-Nine pulled forward to the start. A red traffic light signaled for him to stop and wait. The sign below the light stated simply: “Wait for Green.”

  Lilah couldn’t see all the way to the front of the line, but would hear an engine scream before the row of cars moved forward. Diesel’s yellow car was immediately ahead of her; Twenty-Six preceded Diesel in a green car. Soon Twenty-Six approached the red light, and her eyes widened when he continued through without stopping. Diesel did the same.