Bump Time Origin

by Doug J. Cooper

  Diesel didn’t see any utensils, so he used a piece of bacon to heap eggs onto a slice of toast, and then took a quick bite from the yellow mound before it spilled off. It tasted delicious.

  “Food isn’t technically Diesel,” he said while chewing. “How does the T-box know to include it?”

  “That’s a really good question,” said Lilah, sitting up and looking at the device. “It isn’t left behind, yet it’s definitely not part of you. Not yet anyway.”

  “This is a nice surprise, by the way,” he said after another bite. “Thanks. It’s delicious.”

  She took a sip of coffee. “What makes you more nervous, the time travel or being in a room with thirty-five of you?”

  “Is ‘both’ one of my choices?”

  “Be sure to observe carefully.” She sounded like she was scolding him. “I’ll want to know everything about the future. I’m talking hairstyles, personalities, food. Do the different age groups gravitate to certain clothes? And equally important, what’s Ciopova like? How capable is she? And are Bunny and Justus still involved? What’s the house like? I’m talking everything.”

  “Now I’m nervous about three things: time travel, meeting my many selves, and delivering a proper report when I return.”

  The T-box came alive, and the display announced Twenty-Six’s impending arrival.

  “Do you think he’ll want to eat?” asked Lilah.

  “My understanding is that this will be a quick turnaround.” Diesel increased the size of his bites. By the time Twenty-Six stepped from the T-box, he was wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

  “Let’s go, Twenty-Five,” called the older brother from the door of the T-box. “Hi, Lilah.” He smiled and waved.

  Diesel ambled over with Lilah following. On the way, he realized he’d need to undress in front of her, the woman of his dreams, the one unimpressed with his body. A shot of adrenaline flushed through him, and he fought panic.

  Twenty-Six grinned from ear to ear. “I remember this. He just realized he needs to pull his pants down with you watching, and he’s worried you’ll be disappointed.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” said Lilah. “I’ve already lived through the disappointment. There’s no need to hide.”

  Twenty-Six laughed. “She digs us, bud. A lot. She’s just busting your chops.”

  Lilah grinned and held out a hand. “C’mon, big boy. Give ’em to me.”

  Diesel undressed and Lilah, fanning herself with a hand, pretended to swoon.

  He walked to the T-box door, and Twenty-Six challenged him like a patient teacher. “The meet is at Fifty-Five’s, so show me how to get there.”

  Diesel stepped inside the coffin-like enclosure and tapped the small screen in front of his face. It came alive, showing the number “25” in green on the left, with an arrow pointing to a blank space on the right.

  “I forget the specific words. Was it ‘travel to Fifty-Five’?”

  The number “55” appeared in the empty space on the other side of the arrow.

  “The T-box understands intent, at least in this context. So you could say, ‘send me,’ ‘transport me,’ ‘move me,’ or a dozen other variations.”

  Diesel took a deep breath. “What happens when I get there?”

  “You’ll be greeted by Fifty-Five, who will see to your teeth and arm.”

  “Will I have dizziness or anything? What does it feel like?”

  “It feels like nothing. The five minutes that passes outside feels like five seconds in here. When you feel the static wash down your body, that means you’re at the other timeline.”

  “How does Fifty-Five’s T-box handle everyone showing up at the same time?”

  “First off, Fifty-Five doesn’t have a T-box. His is just a circle on the ground, called a T-disc, and he has two of them so he can handle higher capacity. It’s true that congestion is an issue for today’s event, but your box won’t start to sequence until it secures landing rights, so to speak.”

  Diesel looked at the display. “Should I go now? What’s the magic word?”

  “Say whatever makes sense to you. Some options are ‘proceed,’ ‘engage,’ ‘start,’ ‘launch,’ ‘execute,’ or anything like that.”

  “Would ‘go’ work?”

  “Give it a try. You’ll need to shut the door, though. And given the crowds, the box is likely to give you a launch time. If you have to wait more than a couple of minutes, come back out.”

  Diesel leaned out the door and caught Lilah’s eye. “I’ll be back,” he said in an Austrian accent, which, while horribly executed, made her laugh. Closing the door, he took a deep breath and said, “Begin.”

  The display in front of him flashed the message: “Delay for 3:11.” Time started counting down, with three minutes and now ten seconds remaining. Diesel opened the door. “It says I have to wait three minutes.”

  “That’s because we’re early. In another hour the wait will be fifteen minutes. This only happens on meeting day, by the way. Normally, delays aren’t an issue.”

  They chatted until the clock ticked below twenty seconds, then Diesel got back inside the T-box and closed the door. Standing in the dark compartment, his knees shook as the countdown approached zero. Then everything went black, a static wash tingled his skin, and the dark confines of the T-box became a bright, open room.

  A half-dozen brothers of all ages were getting dressed around him. One pointed and said, “It’s him.” That was followed by a resounding chorus of, “Kiss my ass, Twenty-Five.”

  He felt disoriented, less because of the time shift and hazing, and more over the thought that the medical attention he’d expected did not seem to be forthcoming.

  “Hey, Twenty-Five. Welcome.”

  He turned to see a middle-aged man talking to him. “I’m Fifty-Five. Let’s get you taken care of. Follow me.”

  He stepped away and Diesel followed. The space they were in reminded Diesel of a clean, bright locker room. The two T-discs were positioned along one side of the room. Across from them, low shelves held neat piles of clothes. Chairs were scattered in front of the shelves, most occupied by various of his brothers.

  “The twenties are red,” said Fifty-Five, pointing to the clothes piled to the left. Diesel noticed that his escort wore a pastel-blue shirt with black lounge pants. Looking down the shelves, he noted the shirts were ordered red, yellow, green, and then blue. If the twenties were wearing red and the fifties blue, Diesel surmised that the thirties would be wearing yellow and the forties green.

  He pulled on a red shirt, the shade muted and handsome like Fifty-Five’s blue one. The black lounge pants were made from the same cloth as the shirt, a cool satin-like material that felt great against his skin. After he pulled on slippers, Fifty-Five led him down the hall to a smaller room decorated like a home office.

  “Have a seat.” Fifty-Five motioned to a chair positioned next to a side table. While Diesel sat, Fifty-Five retrieved a satchel from an old oak desk along the far wall. He removed what looked like a piece of gum and handed it to him. “Chew.”

  “Really? That’s it?” said Diesel.

  “That’s just cleaning the surfaces. Chew all around.”

  Diesel imagined the gum as a scrubber and chewed accordingly. While he did, Fifty-Five pulled out a small squeeze bottle with a long, fine tip.

  “Spit the gum into the trash.” He pointed beside the table. “Now open.”

  Diesel tilted his head back and opened wide.

  Fifty-Five guided the extended tip so the fluid bathed his teeth. “Swish that all around.” He picked up a drinking glass from the table. “Spit it out into this.” Diesel did, and Fifty-Five handed him a different piece of gum. “Chew.”

  While Diesel chewed, Fifty-Five collected the bits of packaging. “When you’ve chewed that for two full minutes, you’re done. Cavities filled and enamel secured so you’ll never have another.” He smiled. “Oh, and kiss my ass.”

  Fifty-Five dragged the desk chair over t
o Diesel and sat. “How’s Lilah doing?”

  “She’s well,” Diesel said, chewing diligently. “She’s pretty unnerved about her situation in fifteen years, though. We both are.”

  “An important function of this meeting is to coordinate everything and find a solution.”

  “Can’t Ciopova find the answer? She must be incredibly powerful this far up the line.”

  “She is, and she’s helping a lot.”

  “Hey, Dad, I’m going to the workshop.”

  Diesel and Fifty-Five both turned to look at the woman standing in his doorway.

  “Will you join us for lunch?” asked Fifty-Five.

  “Call me when the lines are gone and I’ll come up.”

  Diesel’s jaw dropped. The woman was a duplicate of Lilah. Same face, hair, figure, voice, eyes, attitude. She looked to be about thirty.

  “Oh, Rose, this is Twenty-Five. Diesel, this is my multitalented daughter, Rose.”

  “Mom’s name is Rose,” said Diesel, finally closing his mouth.

  “I saw Grams at Thanksgiving,” she said, stepping forward to shake Diesel’s hand. “She’s doing great.”

  Diesel wasn’t good with arithmetic but estimated his mom would be about ninety in this timeline. Her good health registered as wonderful news. Their hands clasped and he had the same spiritual experience he’d had when he’d first touched Lilah.

  “Wait,” he said, still holding her hand. “You’re his daughter?”

  “That’s why I call him Dad.” Her laugh had the same lilt.

  I’m going to be a father! This spectacular woman is my daughter!

  “Would you have lunch with me?” Diesel made his pitch without thinking. “I have a million questions.”

  Rose flashed a sad face. “Sorry, but they asked me just to say hello for now.” She headed out the door. “Have a good meeting.”

  They both stared at the empty doorway.

  “I leaned on her when Lilah died,” said Fifty-Five. “She was a kid, and I asked her to help carry the load. I feel guilty every day for that. Don’t do it or you’ll regret it.”

  Diesel barely heard him, his mind still trying to digest the news. “She’s amazing.”

  “She graduated from Boston Tech with a passion for AI design, just like her mother, and she’s now the one leading Ciopova’s development. Rose is as committed to saving future Lilahs as we are.”

  Fifty-Five picked up a roll of heavy gray material and unfurled it so it lay flat on the tabletop. “Lay your forearm on this.”

  Diesel did as instructed. Fifty-Five wrapped the material so it encased his arm from elbow to wrist.

  “Does she have any brothers or sisters?”

  “It’s just her.” Fifty-Five lifted a handheld device, placed it against the wrap as he made adjustments, then set it back on the table. “This is a stim sheath. Wear it until you leave tonight. By then, your arm will be stronger than it was with the screw in it.”

  He stood and motioned to Diesel. “Let’s get to the meeting.”

  Diesel followed him back along the hallway and down a few steps to a large open room with a high ceiling. Windows revealed a striking view of the valley below. Twenty or so brothers milled about, and when Diesel saw red shirts on the far side of the room, he thanked Fifty-Five for his help and made for his crew.

  As he crossed the room in his red shirt, the cast on his arm marking him, a chorus of “kiss my ass” comments came from all directions until he reached Twenty-Six, Twenty-Eight, and Twenty-Nine.

  “I just met Rose.” His life had changed from that introduction, and he was beside himself with excitement. “When is she born?”

  “Any day now,” said Twenty-Six. “Why do you think I keep having to get home all the time?”

  Diesel used his fingers to count. “Wait, that means we get pregnant in, like, three months.” He looked into the room, but his eyes didn’t focus. “We’ve only ever kissed, and that happened just once.”

  “Her pregnancy reached thirty-nine weeks today. You’ll soon learn that a normal pregnancy is forty weeks. Count backward if you want to know more.”

  “This is another bump, by the way,” said Twenty-Nine. “We didn’t tell previous Twenty-Fives about Rose.”

  “How do I tell Lilah? I’m not sure she even wants to kiss me again. She’ll freak out if I tell her that we’ll be making babies in weeks.”

  “She’ll feel betrayed if you keep the secret, and awkward if you reveal it,” said Twenty-Nine. “Maybe use it to draw yourselves closer together?”

  “I’ll tell her for you,” said Twenty-Six with a grin.

  Diesel, still processing it all, thought about the responsibility of caring for an infant. “How did you know what to do?”

  “Do you mean in making Rose or raising her?” said Twenty-Nine with a wink. “Seriously, I won’t deny that it’s work to raise a child, especially one as precocious as our kid. But it’s really fun watching her personality develop, and it’s a blast interacting with her little mind.”

  “I never saw myself becoming a dad this young,” said Diesel, “and I wasn’t sure I’d ever get anywhere with Lilah. This has been an amazing visit. I love knowing the future.”

  “Even when you know how something is supposed to turn out,” said Twenty-Nine, “it can be surprisingly difficult making it come true.”

  “That sounds like fortune cookie wisdom.” Diesel turned into the room. Open and bright, the space had four round tables set down the middle, each big enough to accommodate ten chairs. A podium stood at one end, its position making that the front of the room.

  “This looks like a corporate meeting,” said Diesel.

  “The old guys get really boring about all this,” said Twenty-Six. “It’s over faster if we just let them have their way.”

  “Hello, fellow red shirts,” said Twenty-Seven, joining the group. “What did I miss?”

  “Twenty-Five met Rose today,” said Twenty-Nine.

  Twenty-Seven smiled. “She’s why I’m late. I fed her breakfast this morning and we made a wonderful mess with a hard-boiled egg. I think some of it actually ended up in her stomach.”

  “Wait until you see her taste ice cream,” said Twenty-Eight. “Her eyes widen and her face lights up. You can almost see her reordering her food universe, shifting everything else down so ice cream can go at the top of her list.”

  They all laughed, then Twenty-Nine moved them on task. “Let’s sit and discuss the Browns.”

  “Why are we the only ones who have to work?” Diesel whined, nodding toward the older brothers milling about.

  “There are ten brothers in the other groups and only five in ours. They’ve been through this meeting a bunch of times, so they already know what they want to say and just need to fine-tune things to account for differences from last year.”

  Twenty-Nine started toward the tables, and the four other red shirts followed. “We have newbies in our group who lack that continuity and perspective. Hell, we’re still trying to figure out what it is the larger group wants to hear from us.”

  They took seats around the table farthest from the podium, and Twenty-Six helped Diesel understand the tool they were using to collaborate. “Ciopova runs everything in this timeline, and as long as you wear this shirt, you’re connected to her. See how she shows you two work areas?” He pointed at the air, and Diesel could see a realistic display hovering in front of him. He looked around the table and noted that the others were similarly engrossed, though he couldn’t see their displays at all.

  “This bottom area is private, and the top part is public. Use the bottom area to make notes for yourself or for research. Move items up here for all of us to see.”

  Diesel nodded as he studied the layout.

  “Everyone go ahead and create your list of Brown interactions,” said Twenty-Nine. “Then let’s discuss how to merge them.”

  Diesel’s first two interactions with Browns had happened on the walk to his interview. He’d bumped shoulder
s with one and watched Forty and Forty-Two fend him off minutes later. While he tried to figure out how to enter the information, the two events appeared on his private work area as bullet points. Somehow, Ciopova had translated his thoughts into words on his display.

  He thought about the interaction outside the TV bar after he’d won the lottery, and that event appeared as an item on the list. With some practice, he learned how to cast his thoughts onto his personal workspace so they included the details he wanted, organized so the presentation pleased his eye.

  When he looked up, Twenty-Nine said, “We know Twenty-Five has had new interactions. Twenty-Six, anything new before we look at the list as a whole?”

  “I had four new events,” said Twenty-Six, “and they are all associated with Lilah’s visits to her obstetrician. They stayed close and were intimidating as hell, but I sensed their motive was to ensure her visit to the doctor.” He shook his head. “With her pregnant, I was ready to respond to any provocation with crazy aggression. Maybe they sensed that.”

  “Four new events for me, too,” said Twenty-Seven. “Except ours was for the pediatrician. Fortunately, they’ve been very respectful of Rose. I’d felt protective when Lilah was pregnant, but now with Rose in the mix, I give threatening glares and they stay back.”

  All of them were wiggling a foot under the table at this point.

  “Now that you mention it,” Twenty-Seven continued, “it did seem like they were monitoring the visits, like that was their purpose for being there.”

  After more discussion, they moved all the Brown interactions up to the common area, where Twenty-Nine organized them using the categories the larger group had agreed upon years ago.

  “The Browns have been in our face thirty-nine times in total,” said Twenty-Nine, “and we can categorize all but six of the events using three categories: supporting Lilah’s well-being, speeding Ciopova’s development, and securing our financial stability.”

  “I’m trying to remember other ways we tried sorting these,” said Twenty-Eight. “Last year we parsed the list to account for things like which Brown was present at the interaction. We also considered the aggressiveness of their behavior. What else?”