A Paradox Broken, page 10
I thought about the question as I watched people come and go into the bungalow as the sun chased the moon every four or five seconds.
“I … just am?”
Thaaaaanks, Andrew. That’s incredibly helpful! I can’t wait to write a book with allllll the information you just flooded my mind with …
“You’re being facetious … aren’t you?” I teased.
Actually, I’m being sarcastic. Facetious implies the intent of being playful.
I chuckled as a few days passed without anyone going in or out. Focusing on stopping the forward march of time, I noticed I had dragged my right hand to my right in much the same way videos showcased the right as forward and left as back.
“Hmm.”
I noticed, Tim interjected. Now, let’s see if you can return us to a normal flow of time.
Moving my hand toward the center of my field of view, I imagined a big Play button and pressed it. With mild surprise—because it was getting harder to genuinely rock my mind at this point—I smiled when I heard the waves cresting outside in a normal cadence.
Not bad, nooot bad. For a human, I mean, Tim praised with an audible nod of his head.
Walking further into the entryway, I moved around the luxurious bungalow until I found what I was looking for. In an alcove in the wall sat a small writing desk just big enough to fit two chairs side by side. On the table was my prize: a 3D printer … I mean, printer.
As I started reaching my hand into my pocket, I was interrupted by Tim.
Might I suggest washing your filthy … well, everything before contaminating the exposed memory units?
“Oh, right.” I chuckled, looking down to see I was caked in mud still somewhat cold despite the tropical environment.
At least we aren’t directly impacted by the passage of time the way you just fast-forwarded us.
“Huh?” I asked, making my way to the enormous white marble bathroom, where I began carefully stripping off my clothes, mindful not to damage the precious cargo in my pocket.
The mud is still mud and not clumps of dirt.
“And?”
You see, this is why I never had kids …
I couldn’t help but smile, knowing exactly what he meant. Then it hit me.
“Oh, you mean that had I been affected by the time fast-forward … thingy … then the mud would have dried on my body.”
And the last horse finally crosses the finish line, folks. Too bad the race was YESTERDAY!
“Someone’s in a bitchy mood,” I poked, turning on the hot water of the shower, which began to steam almost immediately. “God, I love the future.”
What are you talking about? You have instant water heaters in your time. I could tell Tim needed a nap. So of course I pushed further.
“Instant what now?”
I swear to 01 …
I almost burst out laughing, unable to contain myself as I climbed into the too-hot shower.
“AH!” I cried out, slapping at the cold-water knob with blinding speed. It felt like boiling water filled with razor blades had drifted down my torso.
Oh, did I forget to mention that some countries don’t have strict laws surrounding the water temperature for businesses? Heh, oops!
Once the water was a reasonable warmth, I looked at the snarky AI’s housing and slowly moved my arm down.
What … What are you doing? Tim began to panic. You wouldn’t!
“Wouldn’t I?” I smirked as I finished positioning the Clepsydra between my legs and focused on relieving my bladder.
“Haaa,” I let out in victorious relief, right as electricity shot up my urethra, clamping everything shut. “AaaaaAAAHHH!”
You got a drop on me, Andrew, Tim growled. I could picture him clenching his little puppy jaw closed as he spoke.
“S—STOP!” I screamed as any guy would when agonizing pain rippled up their junk.
One drop equals one minute.
“TIM!” I shouted as all the feeling went dull, including the sensation of warm water running down my skin. “Huh?” Looking down, I saw I was the incorporeal version of myself, standing where my flesh had just been. “Huh?” I repeated, lifting both hands up to verify the difference in color.
Interesting, Tim said, as if writing something down. You can shift to pure energy while outside of the tesseract.
“Uh-huh. And?” I asked, trying to focus on returning to my real body.
I’ll have to ponder on the implications of that. For now, return to the meat sack you call a body.
“I … I don’t know how,” I replied with worry. Further adding to my concern, my feet lifted off the marble tile, and I began floating at an awkward angle. “Tim!”
What do you want me to do? I’m not the one who controls it!
“What do I do?”
What did I just say? Tim’s voice switched to sounding like he was speaking over a loudspeaker. Court stenographer … read back the minutes for me. Yup. Yup, I said I have no idea. Thank you, Tiffany. Tell your mom I said hi.
“I’m sorry, are you losing your damn mind right now?” My limbs flailed as my feet became even with my waist and went through the wall.
Nope. Just having some fun at your expense.
“Glad to see you’re not worried that I’M NOTHING MORE THAN A SOUL IN THE REAL WORLD!”
Pfft. Soul. That’s cute.
“You’re saying I’m not a soul right now?”
If you are speaking in the Biblical sense, then I suppose it could be argued. But to me, we are just a collection of pure energy, just like we were in the tesseract.
Looking to my left arm, I saw that my Clepsydra was, indeed, missing. My head drifted toward the ground as my feet stuck straight up in the air.
Andrew … this is embarrassing.
“I’m open to suggestions here!”
Sigh, he said out loud like a first-year drama student. How did you control us while we were within the tesseract? Hmm?
I thought about his words, and my awkward listing to one side ceased—though I was still upside down.
“In the tesseract …” I whispered, closing my eyes as I replayed transitioning from my incorporeal body to my flesh and bone. Imagining I was submerging into a river of time, I sent out my will, and felt gravity take hold all at once.
“AH!” I yelped, seeing the white marble tile rush toward my face.
My synthetic hand blurred and caught myself like a professional street dancer—which felt like an oxymoron to say. Only one problem: though my arm held me up with my palm splayed on the tile, the rest of my body wasn’t as coordinated, and I began flailing while tipping over.
Fire shot up my real foot as the unmistakable sound of something expensive breaking filled my ears. Crumbling to an elegant heap on the ground, I moaned while lifting my head to see the heel of my foot had cracked the marble tile on the wall.
“Crap …”
Good thing we weren’t paying anyway.
Pushing myself up, a whisper of an idea floated across my brain. Lifting my hand, I imagined the Rewind button—and pressed it. Though my body didn’t move, which was a good confirmation of Tim’s theory, the broken tile did stitch itself back together in the blink of an eye.
“Wow,” I let out before touching the imaginary Play button.
Scalding-hot water rained over me, reminding me I had gone back a little too far.
“Damn it!” Launching myself forward, I slapped at both handles until the water stopped pouring straight from Sauron’s ass.
Yeah, I don’t know how the females of your species can tolerate water temperatures that can predominantly only be measured by quantum computers.
The throbbing in my heel continued as I stared at the fully repaired wall.
“Why does my foot still hurt?” I asked, carefully turning the water back on to a reasonable temperature while climbing to my feet.
Once again, it appears that you are not affected by the time variance.
As I resumed washing the mud off my face and arms, I asked, “But if it never happened …”
It never happened outside of your personal perspective. Time is relative, after all.
“I thought that only meant in terms of the perception of time …”
Welcome to the next level, Andrew.
“Next level of what?” I asked, soaping my hair up with the citrus-smelling shampoo from the fancy dispenser beneath the showerhead, careful not to put too much of my weight on my throbbing foot.
Understanding. It’s something that only accredited theoretical physicists and ultranerdy YouTube divers who fall into never-ending rabbit holes of videos eventually discover … if they’re lucky. However, unlike them, you have actual proof of the theory.
“Doesn’t make my foot feel any better,” I mumbled as I let the reasonably warm water wash the shampoo away.
I can make the pain cease, Tim said hesitantly, as if questioning why someone who had been cut, crushed, had limbs severed or blown off, and technically been dead more than once was complaining about a slightly throbbing foot.
“Not what I meant.”
Oh. You mean metaphorically. I see, Tim said. Because things done to you can’t be undone?
“Something like that.” He was close, but I didn’t bother to elaborate.
Andrew … we’re going to save them. You know that … don’t you?
“Of course I know that,” I nearly growled, not meaning to inject my deepest fear into my words.
With an even softer tone, Tim continued. Then you’ll get to watch Alison grow up and live a long, healthy life.
My heart caved in on itself like a dying star getting crushed under its own failure to maintain its size, forming a universe-destroying black hole.
I must have blacked out for a moment because when I came to, I was sitting in a heap against the wall, with the skin of my face trying to stay in place as my body slumped downward. Someone was wailing like a banshee, and it took several seconds to realize who it was …
Pulling my head from the tiled wall, I briefly rubbed at the stinging skin of my cheek before quickly wiping at the snot roping from my nose. I was trying to be discreet with the motion, embarrassed at having lost my composure to the degree that I all but passed out from the wave of sorrow, but I knew Tim was aware of what I was doing.
“Thanks, Tim,” I sniffed, pushing myself back to my feet before turning the water off.
For … what? His voice was unsure, tiptoeing the question as if he were walking on thin ice covered in eggshells.
“For … you know … that thing you do when my emotions get away from me.”
Oh … OH. No, Andrew. That was all you, actually, Tim said with a relieved chuckle. Heh heh, I thought you were thanking me for, um, saying something that brought such a dramatic emotional response.
I opened my mouth to say that I wasn’t being dramatic, but he was right. On top of that, I replayed what he had said, which froze the words in my throat: Then you’ll get to watch Alison grow up and live a long, healthy life.
I fully took in the meaning, allowing the terror-filled connotations that my family’s entire lives were riding on what I did. It hurt to do so, like forcing yourself to relive your most terrible memory over and over again. But I knew the more I did it, and if I accepted the facts as truth, then it would get easier with repetition and time.
“I will not fail my girls,” I said with a thousand-yard stare as water droplets occasionally dripped to the wet shower floor. “No matter what it costs me.”
I half expected Tim to say something coachlike such as That’s my boy! or something. But I think he understood how deathly serious I was.
Without another word between us, I dried off, put my underwear on, and carefully pulled the memory units from my muddy jeans. A sudden jolt of electricity danced throughout my body; however, it was subdued, like licking a 9-volt battery, but all over my body.
“What was that?” I asked after it passed.
That, my friend, was Temporal Sickness trying to remind you that another Andrew exists in this timeline.
“Why didn’t it, um, hurt more?”
With your bones, right arm, and now your foot being fully synthetic, I have enough nanoids to mostly counter the universe trying to erase you.
“Jeez. The sickness carries over even in different timelines?”
Oh … wait … um, heh heh. Maaaaaybe that also has something to do with it.
“What do you mean?”
It could be starting from scratch, as this universe only just now began the process of erasing you.
“Well, let’s do what we need to do and get out of here, then.”
Walking to the printer, I brought my Clepsydra close to it, to which Tim responded, Oh, I’m already connected. Found it when I cracked the Wi-Fi password—which was WinnieThePooh, btw.
“Okay … ?”
I dropped the remaining hard drive pieces on the board, closed the custom plastic enclosure probably installed for safety reasons, and watched as an articulated arm began arranging the pieces in rows.
That means two things, Tim continued as I watched the AI-controlled printer work. First, Xi is still president of China, even in this year. And two, the Balinese people of this timeline apparently hate China. Or at least the IT person who set the password. The last part was said under his breath, as if as an afterthought.
“Or they love Winnie the Pooh?” I asked, remembering the memes that had gone around of the Chinese president as the beloved cartoon character. From what I remembered, he loathed the comparison and had outright banned it.
Only pure hate would compel an IT person to not use a more protected password.
“Or they aren’t trained?”
Fine! Be a killjoy! I just found the historical differences between this timeline and our own fascinating, Tim said with a dash of snark. Don’t you?
“Not at the moment,” I answered, walking back to the bathroom, where I picked up my muddy clothing and moved to the stackable washer and dryer next to the shelving that contained enough fluffy towels to dry a nation. “But for the sake of conversation, you’re saying the Bali people of our time don’t hate China?”
Balinese, Andrew. And correct. At least for the most part.
“Hmph,” was all I could manage in answer, signaling my interest in the conversation was over. In truth, I was worried that if there were that drastic of socioeconomic differences between my timeline and this one, then Ali’s research might be too different as well.
Shaking my head, I banished the thought. The reality was I was mentally exhausted and couldn’t handle any more negativity at the moment. Taking the next couple of minutes, I used the complimentary toiletries to apply deodorant, brush my teeth, and even comb my wild hair for the first time in … Well, I don’t know how long.
Before the washing machine could start the first spin cycle, the printer in the other room rang out with a pleasant ding, followed by Tim announcing, It’s ready.
“It is?” I asked, remembering the fifteen or so hard drives. “As in one?”
I couldn’t tell which order they are supposed to be placed in without having access to the data inside. And to access the internal data, I would have needed to create new housings. But if some of the modules are mixed, which is most assuredly the case considering your, ahem, delicate method of storage, then it is best to create one drive and decipher the data manually.
Not caring about the technical details, I said, “But it’s done, though? We … We have Ali’s research?”
That we do, my friend. That we do.
My body felt numb as it moved on autopilot to where the printer sat, showcasing its prize with an affirming green light of completion. That little light signified more than when I waited a week for, and finally received, the call that I had gotten a lucrative job fresh out of college. To me, that phone call, when compared to this green light, meant nothing more than Netflix announcing that a show I kind of liked had a new season.
Lifting the plastic case, I eased my hand in like Indiana Jones in the opening scene and pulled the large, flat hard drive free. But unlike the movie, there was no giant ball trap.
“Now what?” I asked with a voice that barely registered volume, prompting me to swallow and bring moisture back to a throat that had gone drier than the surface of Mercury. Clearing my throat, I repeated, “Now what?” putting more force behind the words, signifying I was ready for the next part of my mission.
Touch the hard drive to my housing and let me begin.
“You can’t, like, download it via Bluetooth or something?” I asked as I moved to a chair overlooking the eerily calm ocean.
Tim knew I was nervous and just making conversation, but he answered anyway, maybe to fill the air with empty dialogue so as not to leave me in silence.
The printer was lacking materials to create the components needed to install such a device. Typical regulation that I can presume crosses all timelines. Can’t have people printing their own electronics.
“Or Clepsydras,” I said with disinterest as I sat down and moved the almost normal-looking hard drive to my left arm.
Subminds: Assemble! Tim announced. I could almost hear him rubbing his puppy paws together in preparation of the work ahead for him and his thousands of subminds.
Of course the bloody encryption is different, you fools! Tim scolded. But we cracked it before, and as CPU as my witness, we’ll do it again!
“You’re reaching with CPU.”
Just trying out new things, Tim said before quickly adding, Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do!
In the distance, a dark horizon appeared to inch forward as the gentle breeze seemed to zigzag in different directions before returning to a steady flow.
While Tim accessed the encrypted, jumbled data, I stared at the building darkness and exhaled in a long, low tone, “I think a storm is coming …”
CHAPTER 14
Surprisingly cool drops of water began to splash against the wooden deck, a few landing on my feet. Looking up, I saw I was under the awning of the bungalow, my toes barely hitting what little sunlight remained as the clouds swarmed.
One corner of my mouth curled, and I made a quick sucking sound as I noticed how my artificial foot didn’t feel the temperature of the drops as much as simply perceived the coolness. To further investigate, I wiggled both sets of toes, confirming the striking difference between feeling and perceiving.
