The Time Machine
J.J. Polson
(3000 words)
New York, 2072
The long and dusty hall had always been filled with benches. In fact, there were so many of them that the forgotten structure had certainly held hundreds of guests in better times. A razor straight aisle stretched upwards from the hall’s creaky stage to its warped door, dividing the many rows of benches neatly in half. Strangely enough, this night had brought people, perhaps as many as fifty, to fill them.
The winter wind tailed the last of the arrivals, sneaking through the doors like a lonely dog taking shelter from the frigid night air. Its arrival disturbed a small stack of hand written fliers from their resting place on a leaning table just across the threshold. The wind might have glanced at the near uniform slanted writing upon the papers, but it was likely that it had already seen the message and had decided to come to hall in response like the rest.
On the night of December 22, 2072, Stewart Fineman, the flier proclaimed, will unveil a machine that will be the salvation of humanity. Come to the still-standing Hall on Sixth Avenue at 8 P.M. to witness history!
Truthfully, the spectators who had responded to the announcement had nothing better to do on a cold December evening. It had been many years since a night in New York involved more than warming a middling dinner from a metal can and finding decent shelter from the elements. And it had been many more since the city’s residences could have been classified as anything other than scavengers.
As they waited, most of the spectators remained silent, watching their neighbors on all sides warily. Undoubtedly, most expected to receive a knife in the back any second and planned how to best counter such an attempt in an effort to survive a little longer…only to instantly wonder what was really the point in it.
To most, death would be a relief. It was only some misguided notion of survival driven by thousands of years of evolution that kept them alive in the first place.
The braver of them whispered with subdued excitement. It wasn’t actual excitement in the truest sense of the word, but in the current climate it certainly qualified. True excitement was finding a cache of wood and a warm blanket in a broken building or a forgotten stash of canned food hidden away within a false wall. Most gatherings in New York were for darker twists of fate; thus, the excitement was naturally subdued.
Some of the guests even knew the man who had summoned them all to the Hall. Stewart Fineman, they said, was brilliant. No, others claimed, he was deranged and his mind beyond cracked repair. Whatever side those select whisperers took, they agreed that anything Mr. Fineman was willing to show them was worth seeing.
At last, there was a muffled shuffling from behind the stage’s freshly strung ragged curtain, and the crowd fell silent. For a moment, the commotion increased. Then, rather suddenly, all went silent again.
Finally, there was a squeaking of what sounded like wheels, and what looked to be a large box-like structure covered by a black tarp appeared on the stage. Behind the mysterious contraption, a small man with wiry gray hair and glasses pushed diligently.
As usual, Mr. Fineman wore a grimy brown coat complemented by heavily patched jeans; as always, he walked with a slight limp. Those who knew him claimed the injury was from an experiment gone wrong many years before. Some said the accident had made him more determined than ever. Others were certain it had made him all the madder.
But it was surly one of the two. Or maybe both. It was hard to say anything for certain in the days after the war. Certainty itself was far from certain.
Fineman cleared his throat as he came to a stop. Then, he pulled a yellowed handkerchief from his pocket and coughed a few times rather violently. Hurriedly, he put the cloth away and gazed out upon his audience, a resilient fire burning behind his misty blue eyes.
“Ladies and Gentleman,” he said in a scratchy voice that filled the Hall. “Fifty years ago, the world birthed a war unlike any other…” He broke off in a fit of coughing. “…a war that, years later, would lead to the near extinction of mankind.
“Now, I think we’d all say that there’s no coming back at this point. No government…no more kids healthy enough to make it past childhood…no crops. There’s not much of a present for us and there certainly ain’t a future.
“Despite everything I’ve ever done, I haven’t been able to help in the slightest. Then, a few years ago, I turned my attention to a different sort of solution…I decided that we needed to stop the war from happening all together…”
At this, there was a scattered mummering from the crowd. Every eye in the Hall watched as the old man picked up the corner of the black tarp.
Fineman coughed into his free hand, all but ruining the dramatic effect. “I present to you…” He pulled off the tarp with a surprisingly fluid effort and gestured at the box-shaped machine in a grandiose fashion. “…my time machine!”
The whispering from the crowd intensified.
Suddenly, a woman raised her voice. “A time machine?”
“You can’t be serious,” a man echoed.
“If this is our salvation we’re certainly doomed!”
There was a loud wolf-whistle and the hall fell deathly silent.
“Thank you,” Fineman said, giving a brief bow to a tall elderly man with dark black hair in the first row of benches. “Ladies and Gentleman, I know it may be hard to believe…but I have not misled you in the slightest.
“Tonight, I will enter the time machine and go back to the year 2022 in order to stop the war…of course, you’ll never know if it worked because all of this will be erased…but I assure you that tonight you will witness the end of our long suffering!”
At this, a quarter of those in the Hall merged to the aisle and quickly made their way back out into the frosty night. It was hard to blame them. There wasn’t much point in putting stock in things such as hope and belief anymore. Unless it was the belief that each day was one closer to mankind’s last and the hope that the end would be peaceful.
Stewart Fineman was undisturbed by the partial exodus. Before the door had closed again he continued on. “Now,” he explained, “I will be entering the machine. There will be a brief quaking of the ground and a flash of lights. Then, I will be gone on my quest to save of us all from this horrible fate!”
Luckily, he didn’t stoop to using the forbidden word. Although quaking ground and flashing lights came dangerous close to what had been the ruin of humanity.
The occupants of the Hall watched with intrigue as the old man opened the door of the large machine revealing a small room within filled with purple and blue lights. The walls of the room were made of mismatched metal and filled with countless switches, knobs, and levers of various color and size. Most noticeably, the current date was displayed in a large digital font of flickering red.
With a wave, Mr. Fineman closed the door. A moment later, the strange machine began to shake and vibrate dangerously. Then, the hall filled with a brilliant blue light, and the audience gasped, not sure of what exactly to think.
Finally, the odd light faded away, and the crowd’s excitement faded.
There stood Mr. Fineman’s time machine exactly as it had before. A large, box-shaped machine some eight feet tall that was now dark and silent.
The brief spark of hope that had filled the hearts of those attendance had been burnt out like so many sparks before it. It wasn’t really that they truly had believed the zany old man’s machine would have worked. It was simply that no one wanted to except the truth of the matter, even after so long – that in a few short years that last of their kind would die off, and that it would have been no one’s fault but their own.
For a long time, there had been others to blame, but now all of that seemed rather pointless. Most had come to the realization that they had all been humans. All agreed that if they had known the end result, they would have kept things exactly the way they were. That maybe the forbidden word hadn’t been the worst thing in the world.
Stewart Fineman emerged from the machine shaking from cough and looked out into the ruined hall hopefully. Then, as he studied the empty benches, he realized what had happened. It hadn’t worked. But he had been so certain…
“A fair try,” the lone gentleman remaining consoled him.
Fineman recognized the man who had silenced the crowd with a stern whistle. He was a man undoubtedly somewhere between sixty and seventy with long, graying black hair and a bold, hooking nose. His lips were thin and chapped from the cold. However, his eyes were a deep and pure shade of brilliant blue.
“I…just don’t know what could have gone wrong,” Fineman sighed, as near defeat as he ever had been before. He turned to the machine and looked at it as a slightly disappointed parent. “Perhaps I set it to far back…”
The gentleman seemed intrigued. “You mean that it has actually worked before?”
“Oh yes…but I have only gone a few hours into the past.” Looking up, it was as if Fineman had forgotten the other man was there. When he saw him, a startled look passed across his face. “And you are–”
“Mr. Ransom,” the gentleman said, tipping his gray hat.
“And why are you still here?” Fineman asked. “It didn’t work. It’ll probably never work again. I used all the power I could find on that attempt.”
“You’re not the only inventor left in this forsaken city,” Mr. Ransom beamed. Gracefully, he stepped up onto the stage and peered at the seemingly dead machine. “Perhaps I could have a look at it. If you don’t mind of course…”
Fineman licked his lips anxiously.
“I left my bag against the wall in the lobby,” Ransom continued in an oddly persuasive tone. “If you bring it to me, I have something for your cough.”
A spark of hope flickered inside Fineman. “Medication? Impossible.”
There was a gleam in the man’s blue eyes. “I will trade you. The medication for a chance to inspection your time machine.”
As if startled by the possibility of its impending defeat, Stewart Fineman’s cough reared its head and sent him spewing into his old handkerchief. When he finally recovered, he was out of breath and red in the face. Without a further word, he gingerly stepped off the stage and walked up the lonely isle to the small lobby beyond.
As Ransom turned to the machine, a smile cracked his face.
Fineman pushed open the door and was greeted by the freezing night air. The lobby was a far cry from the hall; it’s doors had been salvaged and flakes of snow swirled within.
An assortment of tarnished signs hung above a grimy counter. Of course, it had been a long time since things such as popcorn and snacks had existed. Fineman had been a young man the last time he had enjoyed either.
“You’re Mr. Fineman?” a sweet voice called to him.
Startled, Stewart looked up to see a gathering of three darkly dressed women staring at him. Through their hoods he could see their wrinkled faces and gray hair. Hardly anyone left in New York was young, but these three women seemed ancient.
“And who are you?” he asked.
“I am Matilda,” the tallest said, extending a gloved hand. She looked to be the oldest of the three…not that such a gap mattered among three so old.
Fineman shook it uncertainly.
“Charlie,” the second said flatly. She was the shortest and still had a bit of red in her hair, resilient until the end. Fineman thought of her mother when he looked at her. He would have bet a thick coat that she made a fine canned stew. Well, a moderately thick one.
“And I’m Zena,” the last said. He could tell that she had been beautiful once. To his eye, she certainly still was. But in her day he bet she would walked past him without even looking once, let alone twice, and he would have stared at her until she disappeared into the distance.
Surprising himself, he bent forward and kissed the ring on her finger. “A pleasure to meet you, but I have come out here to fetch something and must return at once,” he said hastily, eager to inside the hall.
“What could you possibly need out here?” Zena asked.
“This place is frozen,” Matilda echoed. “I think it unlikely that anyone would leave anything out here for very long.”
“Someone would have taken it,” Charlie agreed.
“Well, I’m sure it’s here,” Fineman explained. “I’m looking for a…” But suddenly he couldn’t remember exactly what he was looking for.
The three elderly women exchanged a concerned look.
“Mr. Fineman, might I ask what you so desperately want to get back to in the hall?” Zena asked. As she spoke, Fineman watched a roach dashed between her boots.
In the past, New Yorkers had killed them. Now, there was little point. In fact, they were surprisingly respected these days; long ago, it had always been joked they would outlive humans. Now, there was a certain level of respect between the two species.
“Well…it’s just…” Stewart Fineman scratched at his balding head. “There was something in there….something I built…”
“The time machine?” Matilda finally said.
“Yes!” Fineman exclaimed with a slight hop. “That was it! I’ve left my time machine in the hall with another gentleman who wanted to look at it.”
Again, the three women looked at each other uncertainly.
“A gentleman you say? What did he look like?” Zena questioned.
“Well, I can’t say for certain,” Fineman struggled, again thinking hard. “Now that I think about it…it’s rather hard to describe him at all.”
“Mr. Fineman, I think it is time for you to go back into the hall,” Charlie said flatly.
“Right you are,” Fineman nodded. “After all, how many time machines are left in New York. I bid you ladies a fond farewell!”
As he opened the door into the hall, the roach scurried after him.
“Mr.?” Fineman question as he raced past the benches.
The dark-haired gentleman appeared from inside the machine which seemed to have been somehow coaxed back to life. “Mr. Ransom,” the man articulated.
“Ah, Mr. Ransom…that’s it!” Fineman exclaimed, climbing awkwardly onto the stage. His eyes widened as he noticed the machine was once again emitting its familiar hum. “What did you to get the machine back on line?”
“Oh, a little of this and a little of that,” the odd man smiled warmly. The gleam in his blue eyes was starting to unnerve Fineman. “But if you be so kind as to show me how it is supposed to work, perhaps we can make a successful jump.”
“We?” Fineman questioned. Then, it was as if a sudden realization dawned on him. Of course! Mr. Ransom would be coming with him to stop the war. Mr. Ransom was in fact, the perfect person to help him carry out his plan.
“We,” Mr. Ransom confirmed.
Unbeknownst to both of them, the roach crawled between their boots and disappeared inside the light-filled machine.
Fineman motioned Mr. Ransom inside the machine after him. Somehow, it felt entirely bigger than it had before. In fact, Mr. Fineman was almost certain that he had built the machine for only person. Then again, he was getting old…
“Now what day were we going to exactly?” Fineman asked. Suddenly, he was very unsure of the plan that had once been so clear.
“Fifty years ago,” Mr. Ransom reminded him. “September 1, 2022.”
“Now I recall!” Fineman nodded. With a whir of motion, he began to flip levers, turn knobs and press buttons. How the machine worked, he remembered perfectly. After all, it was something he had built entirely with his own hands. He was the only person who knew how to operate it in all of New York – actually, all of the world.
With a last flourish of motion, he motioned to Mr. Ransom.
“Would you like to do the honors?” Fineman asked.
The gentleman shook his head. “I couldn’t. It is your machine.”
“Suit yourself.”
Fineman felt a rush of adrenaline as he flipped the level beneath the glowing red date, and the lights of the machine began to flash and blur all around him.
The three elderly women watched the machine from the entranceway to the hall. As the ground began to quake and the lights grew brighter they were forced to turn away. It was always dangerous to look directly at time magic.
“It seems he managed to get aboard,” Zena said.
“Good,” Matilda replied levelly. “Because that was definitely Andrew Ransom.”
Charlie cursed. “A horrid name…a horrible wizard…it is all his fault…”
Zena put a hand on the other woman’s shoulder. “If there was another way we would have taken it. This was the only choice we had. Ransom was the only one who could have ever fixed the machine…just as Fineman was the only one who could have built it. This is exactly what was meant to happen here.”
“Let us hope that Mr. Dolph can succeed where we have failed,” Matilda said. “He’s our last hope – the last hope of all humanity.”
Charlie sighed. “But mostly the only one of us who could sneak onboard without Mr. Ransom turning them into dust. He will need help, and we will need a miracle.”
“He will have help,” Zena reminded them. “If he remembered where to look.”
Their voices faded as the hall was washed in light…
Fineman felt his brain spinning rapidly as the machine sliced through space and time itself. It was more than he had ever hoped or dreamed of. The world was distorted around him so that he could only focus on the date remaining steadfast in front of him.
Finally, what seemed an eternity later, the machine came to a stop. Gradually, the lights began to still and the vibrations ebbed to a minimum. Then, the door opened and the two elderly men stepped outside into the darkness.
“Mr. Fineman,” Mr. Ransom said with a tone of happiness that was nearly impossible to contain. “Words cannot express my gratitude. You have given me the chance to right the greatest wrong in the history of wizard kind.”
Steward Fineman turned to the elderly gentleman as the roach scurried between his feet and into the quiet world. “Did you say…wizard kind?”
A horrid thought occurred to Fineman in that instant. “Mr. Ransom…did you fix my time machine with…” he gulped. It had been years since he dared to utter the word that had been the end of mankind. “Magic?”
The gentleman chuckled to himself. Then, he pulled a meticulously crafted stick from his inner coat pocket and spoke a string of harsh sounding words that Fineman did not understand.
There was a flash of green light.
And then there was only darkness.
THE END