Author: JJ Polson

Heaven on Earth

J.J Polson

(Four parts. 3000 words.)

One | Two | Three | Four

One

It wasn’t getting to Heaven that was the problem. Not anymore anyways. Ever since God’s fortress had first been discovered, hundreds of humans congregated outside the legendary pearly gates every day. It was getting in that was the bothersome part. There were certain rules one had to follow.

The Council had wished me luck before administering the lethal injection. I hadn’t had the chance to sarcastically thank them for choosing me or to even ask if anyone had secured the proper funding to bring me back to life. Instead, rather unceremoniously, I was sent to God’s domain with the weight of humanity on my shoulders.

I strode past the protesters zealously chanting ‘Leave God in Heaven‘, made my way to the guard booth next to the glimmering gates and knocked on the glass. The eternally-posted angel lowered his glasses and stared at me for a long moment.

“Oh,” Peter said at last. “You are actually dead.”

I sighed. “I’ve been sent by the Council of Earth to speak with God.” I cut Peter off before he could go into one of his now infamous diatribes. “It’s all been arranged,” I assured him. “I’m the holiest guy in the entire world.”

With that, I dropped my Earth ID into the opening.

Peter tapped the ID with his finger, causing it to be encased in light. What had once assuredly been a sacred ritual was now little more than a show. Everyone had seen the Judgement Process hundreds of times on live feeds. After so long, all of humanity knew gaining entry to Heaven was as simple as being admitted to an advanced college course – you just had to meet the prerequisites.

“Seems to be in order,” Peter mumbled to himself. He dropped the ID back into the slot and, with a flourish, pressed the over-sized button on the counter before him.

With a peculiar grinding noise, the holy gates split open. I took a last look at the surrounding clouds known as the Edge (and at Earth far, far below) before walking back through the protesters, whistling the first verse of War Pigs by Black Sabbath.

Heralds harked at me as I walked down the central street. Like missiles, angels flew by on rented wings (it turned out you had to pay to fly). More residents chose to carry themselves in the classic fashion, on their own two feet. At least the halos were free. I promised a rather argumentative Saint stationed just inside the gates that I’d pick mine up later.

On my way to God, I passed a line of loitering angels waiting for revives. Most would eventually get the call to return back home (either in a new body or a mechanical one). For them Heaven was simply a holding pattern. Some had been here dozens of times; others were simply on vacation. None of them spared me a second glance. They knew the truth just as well I did; Earth didn’t need God anymore.

For effect, I pointed up at where the satellites were certainly watching. “You better (—) revive me,” I mouthed. I had tried to add a curse, but that annoying rumor had proven true. It was another in a long list of reasons that Heaven required new management.

I found God on a bench inside Creation Park, just where I knew he would be. His schedule was relatively unchanging. In the afternoons, he played his harp under the Tree of Life. From all accounts, he was a peace-loving soul, willing to forgive pretty much anything.

That was part of the reason he had to go.

“Uh … God,” I began uncertainly. Even now when I could watch his every move, there was something about his divine nature that unnerved me. He had created Earth after all.

God cut off mid-song (in hindsight I should have waited for the end). “Yes, my child?”

I managed an awkward smile. “There’s been a lot of talk of how you’ve been running the afterlife these days down below.”

“The same as ever,” God smiled. “The Rules of Creation cannot be changed.”

“Right,” I winked at him (another regrettable choice) and reached inside my jacket to produce an over-sized yellow envelope. God wasn’t much for technology as evidenced by the fact that the 11GLTEX13 cell signal had been blocked. Luckily, the Council had found an ancient device called a printer that could … print things onto something called paper.

“What’s this?” God asked.

“It’s a petition, signed by the eight members of the Council of Earth and twenty-two billion souls below,” I explained. “That’s eighty-one percent of the world’s living population.”

God nodded, quickly scanning the paper in what appeared to be a bemused fashion. I should have walked away then and there, but for some reason I stayed.

“We’re asking you to move out and turn control of Heaven over to the Council. The population is desperate for change in leadership in the afterlife.”

“So, it’s change you want then?” God asked, folding up the petition and sliding it back into the envelope. “Eighty-one percent of you including the leaders of all the continents want change?”

“Uh … yeah. Thus, the petition.”

“Ok,” God said, standing from his favorite bench. “I’ll take my leave then.”

I gaped. “You … will?”

“You heard me,” God said, walking off. “I’m going down below, as you say. Perhaps, in time you will petition me to come back. Until then, you’re in charge of Heaven.”

I watched him walk away in shock. I wish now that I would have had the sense to stop him, to explain that it was all an elaborate joke. For that was the real first step towards the end of Earth, and I was helpless to stop it.

Two

I didn’t believe it at first, but I was soon forced to admit that God had a plan. An actual (—) plan (No. I was never able to change any of Heaven’s rules, much to my chagrin and not for lack of trying. During my time there, I perused the endless tome containing the Rules of Creation God had mentioned to no avail).

Anyway, God’s Plan – it was as if the Divine One had been waiting for any pragmatic excuse to abandon his sacred fortress in the sky and venture to the crowded cesspool below to do some maintenance.

It was a plan I later dubbed Heaven on Earth.

As God continued to work his wonders below, Earth came to Heaven. Well, most of it. As the angel he had left in charge, I tried to keep things organized, but soon we were worse off than we had ever been before. Far worse. In a matter of days (four to be exact), Heaven morphed into a glorified slum.

By the time God found the Council of Earth, Heaven was well past maximum capacity. I had ordered angels to bar the gates, but Peter continued to control admittance with an iron hand (or an iron finger if you prefer). His guard booth was indestructible, and, even if we had managed to force him out, I’m not sure that we could have actually killed him.

Luckily, all twenty-two billion souls weren’t sent to Heaven (some found themselves in the far, far, far below). Unfortunately, all eight members of the Council of Earth were let through without question on the fifth day. I wasn’t surprised when they showed up (of course they had their paperwork in order). I was more surprised when they turned the burgeoning riots against me.

In hindsight, I should’ve seen that twist coming. Of course, it was (at least partially) my fault. I was the one who had gotten God angry by presenting him with the petition. Never mind the fact that it had been written by the Council and endorsed by most of the residents of Earth. Humans were always looking for someone to blame.

Yep. Everything that had happened to Heaven was on me.

On the seventh day, I surrendered to the insurgency. A pair of burly angels bound my wrists and threw me before the Council who had ironically set up their headquarters in the park where I had spoken with God. A dozen reporters streamed the Council hearing to the large screens I had ordered attached to the never-moving clouds above (unblocking cell service was surprisingly not against the Rules of Creation).

A few hours later, I found myself passing by Peter wearing a clunky pair of borrowed wings. Ironically, the Council had tasked me (once again) with going to speak with God. This time, I would meet him on Earth.

I had tried to tell them that they were just compounding their mistake, but they wouldn’t hear it. God had shut down the revival clinics on all eight continents, and, as the angel left in charge, I was the only one left who could travel below, the only one who could fix everything.

I stood at the Edge and let out a long sigh. Here, at least, Heaven was silent. I had long since given up whistling.

“Another petition? Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

To my shock, it was Peter who had spoken. The infamous angel had joined me at the Edge. “So, you can get out of your booth.” I really wasn’t surprised. Peter was quite the (—).

“I can now. My duty here is done. God has called me down. The new Kingdom is ready.”

“Will he talk to me?” I asked.

Peter nodded. “He is expecting you.”

Three

Asking God to Leave Heaven had been a mistake. I knew asking him to leave Earth was likely an even worse one. But there I was, flying back to the land of the living with another ordinance signed by the Council and all of the countless angry residents of Heaven.

I guess I thought that I could somehow set things right, that I could convince God to reverse course, that I could put things back to (some semblance of) normal. Mostly, I thought I could go back to living my life.

I was wrong.

The return trip to Earth even started poorly. Halfway to the surface, my rental wings faltered and sent me crashing into the ground.

As I waded out of the resulting crater, I felt lucky to be alive. Then, I remembered the truth. I was dead. And since God had destroyed the revival centers, there wasn’t any chance I was ever coming back.

“What are you looking at?” I snapped as Peter effortlessly descended the last few feet to the ground. The angel had rediscovered his trademarked smirk. It had taken years of living humans gathering around the shining gates and (the temporarily) dead ones knocking impatiently on the glass of his guard booth demanding entry to make it disappear.

“Irony,” he chuckled.

“Do you know where God is?”

“I know that we are in his general vicinity.”

I sighed.

The angel adjusted his glasses. “You do realize that this is how all your problems began?”

I frowned. The short answer, of course, was yes. Irony indeed.

Turning away from Peter, I pulled the iPhone XL3 I had purchased in Heaven from my pocket and entered the passcode. Fortunately (and somewhat surprisingly), the screen hadn’t cracked during my fall.

“What are you doing?” Peter asked, peering over my shoulder.

“Using the Afterlife app to find God,” I explained impatiently. Luckily, God hadn’t bothered to knock out the cell service on Earth. It was only as I stared at the loading screen that I realized that by enabling service in Heaven, I had allowed the Council to watch my every move.

“And this application lets you … find God? How?”

“Satellites.” I titled the screen so the angel could see. “Ever since Heaven was discovered, there’s been a camera on God at all times.”

Peter chuckled again. His laugh was impossibly grating. I thought about asking him what he found so funny (again, it may have been a good idea), but I honestly just wanted to get rid of him. I wanted everything to go back to normal as soon as possible.

Humans on Earth. God in Heaven. The way things had been the first however many years of the lonely planet known as Earth.

I had never imagined I would want to go back to my boring existence so badly. That I would actually miss the overcrowded and violent world I had come to love. That I would…

Thankfully, at that moment, the app located God. He wasn’t too far away. I motioned to Peter and began to trek through the deserted city surrounding us.

When we finally came upon the Divine One, he was playing his harp on the stump of a fallen tree playing for a crowd of thousands. I couldn’t place the exact song.

“Aren’t you wondering who these people are?” Peter asked as we waded through the crowd.

“Not really,” I mumbled. “I just want to get this over with.”

“They’re the loyal ones. Those who’ve been granted Everlasting Life.”

I lost whatever it was Peter said next as the crowd broke out in polite applause. For a moment the air was filled with cries once found in the long-abandoned ritual of Sunday church service.

God called for a break as he noticed our approach, leaning his harp against the tree.

“I’ve been waiting for you, my child,” God smiled. “Do you have another petition for me?”

“Uh … yeah,” I managed (again, God was rather intimidating).

“The Council wants me to go back to Heaven I assume.”

“Not exactly,” I replied. “This time they want you gone completely. Back to wherever you came from originally.”

God laughed merrily as he read the petition. This time, he seemed to study it in great detail, tracing each line with a divine finger. By the time he was done, I knew every angry eye in Heaven was upon us.

“This time, I refuse,” God pronounced, deliberately ripping the petition into hundreds of tiny pieces and calling the wind to take them away. “Now, sit back and enjoy the rest of my show.”

I was too shocked to do otherwise.

I lost track of time during the performance, but it seemed to somehow last days (God never played the same song twice). After a fourth encore, he motioned for everyone to stand up and join hands. Looking over my shoulder, I realized that millions more had arrived (later I learned that it was actually every living soul left on Earth).

Peter then grasped my left hand firmly without asking. God took my right. A heartbeat later, I once again stood in Heaven.

Only it was empty.

God smiled. “It seems the Council found the rulebook.”

Four

In my short time away, Heaven had (somehow) fallen on even worse times. Shattered glass littered the dirty streets. Most of the buildings were only blackened shells. One of the formerly sparkling gates lay uselessly on the ground. Graffiti calling for Death to God and Hell on Earth was the only thing that looked new.

God observed the scene with a knowing smile. Then, the Divine One clapped twice and Heaven returned to its former glory, its sudden brilliance unexpectedly blinding. Yep. Just like that everything was fixed. God bowed as the crowd cheered. For some misguided reason, I chose to sigh (which, in my defense, is a really hard habit to shake).

Mid-sigh, I doubled over in pain as wings unexpectantly sprouted from my back. By the time I managed to stand up, I realized that I had been left alone with God. The Divine One eyed me with a hint of mystery in his starry pupils. At least Peter was gone.

I decided to ask the question I knew he wanted to hear. “What happened to them all?” 

“What do you think happened to them?”

This time, I managed not to sigh. Instead, I shrugged.

“They wanted me dead. So, they decided to find a man who claims he can get the job done.” God looked like he expected me to know said man.

I stared at God blankly for a long moment before the answer finally arrived. “The Devil?” It wasn’t supposed to be a question, but it came out like one.

God only nodded.

It had been quite some time since I had thought about the Devil. As soon as mankind had discovered Heaven, the Devil had revealed the secret location of Hell. No one had really cared. The Devil had even conducted a sit-down interview explaining how God had unfairly kicked him out of Heaven (it was universally panned). He had eventually slithered back to the darkness to perpetuate his own agenda through a low-ranking podcast network.

Then, I had a revelation (the first of many). “Oh … they intentionally sent themselves to Hell by breaking the same rule the Devil did? All of them?”

Again, God nodded.

“Can the Devil actually kill you?”

“He believes that he can.” God placed a hand on my shoulder. “Come.”

It wasn’t until we arrived at the sleek-looking Gate of Hell in southern New-new Los Angeles that I realized what exactly God intended to do.

“You’re just going to … let them out?”

“I promised that I would,” God replied simply. A single golden key appeared in the Divine One’s hand as we approached the metallic gate. Living flames flickered in the darkness beyond. “It was a prophecy decreed long ago in my book.”

Ah. A book. That explained why I had never heard of the promise. I hoped I wouldn’t end up having to read it (I did end up reading it much later, somewhat of my own freewill).

God twisted the key and pulled free the lengthy metal chain wound tightly around the gate. I wondered how something so simple had managed to keep the Devil locked away. God didn’t explain.

“What now?” I asked.

“Now, we wait.”

We waited for quite some time in the center of the field where God had held his (now legendary) concert. This time, his heavenly harp played a series of mellow and heart-wrenching melodies. The notes seemed to swirl around us, blurring day and night.

When God stopped playing, we were surrounded by demons. Billions of them. Most stared at us with blood-red eyes, charred skin, and broken teeth. At the head of the massive hoard, stood the Devil himself flanked by eight ghouls I recognized as the now-defunct Council of Earth.

The Devil was the only one of them who looked remotely human. He wore a dark suit complete with a thin black tie, smoke-colored wings extending from his muscular back. Behind his midnight pupils danced living flames.

“So, we’re finally here,” the Devil smiled murderously. “You were a fool to keep your word and even more of one to only bring a single angel. I’ve been waiting a long time for this.”

“As have I,” God said evenly. “You’ve done well convincing these people of your lie.”

The Devil frowned. “It is no lie! Today you will perish!”

Without warning, a jagged sword made of smoke appeared in his gloved hand. The Devil charged forward followed by his army of demons, their screams of rage filling the air…

… and then they were gone.

I expected to God to smile, but he did not. Instead, God turned and pointed to where the sky fortress known as Heaven descended on a platform of clouds.

My final revelation was upon me. “You … had this all planned out, didn’t you? Heaven on Earth?”

The corner of God’s lip curled slightly upward.

I spoke just as Heaven touched down. “Well, shi–”

THE END

Virtual Reality

J.J. Polson

(5000 words)

Ted yawned as he glanced at his phone. He then shifted his weary gaze to the clock on the bottom corner of his laptop. Finally, his eyes fell upon the digital time displayed in the text box positioned atop his office line.

As always, they were perfectly in sync. And, as always, it was 2:39 PM.

Sighing, Ted glanced at the line of empty soda cans adorning the back corner of his faux-wooden desk. He picked up his empty thermos of coffee, smelling the remnants of what had gotten him through the morning. Of course, it was far too late in the day to refill now. What would everyone else think?

There goes Ted again to the coffee machine. What’s that make three times in one day? How much money does he spend on soda? Doesn’t he know that it’s bad for you? It would be even worse if he grabbed a pack of crackers and a few miniature candy bars. Everyone knew he was putting on more and more weight lately.

Under the guise of stretching his arms, he looked around the desolate space that served as his sole source of income. Sure, it was well lit with gleaming bulbs and rectangular windows, but somehow the office always seemed to unsettle him at its core. Probably because he knew that in the long run it was killing him and everyone else it employed.

Of course, homelessness would kill him far faster. He could hardly stand to talk to clients. How would he fare asking strangers for food on the street corners? Not well. They wouldn’t see a man who left the office in search of freedom – they would see a man begging for money to spend on liquor and whatever other drugs imaginable.

Besides, simply quitting one’s job wasn’t what real people did. If a person quit their job without another in line, something was certainly wrong with them. Such a résumé gap would leave him sleeping on a bench and getting chased off by cops every morning. No one liked a rebel who pushed against the established parameters of society.

As he returned his hands to their station at the keyboard, his phone buzzed. “Not now, Joel,” he moaned upon seeing the name of the sender.

It wasn’t Joel that he was truly mad at. Joel had been his best friend since the seventh grade. But Joel had somehow ended up married and bought a house thirty minutes uptown, and now he was always wanting Ted to drive up there in rush hour traffic to share a few beers. On weekdays, such extensive effort was hardly worth it.

Unsurprisingly, Joel had ended up with what sounded to be a riveting job in application marketing; he had been floating from one good situation to the next his entire life. However, Ted was happy that Joel’s life was the opposite of his own. When they got together at least one of them had something exciting to talk about.

Ted’s phone vibrated loudly against the desk just as his manager walked by. She shot him a passing glance that could have meant anything on her way to the printer. Likely, it had been one of passive disapproval. Upper management had not quite gotten a grip on the fact that their soldiers could do more than one thing at a time.

The phone rumbled again. Dammit, Joel. Ted thought about not answering. Then again, three consecutive messages could have been some sort of emergency. Especially since they were sent so close together.

Well, that was highly unlikely; still, he couldn’t chance it.

Ted opened the messages.

Want to cone up tonight for drinks? I got an opportunity that you want believe.

Come up*

For real though, you’ll won’t to hear about this one. You want believe it.

An opportunity? Then again, it could just be an elaborate ruse to get him to go uptown for some company.

Ted clicked his thin lips in thought before typing a response.

Sure man. See you at 6.

Of course, it was only as he was finally responding that his manager happened to stroll back by with a stack of paper in her hand. He felt her beady eyes travel over the countless soda cans, the empty thermos, and the large headphones perched atop his balding head. Sometimes he wished she would say something to him just so he could finally justify quitting.

He checked the time again. It was 2:44 PM.

*

Ted hated traffic.

Even though he didn’t know how to drive, he could feel the judgmental eyes of the other drivers upon him as they knifed across crowded lanes and darted down side streets. Everyone was in a fruitless race to be the first to get home. Tomorrow the cycle would begin anew with a race to be the first back to work.

After five minutes, Ted decided he trusted the driver not to get him killed and slid his phone from his jacket pocket. Careful to avoid the cracked portion of his screen, he opened his handful of social media and dating apps and sighed inwardly.

Nothing. As usual.

Why did he even bother? He thought it likely that it was how effectively they all pitched the same underlying idea of finding human connection. There was always a small sliver of hope that he would find his true love out of the blue … a very small one. Still, it seemed to happen to other people. Why couldn’t it happen to him?

The news wasn’t much better. Well, according to the headlines anyways; Ted rarely read the articles linked behind the aggregator. It wasn’t for lack of effort, he had just grown tired of not knowing if was being misinformed or pushed to one side or the other. From the headlines, he could at least tell that whatever issue was important. He liked to think that he could form his own opinion. If anyone ever cared to ask, he would have something ready.

Probably.

Ted turned when the driver tapped him on the shoulder. Great, he was going to ask him some pointless question in an attempt to connect. To his surprise, the man just pointed outside. Ted turned and saw that they had arrived at the bar he and Joel always met at.

“Thanks, man,” Ted said without bothering to lift his headphones, not that doing so would have mattered. The driver had taken the chance to respond to a few messages and was already retrieving the information for his next job. Of course, if Ted didn’t say thank you, the driver was likely to rate him below average, citing an impolite passenger.

Ted lowered his headphones around his neck as he neared the bar. The smell of wings and the sounds of a dozen people and twice as many TVs assaulted him the instant he pushed through the wooden door.

Joel waved to him from their usual perch, a raised wooden table in the far corner. As always, Joel was wearing a loose-fitting collared shirt and khakis, his hair short and beard well groomed. For the millionth time, Ted wished he could grow a beard.

“What’s good?” Joel asked as Ted sat down and they exchanged dap.

“Same old,” Ted sighed, pouring a glass from the pitcher already on the table. He thought he felt his phone buzz, checked it, then left it on the table after realizing it was nothing and deciding not to look like an idiot. “So, what’s this … opportunity?”

Joel grinned. “You’re not going to believe this man. This company I’ve been working with has been looking for people like you to help test their product.”

Unlikely. Ted drained his beer and poured another. “You mean people with no life?”

“Exactly,” Joel laughed.

That was hard to believe. “Alright, I’ll bite. What is it?”

Joel leaned in close. “It’s a full immersion VR game. They want players.” He held up his hand to fend off Ted’s instinctive negative response. “They’ll pay you to play.”

“Like a beta-tester?”

“Better. A full time gig. They want you in the game every waking hour. Live on site. All standard living expenses paid. Quit your job, and I’ll drive you over in the morning.”

Ted looked at Joel in shock. A job playing a game? Full immersion virtual reality? That was a dream come true. Ted couldn’t believe it. There was no way. Things like this never happened to him. “Are you … serious?”

“I’ll take that to mean you’re in.”

“Hell yeah.” Ted literally had nothing to lose.

*

4 Months Later – Game Year (GY) 20

The game was better than Ted had ever expected, better than sex. Of course, that was actually only a guess, but he no longer thought about sex. That had to mean something.

When he first arrived, he had logged out to take his meals and sleep, but that ritual had only lasted several days. As soon as an alternative had been offered, he had taken it. Now, the needs of his body were taken care of by an invasive series of tubes. They didn’t bother Ted in the slightest; he had no intentions of ever exiting the game again.

Abandoning the real world was the easiest thing he had ever done.

His breath fogged before him atop the snowy mountain peak. The chill knifed through his chain-link armor, chafing the toned skin beneath. The padded support beneath the steel was wet from the snow, all but frozen over. However, the cold was the last thing on his mind. After months of searching, his party had finally found the elusive white dragon.

He stood in wait with his hands gripping the hilt of his blade, its sterling point buried in the smooth rock beneath the snow.

But it wasn’t just any longsword, it was the best weapon in the entire game. He had spent every coin he had earned since his first day on it. It could kill anything or anyone and would slice through the dragon’s hide like silk.

He had named it Debt.

This was its first test, but it would have many more. Camlaté was full of an endless army of mythical beasts and a variety of extensive treasure-filled dungeons. It wouldn’t be long before Debt had paid for itself a hundred times over.

The others from his party fought the monster below, trying to bait it out of its lair and create an opening for him. The dragon’s roars shook the entire mountainside, growing louder and louder as it became enraged. Jets of fire shot from its cave in rapid succession, sending his teammates diving out of the way in search of cover.

Ted held his ground above, waiting for his chance.

It came a few moments later when one of the players dared a charge. It was easy to tell from the sparkling white armor that it was Naomi. Not to mention that she was the only one bold enough to try such a tactic. Ted admired her fearlessness. If a player died in the game, there was no coming back.

Ted lifted Debt into the air as the dragon revealed itself to snap at Naomi. Smoke poured from the nostrils at the end of its snout, easily the length of two men. There was a flash of its razor-sharp teeth in the instant before it unleashed another burst of fire. Naomi glanced at his position as she used her shield to absorb the damage. Even from a distance, he could see her vibrant brown eyes beneath the visor of her–

The dragon. Right.

Snow funneled around Ted as he leaped from the mountaintop. His plated hands wrapped around the hilt of Debt, its point aimed straight down. It was a variation on the same plan they had used to wound dragons dozens of times before. With Debt, it would only take one well placed blow to the brain to finish the job.

The dragon below was massive; it was far bigger than any Ted had ever fought before, even with its snowy wings folded against its body. He readied himself for impact, positioning himself just over the spiked head of the gigantic beast.

He struck.

At Debt sank in, Ted let go of the hilt and flipped forward, sliding smoothly down the length of the dragon’s snout. He emerged through a lingering cloud of black smoke to see Naomi applauding him sarcastically, helm in the crook of her arm.

“Well done, Theodore,” she said. “You’ve slain the last of the great beasts.”

Ted looked at her in confusion. “The … last?”

Naomi sighed, running a hand through her black hair. “You didn’t read the scroll from your sponsor? It arrived before we left on the hunt.”

Ted shook his head. At first, he had kept up with Joel, but lately he had forgotten all about his friend. His messages had never contained anything important anyways. Besides, Ted didn’t like reminders of the other world.

“Short version then,” she smiled. It was a wonderous sight. “The game is changing, undergoing a massive update. The age of monster quests is at an end. They’re letting in a whole new wave of players and implementing the start of actual civilization.”

“What are we supposed to do then?”

“We’ll have to earn money a different way, but with everything we’ve killed you should have more than enough to start a farm in Agruccino or factory in Newspresso.”

Ted looked at Debt. “Um …”

She followed his gaze and sighed. “I’ll get you a spot on my farm if you want, but don’t think you’ll be getting any preferential treatment just because you’re Theodore the Great. You’ll have to work your way up just like the others.”

*

1 year in – GY 60

Sweat cloaked Ted’s bare chest as he inspected another nameless vegetable before putting it in his large basket. He had been at it for hours.

His spoils from the white dragon hunt had evaporated quickly, spent on a worthless piece of land in Agruccino that turned out to be infertile. He had come to Naomi’s farm in hopes of asking his old friend for help. However, it turned out that by that time she had obtained many farms and was always away on business in the capital.

At first, Ted had worked under the assumption that he could move up the ladder, but that proven not to be the case. The farm’s manager, a thin man named Frederick, had found out that he was an original player and charged him with a long list of crimes to prevent him from ever ranking up or leaving. There hadn’t even been a hearing.

Just like that, Ted had become a prisoner.

He had written a letter to Naomi, but she hadn’t responded. It had taken months for him to realize the truth. Naomi had never truly been his friend. She had only quested with him because they were two of Camlaté’s best warriors. In his other life, Ted would have simply rolled over. But not here.

Here, he was still Theodore the Great.

He had been reluctant to reveal his identity to the other workers, fearing the same judgment he had received from Frederick. However, it had turned out that he was just the kind of person they were looking for – a leader.

Of course, it helped that they knew of his legend.

Ted had never been able to justify parting with Debt. Two months before, the eligible players had voted against the implementation of guns, meaning the weapon was still extremely valuable. Of course, the workers had only just learned the results of the latest round of updates. Joel had long ago stopped writing.

Ted touched his free hand to his muscular chest as he passed the man working the next row, David. David wiped his brow and scratched his chin. It was a form of sign language they had spent weeks working out in their shoddy cabins. To the untrained eye of their minders, it meant nothing. To Ted, it meant that the escape was on.

The farm was in the midst of a weeks long drought. The minders had lessened their focus on the workers to help speed up the irrigation process from the nearby river. Unknowingly, they had created the perfect opportunity.

Ted nodded at the minder as he deposited his filled basket and headed back towards the barracks. As he stepped inside the cabin he shared with seven other workers, night came, and the torches around the barracks flickered to life.

Perfect.

“Is everything set, Theodore?” Kayla asked him. The others were gathered around the lean woman with a nervous gleam in their eyes.

“Yes. Tonight, we take the first step towards Newspresso and freedom.”

The others touched their ring finger to their forehead, saluting.

Ted kicked at the floor, his strength easily allowing him to break through the boards. He reached in and retrieved the bundle stored there on his first day. As he revealed Debt, the others looked at him in awe.

“You really are him,” Kayla gasped.

Ted smiled confidently as cries of alarm began to come from the fields. “Whatever came before matters no longer.” He raised his sword. “To freedom.”

Against a backdrop of flames, Ted stood at the head of a hundred workers. Blood coated the steel of his blade and plastered his body. His long hair was filled with soot, and his face was blackened with smoke. He had become death incarnate.

Ted smiled. Theodore the Great indeed.

At first, the minders had tried to fight them among the burning rows. Then, they had retreated and formed a final stand at the gate of the palisade. Of course, it was Frederick at their head. His small face floated like a pea above his oversized plate armor.

“You!” Frederick shouted when Ted stepped boldly forward. The minders behind him took a step backwards. They had obviously seen Debt’s work in the flaming fields; they wisely feared the death that came in its wake.

“We only want our freedom,” Ted said. “Stand aside and let us pass.”

Frederick foolishly ignored him, charging forward in a clanking mass of steel. He held an oversized sword in both hands, its pommel studded with rubies. Frederick waved his men onward, but the other minders didn’t move.

Ted easily parried the man’s first blow, stepping aside with grace. Debt was like a feather in his hands, flowing effortlessly through the air at his every whim and will. They battled for what seemed hours, the clashing of their blades melding with the raging inferno. Until, finally, Frederick made a mistake.

Ted feigned a parry, spinning fluidly to his left and leaving the other man’s blade to carve through the empty air. He then flowed into a flawless overhand attacking strike, Debt slicing through Frederick’s heavy armor as if weren’t even there.

The minders fled as their leader fell into two pieces upon the ground.

Ted raced to the wall and cut through the gate’s lock. Then, he stepped into the plains beyond the farm and took a deep breath. Freedom.

*

?? – GY 92

It didn’t last long.

Ted spent nearly a year trekking through wilderness before leading the surviving workers into sight of Newspresso. At first, the endless rows of sky-scrapers had looked inviting. They had proven anything but.

He had been caught unprepared once again. The game had gone under another extensive update since he had been imprisoned and escaped Agruccino.

He had missed his opportunity to enroll as a citizen as Newspresso, forsaking any chance at obtaining a formidable job. He had thus been labeled an immigrant and was treated as a second-class citizen. No one believed that he was an original player, or that he had actually bought Debt himself. What little market there was for “stolen goods” was a joke.

To avoid assured starvation on the smog-filled streets, he had been forced to conform to the industrial society. By chance, he had found a job on the crowded floor of one of the factories after a man had died in an accident. The factory was staffed entirely by undocumented immigrants and only paid a fraction of their actual worth, always in cash. To survive, he had moved into a small apartment with some of the others from Agruccino.

Unlike the farm, there was little hope of escape. The only way to a better life in Newspresso was a tunnel beneath the northern mountains. It served as a conduit for the endless line of streaming trains that passed between the two sections of the city, rich and poor. Without proper documentation, no one from the factory-side could pass through. Such documentation was impossible for immigrants to obtain.

“There’s got to be something we can do, Ted,” David said as he did every day.

They were alone in the tiny apartment; the others all worked the late shift. As he did every night, Ted had taken out Debt to polish the radiant blade. The sight of the sword reminded him that he had squandered the advantage of being an original player. Of how the world had moved on without him.

Ted sighed, helpless.

“You could cut through the tunnel just like the gate around the farms. The citizens of Newspresso just voted down the implementation of guns for the next hundred years. You’re still one of the most powerful warriors in the world.”

Ted shook his head. At first, he had thought of escape every day, but his plans had come up empty at every turn. It hadn’t taken long for him to give up hope altogether.

“They would kill me eventually,” Ted said. “Even with Debt.”

David nodded in understanding. Even the factory was better than death.

They both leapt to their feet at a knock on the door. Once, they had lived in fear of Newspresso’s agents, but the government had left the immigrants alone for decades. Still, their instincts were sharp. Being deported to Agruccino was not an option. They would never even make it to the fields – their crimes had not been forgotten.

The knock came again.

Ted stilled himself against the wall, sword at the ready. He motioned David to open the door and prepared to attack.

A boy stepped into their tiny apartment. “Are you Ted?”

David shook his head and pointed to where Ted was concealing his blade.

The boy walked over to Ted and handed him a message. Without a word, he turned and raced from the room, undoubtedly in a rush to deliver his next message.

“What does it say?” David asked.

Ted read the message a second time. “It’s from Joel. He says that a rival nation has declared war on Camlaté. That there’s going to be war.” He read the message a final time just to make sure and looked at Debt, smiling for the first time in years.

Ted was first in line to enlist.

*

GY 129

“Messenger approaching, Captain.”

Ted turned from the large map of Teland, instinctively wrapping his fingers around Debt’s hilt. He had barely fought off an assassination attempt the day before. Now, that the war was almost over, the enemy was desperate.

He didn’t lower his guard as a young man ducked inside the tent flap. Even when the soldier presented the appropriate code sign, Ted stayed alert.

“Go ahead, Private.”

“Second Company has defeated the enemy forces in the West, Captain,” the soldier reported in a level tone. “The Major has ordered the final assault at dawn. Their Captain would like to consult with you in person, Sir.”

Ted frowned. Was this the trap?

He had gained citizenship by enlisting in the army and had quickly been promoted to Captain of the Fifth Company. His designation as an original player had been restored, and his crimes forgiven. Upon seeing the havoc Debt sewed on the battlefield, legends of Theodore the Great had resurfaced. Ted had neither confirmed or denied them.

Ted had met the Major several times but never the legendary Captain of the Second. The other three Companies had been devastated in the initial assaults, leaving the Second and Fifth as their nation’s last hope.

From Agruccino in the east and Newspresso in the west, they had pushed the enemy back across the northern border of Camlaté, never coming together. Now that they had surrounded the enemy capital, a meeting seemed logical.

Still, he worried.

“Where does he want to meet?” Ted asked.

In response, the tent flap opened and a figure in white armor stepped inside, dismissing the manager with a curt wave.

“She.” Naomi smiled at him. “Hello, Theodore.”

Somehow, Ted avoided fainting from shock. Naomi was just as beautiful as she ever was, more so even. She had cut her black hair short, drawing more attention to her dark brown eyes and perfect nose. Breathtaking.

“Naomi,” he managed, “I’m … um … sorry about your farm.” In the slums of Newspresso, he had learned his riot had started a revolt. It had eventually been put down, but not before nearly ruining Agruccino’s economy. “And … it’s just Ted now.”

She laughed. Then, for some reason she stepped forward and wrapped him in a tight embrace. “I’m sorry for being an ass. I got caught up being in trying to become royalty. Guess I got what I deserved. Let’s call it even.”

“You got it.” Ted turned and tried to regain his composure looking over the map. “We’ll have enough time for a proper reunion after we win.”

She placed her hand atop his own, and their eyes met. “I look forward to it.”

*

GY 146

Ted had never been in love before. Well, not the kind of love where the feeling was reciprocated. It was an even better feeling than breaking down the gate, then winning the war in Teland. When he was with Naomi, nothing could ever be wrong.

She made him whole.

After the fall of Teland, they had returned to Camlaté, exploring the countryside, reliving the questing days of old. They had even visited Newspresso where the Major had bestowed them with the highest of military honors. Eventually, they had returned and built a mansion on the infertile plot of land Ted had bought a lifetime before in Agruccino.

“Have you seen this, Ted?” she asked from the living room.

Ted sat down on the couch beside her, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and pulling her close. The grainy image on the television showed a familiar sight – the once ruined streets of the capital of Teland. Apparently, another nation had risen from the ashes of the first. A graphic displaying a call to enlist appeared on the screen.

“Turn it off,” Ted said.

They hadn’t been back in Agruccino a year when Joel had appeared on his doorstep. It was as if no time had passed at all, and they had picked up their friendship from where it had left off. Joel had eventually introduced Naomi to his wife, and they had become fast friends as well. Everything was perfect.

Until Joel had revealed the truth.

The entire war had been meaningless. The creators of Teland were business rivals of the creators of Camlaté. The result of the war had determined which of them would control the world. They hadn’t cared about the citizens or the hundreds of thousands who had died – it had only been about obtaining control.

“They’ll want us to fight,” Naomi said softly.

Ted shook his head. “I know, but we won’t. I promise.” He interlocked his fingers with her own. “I can’t chance losing you again.”

That was a harder promise to keep than Ted had imagined. They quickly lost their military stipends and were blacklisted from the nation’s workforce that had been entirely committed to destroying Teland once and for all.

In response, they had taken to the fields outside the capital of Camlaté, promoting the truth of the war. Initially their protest was met with indifference, but, when Joel leaked a classified document from inside the government, it caught fire. Thousands had gathered in demonstration across the nation, refusing to fight and die.

Eventually, the citizens of Teland had joined in as well.

The war had ended in a truce. At the Major’s request, Ted and Naomi had both taken positions on the newly formed Council of Nations.

Things were good. For a while anyways.

*

GY 288

Ted looked out the window of his office, but it was so high up he couldn’t even see the street below. Sighing, he swung the chair around the stare at Debt where he had mounted it on the opposite wall. He tried to remember the last time he had used it but couldn’t. The unformed muscles of his body were terrified at the very thought of exercise.

Not to mention that guns had finally been voted into existence. The sword was useless in battle, even against unskilled foes. Not that he planned on battling anytime soon. Most wars were fought by drones thousands of miles away.

He checked the clock on his phone, then the one on his tablet. 10:09 AM. There was still twenty-one minutes before his meeting with the leaders of newest nation – whatever it was calling itself. They were springing up faster than roaches, bringing countless meetings in their wake to ensure their citizens conformed.

Although, it had been years since Ted had done anything of importance in a meeting. The Major handled most of the negotiations between new nations himself. After Naomi had left him, Ted had taken months off in order to find himself – he hadn’t. The world had changed again, and he foolishly thought he had been ready to handle it.

Now, Ted couldn’t quit his job. He had nothing to move on to.

He wondered how he had ended up here. Why everything was always the same. It seemed that every time he finally got ahead, he was cut down from behind. He wondered what Naomi was doing half-way across the world. If he would ever see her again. He couldn’t point to a specific argument or even a defining moment; they had simply drifted apart.

It turned out neither of them had been any good at relationships.

Begrudgingly, Ted waded into the cube-farm towards the distant vending machine, drawing the judging eyes of his staff. He knew they didn’t respect him. They only had some vague idea of what he had done to help save their nation. It was right there on the internet … if they ever bothered to look it up.

He no longer cared about what they thought. What anyone thought. Going to work had once excited him. Now, it was like everything else in the world, slowly trying to kill him. It wouldn’t be much longer before it succeeded.

Ted pulled up out of breath at the humming machine and sighed as he surveyed his limited options for a mid-morning snack.  After a long moment, he pulled out a dollar bill, inserted it into the machine and selected his poison. The plastic ring unwound and the candy bar fell to bottom with a loud crash which everyone certainly heard.

The noise didn’t bother him. He had probably emptied most of the machine himself over the last few months. Everyone had become obsessed with healthier options, but those would be proven to be just as bad in a few more years.

He had finished the candy bar by the time he sat back down. Flipping over his phone, he saw that he had three messages from Joel. Despite it all, he was happy for his friend. He and his wife had become successful software gurus in the west. They talked regularly but never about anything truly important.

Hey man, I’m looking for testers for anew game. Same as late time but better.

You in?

I got a flight ready for you to the Bay – 6 PM.

Last time? What was Joel talking about now? Still, it sounded like a vacation. Ted wiped his fat fingers on the wrinkled pant leg before responding.

Sure man. See you at 6.

THE END

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