TIME STORY

THE BEGINNING

‘So, what is Time, anyway?’ asked Joseph Jespersen. Not that he cared. He was stuck in this dead-end job, so-called science writer for a sensationalist newspaper, the man who interviewed the cranks and the weirdos for a column just before the sports section, that nobody ever bothered to read. It was called Strange Science, and at least the ‘Strange’ part of the title was correct. It was a collection of bizarre theories and obvious nonsense, from people who belonged in tinfoil hats, and occasionally wore them. He hated the job; he was a qualified physicist, and good at what he did. He had passed first in his class from a prestigious university, been selected as the best doctoral candidate and done his training under the best there was. His PhD thesis was a masterpiece of discovery, of out-of-the-box thinking, unleashing a whole new theory that would otherwise never have been discovered.

Jespersen had applied for his dream job in cutting-edge research, with an almost unlimited budget and intellectual freedom, and when he compared himself with his competitors he was certain he would get the position. The leader of the team he would be working with had been excited to hear he might join them. But he wasn’t on the interview board. Instead it comprised the university President, a paper shuffler who spent most of his time schmoozing with billionaires to get them to donate to the university, the Dean, who now he had tenure spent all of his time behind a desk, and the Professor of his section, who had long ago abandoned hands-on research.

The interview went well. They were impressed with his qualifications and his record of achievement. The Professor and the Dean had read his doctoral thesis and seemed excited to have someone of his ability join the research team. Then came his clumsy joke during the interview. Not off-colour, but stupidly adolescent and even disrespectful of the pompous and solemn edifice that was the scientific Establishment, poking fun at its self-importance, intellectual conservatism and complacency. His interlocutors, prime examples of the breed, scandalised by his brazenness, recoiled in horror and outrage. They were offended and insulted; he attempted desperately to remedy the situation, but he could see by their faces that he had completely dashed his hopes. The joke wasn’t even all that funny, and on later thought he blamed it on his over-confidence and the amount of coffee he had drunk before the interview.

Word had got around, and he had found himself in bad odour throughout his chosen field. It was a very small world, and he discovered that he had effectively been blacklisted by his whole community. The only job he had been able to get was this pitiful excuse for a scientific profession.

Today’s was the worst in a series of ghastly assignments. The editor, a cynical smile on his face, had sent him out to interview a man who claimed to have invented a time machine. ‘This’ll be good for a laugh,’ the editor had said. ‘The guy is a full-fledged Loonie. No scientific training, has the most bizarre ideas about the nature of the universe, reckons the scientific community is a bunch of crackpots. Have fun!’

So here he was, interviewing the latest crackpot, and the man certainly looked the part. Wild grey hair and a goatee beard, pebble glasses and a lab coat that looked as though it was fifty years old and had never been washed in all that time. The photographer inclined his head and said out of the corner of his mouth ‘This one’s a real classic case. One photo of him in the paper ought to be enough to convince everybody he’s nuts. Barker? As in barking mad.’

‘Well, we need to give him a hearing. Let the readers decide’

‘Good morning Professor Barker,’ he said. He was sure the man didn’t rate the title, but he wanted to to get off to a good start. ‘Is it true you’ve invented a time machine?’

The man rolled his eyes. ‘Such a science-fiction name. So sensationalist. But I suppose it’s as near to the truth as your esteemed readers are ever likely to understand.’

Did Jespersen detect a hint of cynicism in the man’s voice? That made a change. Most of the people he interviewed were so convinced of their own rightness, and so willing to convince, that they had no concept of the low quality of his newspaper’s reportage.

‘Could we see the device?’ he asked.

‘Oh, yes. But do be aware that this is a prototype only, and it’s at a pretty primitive stage. Still, it does the job it’s meant to do. If I can get funding for further development, I can make it as sleek and sophisticated as anything coming out of a factory. But it works now. Come through and I’ll show it to you. I’ve only been in these premises two years. It still lacks a certain something, I’m afraid. Never got around to tidying up or painting, or anything like that. I’ve been working too hard on developing the equipment.’

They walked into the other room, and there in all its bizarre glory was what Jespersen’s newspaper article was going to have to call a time machine, no matter how inaccurate the title may be. And it was certainly strange. There was a sort of pilot’s cabin, apparently made from an old telephone box. Inside was a second-hand plastic chair and a VDU that must have come from a charity shop – it belonged back in the 1990s - and a grimy keyboard with many of the letter missing from the keys, and a series of readouts and meters and switches which seemed equally old. Wires crisscrossed inside the cabin, allowing barely enough room to fit into the seat. ‘Not very pretty, I’m afraid,’ said Barker.

‘So, how does it work?’ asked Jespersen.

‘Oh, the scientific theory and the mathematics are too advanced and complex for the readers of your newspaper,’ replied Barker, holding up a copy of last week’s issue and snickering. ‘I see Elvis has been seen again, and someone else has had an alien’s baby. High quality stuff!’

‘Try me,’ replied Jespersen. ‘I might just be able to keep up with it if you explain it in simple words.’ The photographer struggled to hide a smirk.

Half an hour of bizarre pseudo-science and unfounded assumptions later, involving some utterly outrageous claims about the nature of time and space, Barker wound down.

‘Well, you’re right,’ said Jespersen. ‘I didn’t understand it.’ Barker smiled a superior smile. ‘I told you it was too difficult,’ he said. Jespersen kept his mouth shut. He might as well play the farce out to its end.

‘Could we have a demonstration?’ he asked.

‘Of course!’ Barker went over to a small wire cage on a table against the wall. He lifted it and brought it over. Inside was a small grey mouse. ‘This is Elmer, my test dummy,’ he said. He’s been through the machine innumerable times without suffering any ill effects. He’s a seasoned time-traveller.’

He placed the cage on the plastic seat and typed something into the keyboard. ‘I’m going to send him a minute into the future,’ he said. ‘That should be adequate to demonstrate the principle. He and the machine will vanish and re-appear a minute later.’ Jespersen inspected the apparatus carefully. He was well acquainted with the hokum that con artists used to try to convince the gullible, but he could see none of the usual trick equipment. He decided to just stand and watch, and see if he could work out how the trick was done as it was carried out.

Barker turned a knob on a dial – ‘That’s a timer,’ he said. ‘So my hand doesn’t get sent into the future as well.’

The seconds ticked past and suddenly Elmer and the machine vanished, as though they had never been there. Jespersen still couldn’t work out how the illusion was carried out, but he was sure the man would soon enough make a mistake and expose the fraud.

A minute later, the machine with Elmer inside re-appeared in its former place. Jespersen decided to keep up the pretence – at least for the moment. ‘Wonderful!’ he cried. ‘Inconceivable!’

‘Ha!’ laughed Barker. ‘I told you so! Those morons at CalTech laughed at me. Look who’s laughing now!’ He lifted the cage from the chair and indicated the mouse inside. ‘Now, have a look at Elmer. As you can see, he’s perfectly healthy and unharmed. I’ve sent myself through time several times now, and as you can see, there’s nothing wrong with me!’

Jespersen kept his mouth shut. There was no point in antagonising the man. He could save his opinions of Barker’s sanity for the column.

‘Who wants to try it? Want a bit of adventure for a change?’

To Jespersen’s surprise the photographer immediately volunteered. ‘Why not? It’ll be something to tell my grandchildren!’ And he climbed past the hanging wires onto the flimsy plastic chair. ‘I have to re-set the machine for the greater weight,’ said Barker. ‘Just give me a minute.’ He reached in past the photographer and typed again on the keyboard. He turned the timer dial again; ‘Don’t want to get you and me mixed up, like in that movie, do we?’ And they waited. Jespersen had his doubts, but it must be a trick; the photographer couldn’t come to any harm. The timer ran out again, and the photographer vanished just as the cage with the mouse had. ‘That’s more impressive,’ Jespersen thought. ‘I didn’t think he could do it with a full-sized human.’ But he still couldn’t figure out how the trick was worked.

They waited as a minute went past. But at the end of that time there was no sign of the photographer returning. Another minute, three, four. Still no return. Barker stood irresolute for a while. ‘Oops!’ he said. I just realized - I typed in the wrong time! I set it for an hour, not a minute. Sorry.’ He smiled. ‘Would you like some coffee while we wait?’ The coffee pot was in about the same condition as everything else in the laboratory, and the cups looked none too clean. But Jespersen was in no mood to be picky at the moment. He had no idea how Barker had pulled this off, but he was now very curious indeed. If not for the total ludicrousness of the idea, he would have been quite convincing, despite his eccentricity. So they waited. The hour passed very slowly. Jespersen decided to use it to find out more about Barker. It turned out he really had been a professor, a high-flyer who had been expected to achieve great things. But he had moved off the beaten track and begun investigating subjects that were, to put it mildly, not acceptable to the Scientific Establishment. He had refused to abandon his researches, and had been fired in disgrace and his professorship taken from him. Not only that but they had even withdrawn his hard-won science degrees. So now he was just another crank, obsessed with a subject everybody laughed at.

And then suddenly, the hour was up. Without any warning, and in total silence, the machine re-appeared with the photographer inside. He looked up. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘When are we going to start?’

‘You’ve already been,’ said Barker. ‘You’ve been and now you’re back again.’

‘Garbage!’ replied the photographer. ‘Nothing happened.’

‘I see you’re wearing an old-style wrist-watch,’ said Barker.

‘That’s right. I won’t have anything to do with cell-phones and all that computerised garbage. The guvm’nt uses them to spy on you.’ Jespersen and Barker exchanged glances. Oh, one of those.

‘Just check the time,’ said Barker. ‘What time is it now?’

He checked. ‘Four-thirteen. See, I told you; nothing happened!’

‘Now look at the clock on the wall. I think you’ll find it’s five thirteen. An hour has passed here, but no time at all for you.’

He looked up at the clock. ‘That’s a trick, and a pretty shabby one, too! You changed the clock to make me think I’ve been away!’

‘Not at all. My watch,’ and here he drew out a silver pocket-watch on a chain, ‘says it’s five thirteen, too.’

‘So? You re-set both of them. You can’t fool me!’

‘What about Mr Jespersen’s? You surely don’t think he’s in on it, too?’

Jespersen held his phone out for inspection. ‘Five thirteen.’

The photographer wasn’t satisfied. ‘I’m going home. You’re just a fake. There’s no point taking photos of this heap of garbage.’ He turned to Jespersen, hostility in his eyes. ‘I’ll see you back at the paper!’

But now Jespersen was beginning to have doubts. Could this crazy old guy really have built a working time machine? It seemed impossible, but he couldn’t see how what he’d just seen could be faked. He tried to keep unemotional, but he was having strange and disturbing ideas. ‘Can you go back in time, too?’ he asked ‘Could I go back to this morning?’

‘Oh, yes. But Time hates a paradox. If you went back this morning there’d be two of you – the one I sent back and the other one who came to see me earlier in the day. Which is also you, of course. But you see how confusing it could be? You’d have to avoid this place. I don’t know exactly what would happen if you met yourself here. It might be disastrous.’

‘What if I went back three years?’

‘Well, you’d still exist, wouldn’t you? I really don’t know how that all works, but I have a feeling Time (and Jespersen could hear the capital letter at the beginning of the word) is very tough. It might change things so one of you would vanish, or perhaps the two of you would somehow merge together and become the one person again. I Just don’t know.’

Jespersen, trying to suppress an excitement that was growing within him, said ‘Can I do it now?’

‘What, you really want to do this?’

‘Yes. In the interests of science, I feel I have to.’

Barker looked at him strangely. He didn’t seem to trust Jespersen’s motives. Then he sighed and said ‘What the hell. It’s your life. No skin off my nose. Get inside. But I warn you; it has a return mechanism. If it stays in another time more than a week, it comes back automatically to the present time.’

Jespersen clambered into the machine, avoiding the drooping wires that blocked his way, and sat on the hard plastic seat. He gulped, but he couldn’t back out now; Barker would think he was a coward. The older man reached in and typed on the keyboard. Jespersen could see the date – three years in the past. The timer was set and Barker stepped back.

Jespersen found himself sitting in the machine, in a darkened building that obviously hadn’t been used for some time. The clock on the wall was stopped. And there next to it was a calendar. It was dated four years before the year he’d just been in. Was it true? Was he really in the past? He got up and went to the door. It was locked, but he just had to undo the latch and turn the handle, and he was outside!

A man walked past holding a newspaper. ‘Excuse me sir,’ he said. ‘Could I look at your paper for just a moment? I want to check something. I’ll give it straight back to you.’ The man looked at him as if he was crazy, but then decided he looked harmless enough, and handed the paper over. Jespersen looked at the date. Yes! Three years! He’d really travelled back in time!

THE MIDDLE

Jespersen presented himself at the job interview. He was in his best suit. The interviewing panel was just as he remembered it; the President, the Professor, the Dean. These were the men who were to examine him for his fitness to serve with this august body. The interview went well. They were impressed with his qualifications and his record of achievement. The Professor and the Dean had read his doctoral thesis and seemed excited to have someone of his ability join the research team. And despite temptation, he resisted the urge to make the lame joke that had destroyed his career. After a suitable time to discuss the best prospect for the position, they invited him back into the room.

‘Congratulations, Doctor Jespersen,’ beamed the President. I am very happy to announce that we have accepted you for the position. We look forward to many productive and fruitful years of working with you.’ He extended his hand and Jespersen took it. Then the Professor and the Dean. He walked out, glowing with achievement and joy.

THE BEGINNING

‘So, what is Time, anyway?’ asked Michael Foster. Not that he cared. He was a psychologist, interested in the wild vagaries of human nature. That was why he had taken this job as so-called science writer for a lower end sensationalist newspaper, the man who was given the cranks and the weirdos to interview for a column called Strange Science, because it exposed him to the most bizarre collection of people he’d ever had the fortune to meet. He loved his job.

‘Good morning Professor Barker,’ he said. He was sure the man didn’t rate the title, but it was good to get off to a good start. ‘Is it true you’ve invented a time machine?’

The man rolled his eyes. ‘Such a science-fiction name. So sensationalist. But I suppose it’s as near to the truth as your esteemed readers are ever likely to understand. But somehow I’m getting the strangest sense of déjà vu meeting you. The situation is familiar, but you’re not. Somehow I was expecting somebody different.’