The Greatest Of All Great Men

He clasped the lever and dragged it down. A cacophonous burst of energy and the machine exploded into life. Metallic fibres hummed with possibility as Charles Rothstein climbed into the capsule and unfurled his scribbled notes:

‘ED-B: +56%, HVRT: +44%, SPU: +43%, EVT: +40%, GU: +35%’ 

Of course, travelling back 25 days to invest in profitable shares wasn’t the most creative use of time travel, but he had to test the contraption somehow. Besides, boosting his net worth by a cool $178bn wouldn’t hurt. The divorce had been crippling but once again he was ready assault the summit of the Forbes list. From there, endless possibilities…

With a childlike zeal, he entered the numbers and took one last look around the room. Life would never be the same. The world would never be the same. If only Cassie had understood how important this work was…. No, best not go there. 

The contraption vibrated and the room shook. “Preparing for: minus 25 years,” the AI announced. Charles leaned back in his chair and prepared to pop back into the past. Except…  25 years? Years!? Before he could even process the mistake, the machine swallowed him up in a ball of cosmic light. Shit

He reappeared in the year 2000. In truth the basement hadn’t changed much. It was tempting to get up and look around, but Charles had read enough science fiction to know it wasn’t prudent. A flap of a butterfly’s wing etcetera…. 

“What the fuck?” Charles spun round to be confronted by a large, gangly youth in a sleeveless neon hoodie and three-quarter jeans. Neither spoke. The young man had dropped his cereal in shock and a stream of milk was now meandering towards Charles’ favourite slippers. Shit

He’d imagined this scenario many times, but the reality was far more daunting. Still, he took a deep breath, climbed out the capsule and began intruding himself to… himself. He kept it brief, including only the highlights: founding QuantAI, winning Times’ Person of the Year, and eventually solving time travel, among other things. 

As he reeled off his achievements, Charles realised just how much he’d accomplished this past 20 years. Seeing the younger man’s eyes widen was especially gratifying, as was the strange expression on his face once the monologue was over – somewhere between curiosity and awe. I truly am the greatest of all great men.

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Charlie stared incredulously at the man before him. Why do I look so old? The man’s skin was pasty and grey, in sharp contrast to his hair which was dyed jet black. At 48 years, he resembled a cadaver in a wig. As he spoke, spittle flew from thin, pink lips and his bony, white hands twitched excitedly. His electric blue eyes were alight with manic energy yet behind them lay a queer emptiness. 

Gradually and then suddenly, Charlie realised this was actually happening. Initially, he thought there might’ve been something in the joint he’d been smoking but no. This was, unmistakably, himself. The older man was clearly very proud of his life story, so Charlie listened politely as the words washed over him. 

“Anyway, that’s us,” the older man’s left eye seemed to spasm briefly. Is he trying to wink at me? “I assume you have plenty of questions?”

Charlie was stumped. Of course, he knew what he wanted to ask but he was far too afraid of the answer. Still, he could ask anything. Endless possibilities…

“How’re Leeds doing?”

“Top of the league.”

“Top of the Prem!” Charlie beamed.

“No, the Championship.” Shit.

“What else…. Kanye’s still our favourite artist, right?”

“Ah now that’s complicated.” For some reason the older man glanced at the Star of David hanging above the doorway. “Just enjoy the music while you can.” 

“Okay, sounds mysterious,” mused Charlie. Time to think bigger.

“Have we made it to Mars yet?”

“Sadly not. I have a friend across the pond who’s working on it….  though he seems a bit distracted right now”

“Sure, sure…” Should I ask the question? No, no it’ll just ruin things. “How about the environment? Have we made any progress there?”

The older man snorted. “Not quite…  although we can’t use plastic straws anymore.”

Charlie didn’t know what to make of that. “What have they done to sort out global warming?”

He shook his head, “Very little…”

“But surely, with Al Gore coming into the Whitehouse once the recount’s finished…”

The older man laughed. “Actually, the Supreme Court…  never mind.” He stared pensively into Charlie’s eyes and for the first time he seemed human. “I forgot how idealistic we used to be…”

He tore his eyes away from those of his former self. “Anyway, I should get going. You have a big future ahead of you mate,” he finished, somewhat sadly, and turned away. Suddenly Charlie felt guilty. Clearly the older man wanted him to show an interest in his life; the businesses he’d founded, the concepts he’d realised, the accolades he’d achieved.

But, truthfully, Charlie didn’t care. No doubt he would in time, the man before him was proof of that. Now, though, there was only one question he wanted to ask. For the first time since the old man from the future appeared in his living room, Charlie was nervous.

“One last thing,” he began tentatively. “As you know…  as you’ll remember…  I met this girl last year and we’ve been dating ever since…” the words came tumbling out before he could stop them. He recalled the awkward first meeting outside the College Master’s office, the first kiss punctuated with fits of laughter as they stumbled through torrential rain, the trip to Paris where they missed the reservation and spent all night eating ice cream beneath the Eiffel Tower. 

When the older man turned around, he seemed smaller. Shrunken. The empty, electric blue eyes now glistening with tears. Oblivious, Charlie continued to burble about the love of his life.

“Anyway, I just want to know…  well…  please, please, please tell me we’re married to Cassie.”