Time Is Money

It was a beautiful day to spend indoors.

With three essays to procrastinate, a group project to minimally participate in, and two classes to probably skip, Robbie Kessler was feeling a bit overwhelmed. Fortunately, the dread of having to be productive was nothing hours of video games and slices of pineapple-pepperoni pizza couldn’t solve. It was cheese-stuffed crust, by the way. Obviously. Robbie wasn’t an animal. 

He did live like one, though. 

His dorm looked more like a bombed out zoo than it did a bedroom. Dirty clothes, scattered papers, and bits of half-eaten food littered the floor. The bed wasn’t so much a bed as it was a lone mattress in the corner. The frame had broken long ago and Robbie never bothered replacing it. The one bookshelf had no books. It also had no shelves. Overlooking the grovel, the ceiling fan swung unnaturally fast like a malfunctioning wind turbine. The main light didn’t work. It hadn’t worked since Robbie moved in. The windows were nice and big, but the glass was stained with a sickly yellow substance that distorted the view outside. If the room’s dismal appearance wasn’t enough to deter any visitors, there was also the smell—a bitter aroma, like burnt coffee, mingled with the smell of sweat, feet, and cheese. 

Robbie didn’t mind the mess. There wouldn’t be a cleaning check for weeks. Why worry about something that far away? The here and now was all that mattered in life. He read that on a poster in the administrator’s office when he was changing his major for the sixth time. His current and longest held major yet, English, had turned out to be his favorite so far. Robbie made the decision to switch from space engineering when he found out Hannah Choi was a creative writing major, and Hannah Choi was really cute. 

The game flashed vibrantly across the computer screen and a violent symphony of explosions and bullets raged in his headset. He was absorbed completely, grinning madly as he headshot the opponent who had tea-bagged him last match. He was busy returning the favor when the door to his room blew open with the ferocity of a category five hurricane. 

Robbie got tangled with his headset as he struggled to pivot his chair towards the door. 

“A knock would’ve—” He instantly choked on his words when he came face to face with his creative writing professor. “Dr. Anant?”

It would’ve been a surprise to see any professor in the dorm rooms, but Dr. Anant especially prided himself on how much he hated students. 

The professor had murder in his eyes as he threw an accusing finger in the sophomore’s direction. “Kessler!” 

He looked angrier than when Robbie had accidentally rear-ended him in the teacher’s parking lot last spring. What Robbie was doing in the teacher’s parking lot was still up for debate. He had offered his teacher a ten dollar gift card (of which there was only $1.12 left) as consolation, but his apology was refused by a string of choice expletives. 

Now, however, the man was so enraged that he had trouble speaking. His face was an unhealthy shade of red. His eyes bulged from his head and his glasses were crooked. An unruly black mane replaced his usual, neatly combed style. His violent jittering made it clear he had either chugged a barrel of espresso or hadn’t slept for days. Maybe both. Finally, when he did speak, Dr. Anant’s voice was so strained it barely made it past his grinding teeth.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” 

A number of potential misdoings synapsed Robbie’s mind. Clogging the teacher’s toilet in Mabee Hall. Trying to do CPR on an elderly man who had been peacefully napping under the tree. Not holding the door open for Dr. Wheels, the disabled art teacher who rode around in a motorized wheelchair. Calling Dr. Wheels, Dr. Wheels, instead of his actual name, which Robbie didn’t know. But why would Dr. Anant be in here for any of these things?

He decided to play it safe with a blank face and a confused, “No…?”

The professor tossed the sophomore a thin booklet in response. Robbie stared down at a the latest edition of The Morningstar, a locally based literary magazine. 

“Your story published,” Dr. Anant clarified as Robbie began flipping through the pages. 

“My—huh?” He stopped towards the middle “Oh, right! Hah! I totally forgot about this.”

“You forgot?” 

“Say, is there any prize money for this?” Robbie wondered. “I think I remember the website saying there was money for winning.”

“That’s your concern? Money?”

“I mean…yeah?” Robbie hesitated. Dr. Anant’s scowl only deepened.

“And school is expensive.” Still no change in his teacher’s reaction. He grimaced, unsure of what to say next. “And I’m…poor?”

Dr. Anant closed his eyes and pinched the brow of his nose. “You didn’t think to maybe, oh, I don’t know, stop and think that perhaps this isn’t something that you should submit to a publisher for everyone to read?”

The initial fright of an unannounced intruder was fading, and Robbie was beginning to feel hungry again. He decided to continue eating his pizza, much to Dr. Anant’s disgust. “Is this about copyright?” Robbie didn’t bother to close his mouth while chewing. “You specifically said to write a story based on an eavesdropped conversation. So that’s what I did. How am I the bad guy here?”

“I said based on—based on—an eavesdropped conversation, not copied word for word!” The professor’s tone skyrocketed into the stratosphere of disbelief. “And not my conversation!”

“I don’t know what to tell you,” Robbie said through another mouthful. “It was a good conversation. Time travel, multiverse hopping, it’s all the rage right now. I didn’t know you were cool like that, Prof.”

“Kessler.” Dr. Anant took in a deep breath to calm his nerves. The change in voice forced Robbie to stop chewing for a moment. “Listen to me. What you overheard…it was…well, it was supposed to be top secret.”

“Well, yeah,” the student agreed slowly. “You can’t eavesdrop on an open conversation. Kinda defeats the purpose.”

“No, you misunderstand me.” Dr. Anant ran a hand through his wild mane of hair before diving headfirst into a desperate ramble. “I’ve been on thin ice for a while. I had a couple of close calls last spring but I thought I was in the clear. Being a teacher is my cover, and it’s a good one. Or, it was. Then you published everything you heard, for the whole damn world to read!”

“I don’t know why you’re so upset.” Robbie glanced at his computer screen and forced his character to squat and stand so the game wouldn’t read him as AFK. “You’re the protagonist in the story! I gave you muscles and stuff and you drove a sports car.”

“You didn’t think to ask if using my real name, occupation, and location was a good idea?”

“The assignment was due in an hour,” Robbie argued. “I know you always say, ‘Better late than never,’ or whatever, but for once, I wanted to submit something on time.”

“Time—hah!” Dr. Anant lowered his head in defeat. “Time is the one thing we don’t have.”

Robbie slowed his chewing as he eyed his professor curiously. “Are you being philosophical, or…?”

“It’s over,” his teacher finally croaked. “The FTA will be here any second. Call—” His voice cracked and he attempted to clear his throat. “Call my family in Mumbai, tell them…tell them that I’m sorry. I wish things could’ve been different.”

Robbie remained silent, and for the first time the professor wondered if he had gotten through to the young man. He wondered if his student might just start taking this seriously. Robbie’s mouth twitched, and he looked to be readying an actual apology. 

“I thought you were Iranian.”

Dr. Anant met the student’s confused gaze. “What?”

“I thought you were Iranian,” the sophomore repeated.

“Indian,” Dr. Anant corrected through clenched teeth. If he survived the coming storm, he would almost certainly have to go see a dentist. “I’m Indian. I even say so in the syllabus!”

Robbie carefully lowered his tone to be just above a nervous whisper. “Prof, I don’t wanna be that guy, but I’m pretty sure saying Indian is offensive now. I think you’re supposed to say Native American.” He paused, second guessing himself. “Or…hold on, is that offensive too?” 

The howling of police sirens crept into hearing distance followed by the steady beating of helicopter blades. 

Energy abruptly fled from the professor and he staggered before collapsing against the wall where he struggled for words. “I can’t…I don’t believe…my cover was blown by you. You. Kessler, my worst student.”

“Hey, I published,” Robbie scowled, shaking the magazine in the air. 

“You plagiarized!” 

“Conversation is fair game, Prof. You’re just upset you didn’t write it down first.”

The sirens were close now, in the parking lot by the apartment complex. Dozens of car doors opened and slammed as the rhythmic whirling of helicopter blades steadied overhead. Boots on concrete rushed towards the building, interrupted by the occasional scream or shout from a surprised bystander.

The commotion sparked mad desperation in the professor. “We’re out of time,” he breathed, rushing towards Robbie.

“Your class isn’t until the afternoon.”

“Take this.” Dr. Anant thrust a small object into his students hands. “You don’t let anyone have this.”

Robbie held in his palms what looked like a key fob to a car. “Um…”

“That’ll jumpstart the machine,” the professor explained, closing Robbie’s hand over the round device. “Third floor of the parking lot by Norton Hall, section E, number 7.”

“Oh, I can’t drive. I got my licence revoked—DUI.”

“Kessler, listen to me,” Dr. Anant pleaded. “Our timeline is disintegrating. The future is at war with the past. But last night we finally figured out Incident 0, the focal point of where the inter-temporal explosion took place.”

“Uh huh.”

Militaristic, heavy footsteps thundered down the hall, rumbling closer and closer to Robbie’s room.

Dr. Anant glanced at the open door before standing straight. “They’re here.” He moved to the center of the room, away from Robbie. “It’s on you, Kessler. May 28, 2016–that’s where you have to go.”

“FTA, hands in the air!” A dozen armed soldiers clad in futuristic red armor invaded the room, guns raised and ready to begin blasting at anyone who made a wrong move. Their leader stepped forward and pointed at Dr. Anant. “Grab him!”

“Cincinnati Zoo! You’ve got to—” One soldier punched the professor in the stomach before forcefully spinning him around to handcuff him. He continued bellowing as they dragged him from the room, his pleas growing more distant with each passing second. “The gorilla—save the gorilla! Kessler!”

Soon the footsteps faded along with Dr. Anant’s hoarse voice. Robbie was left alone in the room, save for one remaining soldier. The two awkwardly looked at each other, both unsure of what to do next. The random ticking of the broken clock on the wall and the muffled commotion outside were the only sounds for several, long moments. 

“He didn’t harm you, did he?” The soldier’s voice sounded a bit nasal behind his mask. He sniffled, so it was possible he was fighting a cold. 

“Only mentally,” Robbie confirmed. He held up The Morningstar indignantly. “Called me a plagiarist. Can you believe it?”

“The nerve of that guy.”

“Right? He was just jealous.”

“He looked it,” agreed the soldier before falling into silence. With one hand he fumbled with his mask and with the other he scratched his bottom. 

Frowning, Robbie leaned forward expectantly. “Is there something…”

“Protocol is I’m supposed to wipe your memories,” blurted the soldier, “but I forgot my mind-wiper at home.”

“First time on the job?” Robbie asked sympathetically. He could relate. On the first and only day of his last job, he had forgotten to tell the customer that there were peanuts in the salad and man, was that an HR nightmare. 

“It is, actually,” confessed the soldier. “I was doing so well, too.”

“You really were,” encouraged Robbie. “Bursting in here all cool and stuff, with your red gear and guns. Don’t sweat it, man. I won’t say anything.” 

“For real?” 

“Snitches get stitches, right?”

The soldier laughed and stood taller. “Amen to that. Thanks, brother. I really appreciate it.”

“Here, want to take a slice for the road?” The sophomore offered up an open pizza box.

“Cheese-stuffed crust?”

“Obviously. I’m not an animal.”

“People in the past are seriously the coolest.” 

“You’re doing great,” Robbie encouraged. “Take care out there.”

The soldier accepted the pizza and gave a two finger salute as he backed out of the room. He even went the extra mile and closed the door behind him as he went, as any true saint would. 

Robbie sat in comfortable silence, smiling happily. “He was nice.” 

After another few seconds of reflective silence, the student sighed and absently set The Morningstar on top of Dr. Anant’s key fob. He spun his chair back into place and slipped his headset back on. 

As the black screen stirred to life, welcoming him back, he frowned before murmuring a final thought.

“I wonder how I can claim that prize money?”

Robbie shrugged, pressed the space bar to continue, and reentered the game.