0 comments
Part I: Suiting Up for the Past
My cousin Hannah’s crisis over her lost time travel suit had planted a seed in both our minds, one that sprouted months later into an obsession with time travel suits—past, present, and imagined. The search for the perfect suit became a quest, fuelled not only by practicality but by the allure of history and an aspiration to embody the timeless excellence of icons like H.G. Wells.
We argued how she could have been so forgetful and she said she'd left a party and in her hurry had changed in the road and then an electric car had run over it. That she had probably been using her iphone didn't make her budge an inch when I accused her and we set off in a hunt across Toronto and through the annals of time. We scoured department stores, bespoke tailors, and vintage shops, each offering a different shade of sophistication - and disappointment. The experience at ChronoStitch Atelier was a turning point, where a Wellsian time travel suit seemed to materialize, almost as if conjured by our very longing. Yet, the fact of it being an emulation as well as the wrong size meant that the rack's limitations reminded us that perfection was a grail perpetually out of reach.
The internet, with its labyrinthine forums and speculative enthusiasts, promised salvation. It was there, amid a web of intense discussions, that the name Hector Mares, armorer to the King first appeared. A tailor rumoured to craft time travel suits that defied the constraints of linear fashion. Whispers of his work captivated the imagination. He would also act as our mediator, suggesting that the season was right to change suits from a dull grey to a pure white which reflected the walls of his minimalist website.
Perusing bolts of temporal fabric that seemed to hum with potential energy was great in 3D, HD, and only lacked a subtle smell. The tailor, an enigmatic figure, nodded knowingly in a thumbnail as measurements were taken. He only mentioned the company founder Mares in passing, and he paused, then chuckled as if sharing an inside joke with himself.
“Ah, Mares,” he said. “A craftsman and a myth. Some say his suits aren’t just suits—they’re vessels. Wear one, and you’re not just dressed for one occasion. You’re dressed for all times and places.” He wrapped up the suit in an old copy of the The Globe and Mail then Amazon delivered it the next day.
We laughed, uncertain if the tailor was being metaphorical or suggesting something more extraordinary. But in that moment, the pursuit of a perfect time travel suit felt like it was bound to come to pass. An stable field generator in the ever-shifting tides of time, where the past informed the present, and the future always beckoned.
Part II: Exhibitions
The first Science team meeting of 2047 was a resounding success, an unmissable event where the Canadian Spacetime Agency played host to the world's leading experts and enthusiasts in the rapidly advancing world of time travel. Beatriz Chanoyu, the organizer representing the Peruvian government, had announced the event just weeks earlier, and by midmorning, the airy coworking space, nestled in a glimmering high-rise overlooking the frozen streets of Lima, was bustling with a diverse crowd of chronological scientists, project managers, gamers, time travel suit designers, and investors. The one to watch was the SoCal Silicon Beach startup Temporal Forge Labs. Despite the heavy snow outside, which TFL was unprepared for, there was warmth in the air that clung to the room as these participants gathered to witness what was promised to be a historical occasion.
For the most part, the crowd consisted of young men—an expected demographic for such a cutting-edge gathering—but the presence of Hannah Mares among the scientists and entrepreneurs was noted by an attendee who marvelled aloud, “At last Hector has found a woman – his cousin and look how stylishly dressed she is in a suit inspired by H G Wells!” The comment was met with a mixture of grins, a shared acknowledgment that this time, the future of science and technology wasn’t so male dominated. The event’s offerings were plentiful: lectures on new time theories, demonstrations of the latest prototypes, an initial crowd-funding announcement for a major time travel project, complimentary sandwiches, and a live hardware auction featuring time-travel-related technologies. Hannah's name was even mentioned as a future political asset to the newly-elected ruling party. This was no ordinary conference—it was a festival of futuristic ambition, with attendees certain they were witnessing the dawn of a new era in human understanding of time and its manipulation.
The central theme of every panel and discussion was a clear one: While the Manganes theory had revolutionized the public’s understanding of time travel, it also introduced a slew of problems that couldn’t be easily solved. The theory, which described a unified framework for traveling through the past with the aid of chronal windows or observatories, had opened the floodgates to a flood of ideas and devices. Scientists could now peer into the past with unprecedented clarity, but this ease of observation was also its downfall. The very availability of time travel, like the Manganes framework, had diminished the need for conventional historical research. Why delve into archives when one could simply witness history firsthand? The consequence was a fragmentation of historical study, with scholars increasingly left in the dust as more powerful investors claimed exclusive rights to control and profit from time travel technology.
The other problem was that, despite time travel’s allure, the field’s growing commercialization and its association with private ventures meant that the pursuit of knowledge was often sidelined. Time travel was being commodified, not only as a scientific breakthrough but as a speculative investment. The field was rapidly descending into a market-driven frenzy, with its biggest players—scientists, designers, and companies like ChronSteel—chasing profit as much as discovery. Amid these debates, the Nazca project was presented as a radical counterpoint: a decentralized archaeological initiative with the potential to resurrect an ancient mystery, the origin of the Nazca Lines, which, according to one theory, had been made as a communication tool for time travellers.
Despite spirited debates over the superiority of competing projects—Nazca versus ancient Rome, for example—scientists and investors alike began to see the convergence of technology and history as an avenue to profit. In this emerging market, time machines could be created, licensed, and sold as limited-edition devices, like rare collectibles. These machines, designed for specific projects or time periods, would be owned by private entities who would retain the right to showcase their prized possessions in national security committees or protect them from others. For those who could afford them, owning a time machine was not merely about access to history but about owning a piece of human knowledge. The debate over whether one could use time travel to change history, or merely observe it, was overshadowed by the business possibilities of simply owning an artifact from the future.
Hector Mares, representing ChronSteel, captured the mood of the conference with a succinct comment that was met with enthusiastic applause: “Finally, the time travel suit design industry has come of age.” The applause echoed through the room, a collective recognition that, in this world of rapidly evolving technology, the time travel suit—a device that had once been a mere speculative idea—was now a tangible reality. The suits, infused with Prometheum alloy and equipped with tachyon field generators, were the epitome of cutting-edge technology. For many, the true value of these suits lay in their dual purpose: they weren’t just tools for time travel; they were status symbols, investments, and luxury items all rolled into one.
The suits themselves represented the simplest and most elegant application of Manganes’s theory. Chrono-scientists evaluated their value on several criteria: intrinsic appeal (how they looked), extrinsic value (how they enhanced the wearer’s social status), utility (whether they were practical or immersive), and store of value (how much they could appreciate in value over time). The best of these suits weren’t just functional—they were beautiful, captivating, and desirable. They promised not only a journey through time but a new form of personal expression, a status symbol that could inspire envy among peers.
Yet, the commercialization of time travel was not without its pitfalls. Investors were increasingly wary of the space-time tourism industry. Traditional science and technology investors approached the idea of time travel with skepticism, hesitant to pour money into a field that seemed as volatile as it was speculative. Time travel, as a concept, was a powerful tool for discovery, but in a world of shifting priorities and limited resources, it was seen as too risky for institutional support.
The panel titled “How Time Travel Changes the Game for Scientists” made it clear that time travel held immense potential, but there were serious structural issues. The historical study, for example, was no longer grounded in traditional research methods. The very nature of time travel had created a paradox: by observing the past, the present was inevitably altered. History could no longer be preserved in its purest form, as temporal tourists intervened in the past, potentially changing everything they encountered.
Despite these challenges, individual scientists were becoming more enamoured with the concept of time travel. In the shifting international landscape, many scientists saw it as a lifeline, a way to salvage lost knowledge, correct errors, or gain a better understanding of history. Yet, this rush for exploration also came with a price. As Hector Mares noted, time travel was an arena where technology could reshape not only the future but the present, creating opportunities for individuals and institutions to stake their claims.
Part III: Theories
As the day wore on and the crowd became more energized, discussions shifted toward the theoretical underpinnings of time travel. The Manganes theory, while revolutionary in its simplicity, had opened up a plethora of new questions that needed to be answered. How, for example, did one maintain the integrity of the past when mere observation could alter it? Could time travellers ever truly escape the influence of their own actions in the past? What were the limits of the technology? These were the questions that haunted the minds of the theorists and practitioners present at the meeting.
The Manganes theory was built on a fascinating premise: that time, far from being linear and immutable, was in fact malleable. Time travel, according to Manganes, wasn’t a matter of physically moving through the past or future but of accessing different temporal states, like how one might flip through the pages of a book. Time wasn’t a single, unchangeable sequence but rather a network of possible realities, each one dependent on the observer's actions. This was where the true complexity of time travel lay—not in the ability to visit the past, but in understanding the impact of those visits.
In many ways, the time travel suit was the embodiment of these theories. It allowed its wearer to step outside of time’s usual constraints and enter the continuum without affecting the timeline. The tachyon field generators embedded within the suit provided a stable field that minimized the risk of paradoxes, ensuring that time travellers could observe but not alter the events they were witnessing. Yet, for all its theoretical precision, the technology had its limits. Scientists knew that even a tiny, seemingly insignificant act could send ripples through time, altering the very course of history.
Yet, the theoretical groundwork laid by Manganes had its critics. Many scientists argued that his theories lacked the rigor necessary for practical application. Despite its widespread popularity, Manganes’s ideas had yet to be fully tested. How could one measure the impact of a time traveller on history? How could one be sure that a seemingly inconsequential act would not result in a massive, unpredictable shift in the timeline? These questions, though crucial, were often brushed aside in favour of the more marketable aspects of time travel—its potential for adventure, discovery, and profit.
The debates surrounding Manganes’s theories also gave rise to a new generation of time travel enthusiasts. Just as artists had once turned their gaze toward the past to capture timeless beauty, these theorists saw time as a canvas, a medium through which they could paint new possibilities. Some argued that time travel, much like art, was a reflection of humanity’s deepest desires and fears. It was a way to explore what might have been, what could have been, and what might yet be.
Part IV: Shortcomings
Despite the fervour surrounding the Nazca project and other time travel initiatives, there remained significant challenges that couldn’t be easily overcome. The commercialization of time travel, for all its promise, created a disconnect between the scientific community and the public. Investors cared little for the nuances of the technology’s theoretical framework; they cared about the bottom line. As a result, many important questions—about the ethical implications of time travel, its potential to distort history, and its ability to create new forms of inequality—remained unanswered.
Moreover, the rapid pace of technological innovation had left many struggling to keep up. Researchers were constantly scrambling to understand the implications of new discoveries and theories, only to find that the market was already moving ahead, creating new technologies that demanded further explanation. It was a world in which progress was both exhilarating and terrifying—a world where the stakes were high and the consequences of failure could be catastrophic.
Despite these challenges, the time travel conference in 2047 marked a critical juncture in the evolution of the field. It was clear that time travel, with all its potential and pitfalls, had become a defining feature of humanity’s future.
Part V The Radiance of Influence
The conference hall in Lima buzzed with the fading echoes of applause and impassioned conversations. The gathering had been a resounding success, with influential leaders and scientists from across the globe converging to discuss the future of temporal exploration. At the center of it all stood Hannah, her black time travel suit catching the light in a way that made her seem otherworldly. The precision of the fabric, tailored by a master hand, radiated an undeniable aura of authority.
As the attendees began to disperse, an older man with a silver-streaked beard approached Hannah. His name tag identified him as Pablo Tonel, a SETI investigator and now prominent political strategist in Peru. He extended a hand, his expression a mix of admiration and calculation.
“Señorita, your presence tonight has inspired more than discussions on temporal science. You embody a vision of leadership that our country desperately needs. I would like to propose that you consider stepping into the political arena.”
Hannah blinked, her surprise quickly replaced by a nervous smile. “That’s... an honor, but I’m not sure I’m the right person for that kind of responsibility.”
“Nonsense,” Tonel insisted. “The way you commanded the room, the respect you elicited—people follow those who look like they belong in the future. With your intelligence and the gravitas of your... impeccable attire, you could be the leader we’ve been waiting for.”
Before Hannah could respond, her cousin, who had remained quietly by her side during the conference, stepped in. “With all due respect, Mr. Tonel, Hannah isn’t here to fulfill anyone’s political aspirations but her own. She’s not a symbol to be wielded; she’s a person with her own goals.”
Tonel turned to him, his expression shifting to mild annoyance. “And you are?”
“Hector Mares, her cousin,” he said firmly. “And someone who knows she’s been through enough pressure without being dragged into politics.”
The air grew tense, but before Tonel could press further, Hector Mares, the founder of the atelier responsible for the radiant suit Hannah wore, eyed him with a view to dominate a personality he despised. His expression was one of calm authority, yet his eyes carried a flicker of amusement.
“Hannah,” he said warmly, his voice carrying the weight of someone accustomed to being heard. “It seems my work has led you into quite a predicament.”
Tonel’s jaw slackened slightly. “Señor Mares, very remiss of Ms. Chaoyu not to supply name tags, but it is an honor to meet you.” He half-bowed.
Mares gave him a polite nod before turning back to Hannah. “I came to address the matter of your suit. It was crafted with the intent of empowering its wearer, but I never imagined it would lead to such lofty proposals.”
“It’s just a suit,” Hannah murmured, her cheeks flushing.
“Ah, but it’s never just the suit,” Mares replied. “It’s what it represents: precision, strength, and, yes, vision. But those qualities already existed in you, long before you wore my design.”
Tonel took a step forward, his tone slightly defensive. “Surely you agree, Señor Mares, that someone of Hannah’s caliber could inspire—”
“I agree,” Mares interrupted smoothly, “that Hannah’s path is her own to decide. No one has the right to assign her to a role she hasn’t chosen. Not even her suit's AI, from Deep Mind, can do that.”
Hannah looked at him, gratitude shining in her eyes. “Thank you,” she said softly.
Mares offered her a faint smile. “You owe nothing to anyone but yourself. Wear the suit as a symbol of your potential, not as a curtailment of your ambitions. in their true focus.”
With that, he turned to Tonel, his tone firm yet polite. “I trust you’ll respect her decision, whatever it may be.”
Tonel hesitated, then nodded reluctantly. “Of course. The offer stands, should you reconsider.”
As he walked away, Hannah let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “I didn’t think I’d ever have to argue my way out of a political career.”
Mares chuckled lightly. “Indeed. Consider this a reminder that the future is yours to shape. Choose wisely, and always with your heart.”
Hannah smiled, feeling the weight of expectation lift from her shoulders. For the first time in days, she and the time travel suit felt truly free.
You must sign up or log in to submit a comment.
0 comments