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Margret Treiber |
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Story 4, Temporal Eviction by Margret Treiber, is a time-travel story with a twist. I know what you're going to say: "What?, another time-travel story? Give me a break!" Well, I think you'll find this one a little different. The answer to the question
about when is the 'present day'. Seventy-five years ago
would probably be around 2025 as "Clara" was working on
that stuff in the early 2000s and hasn't finished it yet.
So, the present would probably be around 2100 or so. I
didn't define it because honestly, when have you ever seen
a near future SF with a date that was even close? I don't
want to be that Space 1999 person. Also going by the moniker
of “Ew! It’s Margret”, Margret “The Margret” Treiber has
been voted “most likely to display awkward and
inappropriate behavior in public” by a random group of
drunks downtown. Besides being odd and writing speculative
fiction, Margret serves as editor-in-chief for the
speculative humor magazine, Sci-Fi Lampoon. When
she’s not writing or working at her day job corrupting
technology, she helps her birds break things for her
spouse to fix. Her fiction has appeared in a number of
publications. Links to her short stories, novels, and
upcoming work can be found on her website at http://www.the-margret.com
and on Amazon at https://www.amazon.com/Margret-A.
Treiber/e/B0052U63BI/. Yes, it is binary. If you want to know
what it means, drop me an email at editors@4starstories.com
or letters@4starstories.com. |
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The Temporal Eviction by Margret A. Treiber
“Okay, okay.” Mila sighed, shaking her head. “Not good.” “What’s wrong with it?” Owen asked. “You’re talking about time travel,” Mila replied. “It’s science fiction.” Owen frowned. “This is the kind of thinking that makes me hate my job.” “You hate your job because you’re underfunded and disrespected,” Mila stated. “Not because I disparage your time-travel theories, and it’s just a theory.” “No, it’s not,” Owen retorted. “Time travel was invented seventy-five years ago when they sent us an entangled particle. All we had to do was catch it and match the spin with an identical particle; then we had a tunnel back. We only had to wait until we figured out how to do that.” “But did you?” Mila asked. “Figure it out?” “Yes, well… not me exactly. They knew how to do it seventy-five years ago. Well, she knew. She just didn’t tell us until a few years ago.” “That makes no sense,” Mila stated. “Who are you talking about?” “The scientist who figured it out,” Owen explained. “She was so pissed off with the state of science seventy-five years ago that she encrypted all of her work with a timer. It just unlocked itself a few years ago, like a time capsule. A group of us have been sorting through it for years. The time-travel theory was part of the package.” “So, why haven’t we used it yet?” Ben, the intern, prairie-dogged his head out from the supply closet. “Wouldn’t we have heard of this before?” “No, we needed time.” Owen laughed and shook his head. “Time to consider the ramifications. You know, what it would do to our timeline. And honestly, we’ve had bigger problems to contend with recently, so we shelved the whole thing.” “You discovered time travel and you shelved it?” Mila scoffed. Owen shrugged. “We figured we’d break it out when the time was right, pardon the puns.” “So, what do you intend to do?” Ben asked. “Kill their grandparents so this heinous terrorist act never happens?” “No, that would be too drastic,” Owen replied. “We believe that surgical, minute changes would work better to make specific adjustments without causing huge collateral damage. Killing someone in the past is like a shotgun approach. It’s almost karmic. We make a major change to the past, and we are more likely to produce catastrophic results rather than fix anything. The more traumatic the change, the more chaotic the results. Time has a way of defending itself. At least that’s what the computer models indicate.” “So what?” Mila shook her head. “You’re going to get someone to turn right instead of left to change the timeline?” “That is pretty much it,” Owen agreed. “That’s it? Make someone go in another direction?” Ben asked. “That’s going to prevent the Pop Ten Cataclysm?” “It will.” Owen grinned. “And I have just the right person in mind.” *** Janna was a terminally ill grandmother with a shitty attitude. At least that was what all her doctors and family members said. This didn’t bother her in the least. In fact, it gave a sense of liberation. Since she was already deemed an asshole, she had no qualms about living up to the expectation. So when Owen arrived at the door, she had zero motivation to be pleasant or cordial. “What do you want?” she asked. “It’s nice to see you too, doctor.” “I’m not a doctor anymore,” Janna replied. “I’m a corpse waiting to happen. Why are you here?” “I have something,” Owen said. “Something that may interest you.” “Yeah?” Janna scoffed. “What’s the catch?” “You have to leave and never come back.” Janna laughed. “So it’s a win-win situation for everyone.” “Janna, we are not trying to get rid of you. You are uniquely qualified for this project and due to your current situation --” “-- I’m disposable and I know science.” “Yeah,” Owen nodded. “That, and you can be very... caustic.” “Really? You want caustic? Now I’m intrigued. What do you want me to do?” “Go back in time and be a bad neighbor,” Owen answered. “Seriously?” Janna’s face lit up. “Define ‘bad neighbor.’” *** “What the hell?” Anne jumped back from the stove. She grabbed the pan of ground beef just before the roach fell onto the burner. “Goddamnit! They’re falling. They are falling from the ceiling!” Clara looked up from her screen. “Well, Janna drags bags of trash upstairs from the dumpster and goes through them every night.” “I told the office, but they won’t do anything,” Anne said. “The lease is up soon. I told them we won’t stay if they don’t fix this.” “We’re going to have to move,” Clara said. Anne threw the pot onto the counter. “We’ve been here so long. Why do they let her stay?” “I think she’s section eight,” Clara replied. “Or she paid someone off. This sucks. Well, so much for luxury living.” Anne sighed. “I should have known it was going downhill. I see people using the tennis courts as a playpen. They leave the children there with a bunch of toys and seal them in.” “It’s time to go,” Clara said. “This place is meant for transient people. They don’t want long-timers.” Anne frowned. “I’ll look for something. This is going to be a pain in the ass.” “Check Gregsite,” Clara suggested. “Maybe there is something there.” “Why can’t you do it?” “Because I’m busy doing science, and you’re better at talking to people. I’ll end up telling them to fuck off.” “Fine,” Anne replied and pulled out her laptop. The listings were sparse. Anne scoured the site for about forty minutes and was about to give up when she came across something interesting. “Clara, check this shiznit out. It’s across the backyard. And it’s cheaper.” Clara looked over Anne’s shoulder. “It’s only two bedrooms though.” Anne grinned. “Yeah, but it has two floors and a deck.” “No shit.” “No shit.” Anne nodded. “I’ll call and contact the landlord tomorrow” *** Procuring the new rental was surprisingly simple. The owner was moving in with her boyfriend and just wanted to get someone in as quickly as possible. Moving was even easier. With the help of a few friends, Clara and Anne were in their new home in less than an afternoon. Although the townhouse technically had less space than the apartment, it felt bigger. The layout was comfortable. The neighbors seemed quiet. Within the week the two were unpacked and settled in. Anne had just gotten home from work and was cooking dinner when she heard a high-pitched squealing. “Clara, do you hear that?” Clara came running from upstairs. “It’s coming from next door.” “Should we check them?” Before Clara answered, she was already out of the front entrance. Anne checked the meatloaf in the oven, turned down the burner for the potatoes and ran after her. She caught up as Clara was knocking on the neighbor’s door. There was no answer. “I think I smell smoke,” Anne stated. “Should we just go in?” Clara tried the door, it was unlocked. She pushed it open, and a billow of smoke came rushing out. The pair ran inside. A distinct odor of burning was emanating from the kitchen. A man was passed out on the floor with his back against the sofa. Several empty beer bottles were scattered around him. “You check the kitchen,” Clara instructed Anne. “I got this guy.” Anne nodded and hurried to the kitchen. As she stepped inside, she immediately found the problem. A blackened pot smoked on a burner, actively charring an unidentifiable object within it. She could only assume it had once been food. Pulling it from the stove, she shut off the red-hot element and dropped the pot in the sink. Next, she stepped over to the sliding glass door to the deck and opened it to allow the air to clear. Meanwhile, Clara was sitting next to the man on the floor. He sat up and was shaking his head back and forth. “What happened?” he asked. He had an accent. “Hi, I’m Clara. We just moved in next door. We heard the smoke alarm, so we came to help.” “It was the stove,” Anne added from across the room. “I’m afraid your dinner is dead.” The man seemed to come to his senses. “I’m Omar, thank you.” He coughed. “Just came from work, very tired.” “Well, I was just making dinner,” Anne said. “I’m making meatloaf. You want to come over and eat?” Omar grinned. “I not want to impose.” “You’re not,” Clara stated. “Okay then!” Omar stood up, a little unsteadily. Anne finished preparing the meal as Clara and Omar chatted in the living room. “I’ve been here U.S. for years, this place is hardest. Other places people nice, people here not so nice.” Omar shook his head. Clara nodded in agreement. “We have had our run-ins with some of these people. They are not cool.” “What do you do?” Omar asked. “I’m a scientist,” Clara answered. “And Anne is an engineer.” “Oh,” Omar replied. “I’m architect.” “Really?” Clara remarked. “What kind of buildings do you design?” “Nothing,” Omar stated. “They have me do intern work because bad English. Have Masters, make countertops.” “Your English isn’t bad, maybe your job is.” Omar laughed. “I think that.” “I know some people,” Anne yelled from the kitchen. “I work with architects all the time. I’ll hook you up.” “Thank you.” Anne served dinner and they all ate. Omar appeared to like Anne’s meatloaf. After they were done eating, Omar excused himself to return home and clean up the mess he left in his kitchen. Once done, he logged on his computer. He had received an email from his extremist colleague back home. He was recruiting again, trying to find willing participants for his plan to bring down the US, the scourge of civilization. Omar deleted the message. Dinner had left him full, satisfied, and in no mood for political drama. Besides, he had no desire to destroy the US. He had friends here. He turned on the television and switched on a mindless variety show to fall asleep to. Anne returned to the kitchen, glad that she had cooked enough to feed everyone. She cleaned up and took pleasure in her insect-free kitchen. Clara sat in the living room. She watched Star Trek reruns and resumed her work on time travel. *** “Okay, okay.” Mila sighed, shaking her head. “Not good.” “What’s wrong with it?” Owen asked. “You’re talking about time travel,” Mila replied. “Nobody will take you seriously. It’s all theory.” “No, it’s not,” Owen retorted. “Time travel was invented seventy-five years ago when they sent us an entangled particle. All we had to do was catch it and match the spin with an identical particle; then we had a tunnel back. We only had to figure out how to do it.” “But did you?” Mila asked. “Figure it out?” “Yes, well not me exactly. They knew how to do it seventy-five years ago. Well, she knew and left us the instructions. But we had to wait for the particle to try it.” “That makes no sense,” Mila stated. “Who are you talking about?” “The scientist who figured out,” Owen explained. “Her name was Clara. She left us the formulas, but they require the particle to work. A group of us have been working on it. Now that we have it, we need to consider the implications of time travel. That’s why I called you.” Mila nodded. “Well, it’s good timing. Pardon the pun. It has been a slow week. Show me what you got. I’ll call Ben.” Owen grinned. “I love my job.” The End
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