Time travel, among the oldest SF tropes. But if you could travel back in time, to save the one you love? Would you? Well. would you? Of course you would! Throw caution to the wind, and go for it…
The monument was a stark, grey wound in the heart of the city. Dr. Anthony Jacobs walked past it every day, a silent penance for a grief that had no grave of its own. The names etched into the stone were for victims of a long-ago terrorist attack, but today, they blurred into a single, painful memory. Rachel. Ten years. The thought of her, vibrant and laughing, then gone in a screech of twisted metal, hit him with the force of a physical blow. He stumbled to a nearby bench, his breath catching in his throat as a single, hot tear traced a path down his cheek.
He could almost smell her chicken and wild rice soup, the one with too much thyme. He’d hated it. He’d tell her it tasted like boiled lawn clippings. She’d just laugh, that rich, full sound that filled their kitchen, and hold a steaming spoonful to his lips. “Just one spoon, Tony. For me. It’s good for your soul.” He’d grimace, swallow it, and she’d kiss his forehead, her victory complete. He’d give anything for one more spoon. One more kiss.
He wiped his face, stood up, and pulled out his comm. “Grace,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “Tell Gideon to prep the chamber. I’m using the machine. One more time.”
Hours later, he stood in the sterile glow of his laboratory, encased in the sleek silver Chrono-suit. Across from him, the Chrono-portal swirled, a vortex of incandescent blue energy humming with the potential of shattered physics.
“The energy matrix is stable, Anthony,” Dr. Gideon said from his control console, his face etched with concern. “But you know the readings. The temporal fixed-point theory has held every single time. The universe doesn’t like its story being edited.”
“I know the theory, Gideon,” Anthony said, his eyes fixed on the portal. He patted his suit, a sudden frown crossing his face. “The nanite box. Where is it?”
Gideon held up a small, metallic case. “It’s untested, Anthony. We have no idea what a chronologically-active nanite swarm will do to organic matter.”
“Where better to test it than in a timeline that’s already written?” Anthony said, a desperate logic in his voice. “Throw it here.”
Gideon sighed, but complied. Anthony caught the box and secured it to his belt. With a final nod, he stepped into the maelstrom.
The world dissolved into a nauseating rush of light and sound, then solidified. He stood on a familiar wooded road under a cool, overcast sky. The air smelled of pine and impending rain. His Chrono-watch beeped softly. Right on time.
A car appeared in the distance, Rachel’s little red convertible. He saw the deer bolt from the trees. He saw her swerve, the car fishtailing, tires screaming. He knows every detail of the crash and explosion. His heart hammered against his ribs. Now.
He pressed a button on his watch. The world froze. The sound died. The car hung suspended at a terrifying angle, a cloud of dust motionless around its tires. He ran, his suit whirring softly, his breaths loud in the absolute silence.
He reached the car. There she was. Frozen mid-scream, her hands locked on the wheel, her beautiful face a mask of terror. His Rachel. Carefully, he unbuckled her, lifted her out, and carried her far from the wreck, laying her gently on the soft grass by the roadside.
He looked at his watch. Nine minutes, forty seconds until the Chrono-field collapsed and local time snapped back into place. If he left her here, time would reset. The crash would happen. She would die. The fixed point would hold, as it had on every one of his seventeen previous attempts. He’d tried moving the deer, placing roadblocks, everything. The universe always found a way to correct the narrative.
He couldn’t leave her again. He can’t, but time was running out.
His eyes fell on the nanite box. An untested theory. A desperate gamble. The timer on his watch blinked: 00:00:03.
He made the choice. In one fluid motion, he unclipped the box, pressed it against her chest, and activated it. A silvery wave of microscopic machines flowed over her, enveloping her in a shimmering cocoon. He wrapped his arms around her frozen form just as the world dissolved back into the blinding blue vortex.
They landed in a heap on the cool floor of the lab. Gideon was shouting, alarms were blaring, but Anthony heard none of it. He was clutching Rachel, her body warm and real in his arms.
Her eyes fluttered open.
They were the same deep brown he remembered. They blinked, focusing on his face, then scanning the strange, metallic room. There was no terror. Only a soft, dazed confusion.
“Tony?” her voice was a hoarse whisper, a sound he thought he’d never hear again. A sob escaped him, a wave of pure, unadulterated joy so powerful it shook his entire body.
She smiled, a little groggily. “Why is your belt… poking me in the waist?”
Anthony laughed through his tears, a raw, relieved sound. He looked down. A reinforced stabilizer rod from his suit was indeed digging into her side. “It’s not my belt,” he choked out. “It’s my belt rod.”
Rachel’s smile widened, that same playful glint in her eyes he had loved so much. She shifted slightly, wincing at the hard piece of tech. “Well,” she murmured, her voice gaining strength, her hand coming up to touch his wet cheek. “I like your belt rod.”
And in that moment, surrounded by the frantic alarms of a rewritten universe, Dr. Anthony Jacobs knew he’d finally, finally, brought her home.
END
Recent Comments