s2.e16_seasonfinale

Decade Dawn

            Under a bright clear and cool sky, on a grassy lot just outside of the construction site where some remaining snow was starting to melt and turn dirt to mud, a crowd of about eighty or so gathered to see the ceremonial King Arcade groundbreaking. All of the folding chairs quickly filled up, with most of the remaining guests being those of the press with tripods and cameras, aimed at the makeshift wooden stage ahead.

            “I had no idea that the park technically started out with snow on top of it,” Wes murmured to Jace, sitting next to him in some cheap JCPenney clothes of his own. “And, look at him, kid…” he added, staring at Hadron McMare, waiting on the platform for the event to begin with a caretaker keeping his wheelchair in place. “He’s right there.”

            He was a small, thin man, with a pair of large glasses that took up half his face. But even at his late age, his famous and fancy mustache was still above his lip as a relic to his days as a suave business man and local captain of industry.

            “The city founder, I know,” Jace replied and blew into his hands to warm them up. “I almost feel like we should go over there and tell him that his town is home to maybe the world’s first time travelers, just to hear what he’d say.”

            “Eh… At this point, we’d probably just confuse him… Oh, oh! Look!”

            Andrew Cristoff, a taller man perhaps in his early seventies with a light beard and graceful stride, took the stage with his slightly younger and more eccentric partner, King Arcade’s founder, Mr. Bartles—who couldn’t stop grinning as he waved to the crowd. The stage was also flanked by a few construction workers, in vests and hard hats.

            “This is all just for show,” Wes reminded Jace. “But it’s still kind of interesting.”

            “Andrew… Cristoff,” Jace said, squinting as he studied the man. “Why does…”

            “Hello, everyone!” a vaguely familiar blond woman with pearly white teeth and a tan overcoat said as she brought a microphone onto the stage. She adjusted her overly large scarf as the crowd quieted and the media started taking pictures. “Strange weather this last week of the year, isn’t it? But we can’t let that deter us, can we?”

            “Wes, isn’t that… Felicity’s mom?” Jace asked him.

            Wes thought about it, but before he could reply, she introduced herself, “I’m Heather McAllister, personal assistant to Andrew Cristoff here—one of this project’s biggest investors and underwriters. Let’s give him a hand!”

            Amid a smattering of applause, Andrew looked bored and checked his watch.

            “Also with us today is our city’s founder, Hadron McMare!” Mrs. McCallister continued, happily introducing the city’s more famous Mc. “Yes, how about that!”

            The claps were a little louder this time, and Hadron shaped his old face into a smile and managed to wave from his wheelchair, though he was weighed down by the tartan outerwear keeping his bones warm and couldn’t sustain the greeting for long.

            “But you’re not here to listen to me… So, I’ll give it up for Prince… Excuse me, King Arcade’s creator, the entertainment and business genius, Lincoln Bartles.”

            Mr. Bartles strode up to the microphone, his little spectacles, bomber jacket, and red bowtie defining his appearance; he certainly had an odd fashion sense.

            “Hello, Royal Valley!” he greeted everyone merrily. “Thank you for joining us on New Year’s Eve, and I hope you all had a wonderful 1989… Hm…” He looked back at the slushy snow on the construction site, then back at the crowd. “I love Royal Valley—but this was not the weather I was expecting. Ah, well.” After a few laughs, he looked back at the audience and continued, “In the north, construction is often paused in the winter—frozen ground makes it difficult, but normally that’s not a problem down here. I’ve been told, though, that the weather is expected to return to normal soon, so any delays should be minimal. Well. That’s what I wanted to tell the investors. Moving on.

            “Yes, so…” He took the microphone and began pacing on the stage back and forth, speaking in a more casual way directly to the audience—it was honestly right out of the way some big millennial innovators spoke to a crowd in the modern era. “The idea for this park came out of my visits to, big surprise, video arcades. I was going into these places and seeing so much fun, so many interesting characters, so much energy…”

            “Oh, I love those places,” Hadron spoke up with his airy voice.

            Mr. Bartles looked back at him and smiled. “Mr. McMare, your definition of ‘arcade’ may be a little different than those of the present, but then again, I’ve heard that you do keep up on things, so I could be wrong.” After another grin from the founder, the park’s dad got back to it. “Anyway, I had the inspiration to translate that kinetic energy and story-telling into a full-sized theme park. Video games will be a new form of art, ladies and gentleman. Now, some people scoff when I tell them that, but one day, and with some new technology, games will be a medium equal to film and books.”

            This statement did get some laughter from the crowd, but Bartles didn’t seem to mind and moved onto wrapping up the main part of the brief media appearance. “I wanted to bring the world of games into ours, and I believe that with this park, we will do just that. Now, we do have some heavy-duty ground work to get through first, the boring parts, so you may hear about much development for a year or two. But one day soon, you’ll be able to look past the barrier and see a roller-coaster taking shape. How exciting! All right. Okay, let’s, ah, do the ceremonial part of all this. Foreman?”

            The guy who would lead the construction crews held up a shovel for Bartles to take, who hopped off the stage, grabbed it, and dug up a single meaningless dirt clod on the lot. He stayed in place for camera shots, and once the photo-op was done with, he returned to the platform again and brought the microphone over to Mr. McMare.

            “And with that, your city’s founder had a few words he wanted to say.”

            “Oh, yes…” Hadron’s amplified frail voice came through the speakers. “Ever since… our only casino closed in nineteen-fifty and… Oh, I forget the exact year. But those were the good old times. If any of you can remember. I always loved a nice, showy place… just to go, to feel free. I hope adults and kids… can have fun here. This is the most important project in Royal Valley history. I think all of you… will love it.”

            Bartles spoke again, “Thank you, Mr. McMare! Oh, and… The PR boys said I should do this…” Ever the child at heart, Lincoln opened up his bomber jacket to show his shirt, which had on it a print of the arcade prince mascot. “Yeah! Nice, huh?”

            He handed off the microphone to Mrs. McAllister, her smile as big as ever. She cleared her throat and moved the event onto its final stage by saying, “We’re about to take questions from the press, but first Mr. Cristoff would like to say a word.”

            Wes perked up in anticipation and raised his arm halfway, clearly hoping to get a question in. Andrew quietly stepped over, took the microphone, and looked at everyone in the crowd, who might have expected him to say something enlightening.

            “… We hope you enjoy the park,” he said… and that was all he said.

            Wes shot his hand up, as did several other guests—but Mr. Cristoff turned right around and departed from the scene without pointing to a single person. Bartles let out an awkward little chuckle as his partner handed the microphone back before leaving.

            “Man of few words, Mr. Cristoff…” Bartles said and adjusted his shirt collar. He looked at a reporter from the Herald and asked her, “Ah, yes… Let’s start with you.”

            As she inquired about boring financial stuff, Wes dropped his arm and sighed. “I get the feeling that guy is trying to be mysterious… Well, this was a waste.”

            “You could still ask the kooky park creator, maybe he knows something.”

            Wes shrugged at the suggestion, waited for Bartles to finish assuring the reporter that the city really could afford the park, and raised his hand again as soon as he was able.

            “Yes, you there! In the nice jacket. Love it,” the creator remarked.

            “Um, I was just wondering—is that old elevator out there staying, or…?”

            “Oh, that?” Bartles glanced back at it. “Ah, we’re just filling it with concrete and rebar, to use it as a load-bearing support. Does anyone have any actual questions about the park, or its rides? We’ve got a lot of characters planned, too… C’mon, make it fun!”

            “Okay, Jace…” Wes grumbled and stood up. “We’re done here.”

            The two walked to the northern end of what would one day be the park, where Wes used a few minutes of otherwise dead air to think about what to do next and talk it over with Jace. There wasn’t much of anything out that way, other than a dusty overlook that provided a view of the interstate, distant mountains, and a few old scattered homes, farms, factories, and streets that made up the outskirts of the city.

            “Well, that was a bust…” Wes groaned and plopped down at the edge of a short rocky drop-off, about ten feet up. “This Cristoff guy is all aloof and crap, like he’s trying to be the enigmatic one of the duo… He knows something, Jace. We have to meet him.”

            “And how are we going to do that?” Jace replied and joined him on the rocks.

            Wes looked back at the distant downtown towers. “We could find his office.”

            “Yeah, maybe, but it’s New Year’s Eve.”

            “That might not mean much; he’s working right now, and I’m sure the park is keeping him busy signing papers or whatever. I already found out that he works for a local company called Athena Development over in Dawn Tower. I had never heard of it before. I looked them up yesterday, and it sounds like they’re known for making ‘smart decisions’ about what projects they get involved with. It’s like… they never invest in anything that goes way over budget or falls apart.”

            “Okay. But why do we care about that?”

            “I didn’t have a chance to investigate the company when we were still in the 90s, but I feel like I would’ve at least heard of them at some point. It makes me wonder why a successful company would disappear in a few years. It’s all kind of suspicious.”

            “Hey, Wes… Do you see that? On the horizon, past the mountains? I didn’t think it was worth mentioning before, but the sky looks a little weird…”

            “You think so too, huh? Yeah, it does look a little darker than normal out there.”

            “Is it that barrier, that we saw in San Diego?”

            “I didn’t want to freak you out, but that’s my worry, yeah. Maybe it’s smaller because the park now gets destroyed, which is where our time signal or whatever might transmit from? But… is it going to keep shrinking because of that, or it will get bigger as we get closer to when the park was still running, or do those things cancel out, meaning it won’t move at all? Hell if I know… I just wonder how far it extended in 1998.”

            “If that thing collapses on us, that, uh… could be bad.”

            “All the more reason to get out of here and save the park as soon as we can.”

            Jace heard some distant commotion and looked back to see the ceremony’s crowd starting to break up. A black limo had pulled up as well, likely the business partners’ ride back to home or work, the latter being what Wes was hoping for.

            “If you want another chance for that chat, we better get moving,” Jace said.

            “Uh-huh.” Wes got to his feet, though he kept his eyes on the distant temporal barrier. “I just hope he’d be willing to meet with a guy in clearance clothes.”

            Jace laughed just a little. “Mr. Bartles already said he liked your jacket. And you saw how he dressed, so you know he’s an expert on fashion.”

            Wes raised his arms and let it air out a bit. “Well, yeah, it’s pretty nice.”

            They took a bus to the edge of Main Street, and for the heck of it, hopped onto a streetcar. Like its surviving siblings, the vehicle was old and rattled, a relic of the 1950s when the service was widespread—but it was a piece of local history, and Wes gratefully took the chance to ride, having not yet tried out the sole car still running in the mid-90s.

            Dawn Tower, built in 1971 and still the city’s second tallest by 2020, was known for its teal roof and dull brutalist exterior, which currently hosted the New Year’s crown. The two got off nearby, went through a lobby loaded with copper fixtures and door accents, and reached the elevator without seeing anyone else about in the office building.

            “Looks like Athena is on the top…” Wes said, reading off the directory by the elevator as it came down. “If they’re still working today, they should be back by now.”

            “What are you going to say to Andrew if you meet him? Andrew… Andrew…”

            “Um, yeah, that is a name. I just want to see if he knows what’s under the park.”

            They got into the fancy lift, took it to the top of the building, and stepped out by a window that offered a sweeping city view. On the next block over, past the shorter, peach-colored and boringly-named Valley Commerce Tower and its parking garage, was Victory Plaza. Its concrete skeleton was half-way up and surrounded by cranes. Farther away was King Arcade’s vacant lot, which the park investors must’ve seen every day.

            Past a glass door that bore the company name was a secretary’s desk, where Mrs. McAllister was working on her nails. Wes went in while Jace kept back, just to be safe and stay out of her memory. Wes had to get close to make her look up—close enough to see a framed picture of her daughters; one smiling, the younger one… not so much.

            “Yes…?” she eventually said disdainfully. “Can I help you?”

            “Yeah, hi, um…” Wes looked up at the bulky security camera aimed at him. “I don’t have an appointment or anything, but I was hoping to see Mr. Cristoff.”

            “I see. I’m afraid he’s a little busy at the moment. What’s this concerning?”

            “I’m…” he stupidly hadn’t given that much thought, “one of his stockbrokers.”

            She looked at his clothes incredulously. “All right. What’s your phone number?”

            “Give me a second to remember…” He felt around in his pocket. “It’s a cell…”

            Now she looked surprised. “Well, look at you. On the cutting edge.”

            “Could you just tell him it’s important?” Wes asked as he scribbled his digits.

            She took the scrap of paper with a bit of a sneer. “I’ll see what I can do. Sir.”

            “So, yeah, I don’t think she liked me,” Wes muttered after they got off a bus that brought them to Desert Tree, which he understandably wanted to see covered in snow.

            “Wes, what are we going to do?” Jace asked as the bus drove off down Kettle and they set foot in the neighborhood. “You’re going to run out of money. If you want to stay here any longer, can’t you just, I don’t know, do stock market stuff again?”

            “I don’t have any ’89 stock tips memorized that would get us quick cash. I… I dunno. If Mr. Cristoff doesn’t meet us by tomorrow night, we’re going to have to leave and maybe come back with some more money if the answer to any of this really is here. And it’s not exactly a direct route home, if we want to fetch the car and everything.”

            “… If you can even fix the quartz first… Well, at least the scenery is cool.”    

            Wes took a breather in all his plans and concerns to enjoy it, too. The snow and the temperature had both come down so quickly that no vegetation could change color, so while the lawns were covered in white, it was the greens of leaves and grass that made the suburban landscape one of stark contrasts. The sight of the occasional adobe-style home, apt for a desert climate, was almost comical when its roof was covered in snow. But all of that snow was starting to disappear; the warm asphalt streets had melted away any remaining slush, and most yards only had an inch or so left.

            “Wes,” Jace said and tugged on his uncle’s sleeve. “Look at Sadie’s place.”

            In the front lawn of her small house, by the swing set, was a pair of messily put-together snowladies, one of which had on a child’s flannel hat.

            “Heh,” Wes sighed. “She must’ve made those with Celeste.”

            “But you weren’t friends yet, right?”

            “Nah. I probably saw them around, and we all had kindergarten, but we didn’t really start hanging out together until we were around seven. If you’re keeping up on the trivia of my life story, you’ll also remember that Celeste will sort of move away.”

            “Uh-huh. Before first grade. I got it all up here.” Jace pointed to his head.

            “I don’t thank you enough for all the stuff you do, kid… Even when most days go by without some next step in my ‘grand plan.’ Just putting up with me and hanging in there is enough. I know you have some fun along the way, too, but still, it’s a lot to ask.”

            “It’s not… so bad,” Jace said with a shrug. “You know that I’ve… uh, worked on some issues of my own… And your friends are fun to hang out with, so…”

            “Yeah. I had some good ones. I might drive you crazy as a kid and an adult, but you can’t fault the companions I picked up on the way.”

            “I think… when we do go back to a ‘fixed up’ future, maybe we should look up some of them and, I dunno, reconnect? Maybe even tell them what happened…”

            “I don’t know if they’d believe us, even with all the evidence we’d have.”

            Wes came to a stop across the street from his house, and went completely quiet when he saw the scene taking place in his front yard. His mom, looking even younger than she did in ‘96, sat in an outdoor chair and watched Little Wessy and Colin work on snowmen together—which was going to be a once in a lifetime occurrence. Even more adorable, neither of the tykes seemed to have gloves, so they rolled up snow balls with socks over their hands instead. They had already made two snowmen, one with a pair of Wessy’s mom’s old sneakers at its base. Meanwhile, a more active Tiger was roaming around the yard freely, leaving pawprints in the snow and sniffing about.

            “I wasn’t sure if this was today…” Wes murmured as they watched from afar. “This is one of my favorite early childhood memories. No surprise.”

            “Uncle Wes, I basically just asked if… And you didn’t say no… So… Did you make up your mind yet about going home when I do? I think it’s really time you tell me.”

            As usual, Wes hesitated, said nothing, and continued to absorb the scene while lost in thought. He looked especially melancholic this time. Jace took that as an answer.

            “Yes,” he suddenly replied after closing his eyes. “I’ll go back. Only after I know we’re done here, and on the same day I did on my first visit, but… Yes.”

            “Really?” Jace said excitedly. “I mean, I, uh… That’s good.”

            Wes opened his eyes again, and got back to walking down his block. “I didn’t think this would happen—not when I felt like I could stay forever when I thought about what being here meant, up in Colin’s treehouse. But, for all my faults in the present, and even though there’s so much I don’t like… There are things I do miss.”

            “Netflix, internet on your phone, product user reviews before you buy—”

            “Your mom,” Wes interrupted. “When I dragged you out of your house that day, it was enough just to say hi to her. But now, I’m starting to forget what she’s like as an adult. She’s a buddy, you know. There for me when I’m feeling down. The other things, too, sure… And retro-culture, talking about the good old days… My mom.”

            The setting sun began to cast its oranges and produce dramatic shadows across the neighborhood’s snowy lawns as they continued down a familiar street with familiar houses, and it looked like Wes was struggling to say something he wanted to.

            “You weren’t a bad uncle, you know,” Jace spoke up first. “I mean, now that I’ve really gotten to know you, I ‘get’ you more than I did before, but we did have some fun times in the 2010s, too. You always liked taking me to King Arcade. You’d play video games with me and even… put up with my crap when you won, like you usually did. You went to all sorts of movies with me and Mom. I think… maybe the only thing you didn’t do was listen to my problems and help me out when there was still time.”

            After taking a few seconds to process Jace’s compliments, Wes eventually replied, “To be fair, you never told me or your mom what was really going on with you.”

            “I know… Yeah… I just wanted to deal with it all on my own.”

            “But you’ve changed a lot, Jace. I just hope that after whatever all of this meant for me, if there was a reason for it, that I can get over this slump. I still could’ve been a better uncle to you. I know I’ve been selfish, and maybe even a jerk at times… Okay, stop laughing—I’m trying to be serious here. It’s just, sometimes it’s hard for adults to really know what it is they’re supposed to be doing, as an adult. I look at that dumb little four-year-old me and think that I could never be that happy again.”

            “W-well, if you wanted, when we get home, we could kind of reverse things.”

            “What do you mean?”

            “You’re always telling me about the movies, shows, and games of your past. I could tell you all about the modern things I like. You know, so this kinda keeps going.”

            “But I do keep up on a lot of that stuff already, so…” Wes looked down at Jace’s expectant face and shifted tone. “I mean, yeah. We can do that. Heck, there are so many sequels and reboots to old franchises going on right now back in our time, that it’ll kind of be like a bridging, bonding experience type thing.”

            “Y-yeah, exactly! Mario and Zelda games are still around, and I’ve played a bunch of those in both times. There’s a Bill & Ted sequel coming out soon in 2020—we had fun watching the first two, right? And! I’ve been watching the original DuckTales while we’ve been stuck here, and the new version is one of my favorite shows. I just don’t like getting the theme song stuck in my head all over again…”

            Wes chuckled. “Settle down, bud. Watching and playing some more modern stuff sounds like a plan and everything, but we do still have things to do in the past first.”

            “Yeah. I know… I’m just glad you actually want to go back.”

            “If your dad doesn’t want to be around, and I’m actually something closer to a ‘positive role model’ by this point, maybe… I could have more of a role in raising ya.”

            After some more walking and talking, they eventually arrived at the 1980s version of Desert Tree Elementary at dusk, which wasn’t much different than the 90s version. The snow-covered playground equipment that they could see past the fences was older and more wooden, but the school building itself looked unchanged.

            “Oh, man, I wish I had a camera,” Jace said, even as he took a shot of the scene with his iPhone. “You know what I mean—a film one that could print photos in ’96, so I could show the gang pictures of the playground in snow. They would flip out.”

            “Jace, I hope you’ve realized that once we do prevent the quake, you’ll have to repeat the last two months of school. Again. They should be better, at least.”

            He sighed. “I think about that all the time, dude. Kind of why I stopped trying. Winging it was sort of fun, though. Not that I even need good grades here, anyway.”

            “Who knows, maybe it’ll be interesting comparing those two very different two months. I wonder what Millie would think if you told her that…” he trailed off when he heard his era-appropriate phone ring, which took both of them by surprise.

            “Who is it?” Jace whispered after Wes put the phone to his ear, yet said nothing.

            “… Hello?” Wes finally replied after a long five seconds.

            “Mr. ‘Deckerd’, was it?” came the voice from the other end. “This is Andrew Cristoff. I believe you stopped in a couple hours ago. Sorry I missed you.”

            “Y-yes, Mr. Cristoff—thanks for returning my call. I just wanted—”

            “Can you stop by tonight? Maybe in an hour or so?”

            “Of course, yeah. I’ll be there.”

            “Come up to our floor and I’ll let you into the office personally. Oh, and bring the lad with you, if that wasn’t the plan already. I’ll be waiting.”

            “Thank you for…” Wes stopped when he realized Cristoff had hung up already.

            “He actually called you?” Jace exclaimed. “And we’re going to meet him?”

            “Sounds like it,” Wes said, pocketing the phone. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

            After they grabbed a quick dinner back downtown, Wes tossed the crumpled-up bag of Taco Bell wrappers into a trash can outside of Dawn Tower’s front doors and then tried to get in, only to find that they were locked—not a surprise, given that it was night time, and all around them, crowds were gathering for the dropping of the crown.

            A few seconds later, a door buzzer went off and the lock clicked, letting them into the darkened lobby, where the ruckus of the early revelers outside faded.

            “What do you think this guy knows?” Jace wondered as the elevator came down.

            “This already doesn’t feel like an ordinary meeting. I feel like he must really know something.” Wes breathed out nervously. “And it makes me a little… anxious.”

            “Is that why you brought your case?” Jace asked, seeing that he gripped it tightly.

            “If you’re implying that I’m ready to defend myself with my firearm, then…”

            “Nuh-uh, I wasn’t suggesting that… I was just wondering why you need it.”

            Wes couldn’t think of a good response as they took the elevator up, other than to look increasingly tense about what Mr. Cristoff wanted to tell them this late in the day.

            Like down below, the two were buzzed into the Athena headquarters—and again, were not greeted personally. The executive office stood out in the darkness of the cubicles past the reception area, its doors open wide at the other end of the office space, as if to beckon them in. For Wes, the walk over to it felt long and arduous.

            The corner room had the fixings of a luxury penthouse, including white marble tile, red wallpaper with a gold leaf flourish, expensive hanging lights, a mahogany desk, and a large crimson executive chair. Mr. Cristoff was waiting for them at the edge of that desk, and on the wall behind him, surrounded by a filled bookshelf with cabinets, was a four-by-four array of small tube TVs. Each screen seemed to show a unique view of the King Arcade construction site, currently in black and white infrared.

            “This is the kind of office my stockbroker wished he had… It’s just missing an 80s Jacuzzi,” Wes whispered as they got closer. “And that’s an impressive security system.”

            “Thank you for coming up,” Mr. Cristoff said and hit a button on his desk that made his doors close. “I saw you at the ceremony today. But we can only talk privately.”

            “That so?” Wes was unsure if he should go for a handshake. “Mr. Cristoff, I—”

            He raised a hand. “We can drop our aliases. Wes. It’s André. André Corathine.” He gave Wes a moment to take that in, before adding, “You’ve met my grandfather.”

            “Wh… what?” Wes didn’t know where to begin. “You… you’re talking about Malcolm? Your grandfather? But you’re… I mean… You’re already…”

            “Old?” André pushed himself off his desk and stood up straight, to a full height of about a half-foot taller than Wes. “Well, 70, more or less. Not ancient by any means.” He gave his small beard a scratch, before going around and taking out a big remote controller from his desk drawer. “But what are the years… to time travelers?”

            “I’m… not sure what you’re talking about.”

            André grinned and gestured the two visitors over to his TV screens. Once they were a little closer, but still keeping a cautious distance, he pressed a button on his remote to rewind all of the screens at once. Eventually, he stopped the playback at a point where the time code showed a familiar date. Shortly after the video began playing, interference caused static to fill one of the screens for a moment—just before a bright flash appeared. Once the noise faded, Wes and Jace watched their black and white selves look around in confusion for a few seconds before walking off of the screen.

            “As you can see, I keep my construction site heavily monitored,” André stated the obvious. “Sure, it safeguards an investment, but it also helps keep the Soviets out.”

            “The Soviets… Right…” Wes said incredulously. “It is the 80s, I guess…”

            “I’m serious. They’re known for stealing theme park plans and innovations. And another added benefit, is that it lets me catch any nosy time travelers.”

            “Again, I have no idea what—”

            André spoke over him, “Ah, but this is a special occasion.”

            He turned around and opened one of the cabinets by his monitors, revealing a small safe with a keypad, which he moved in front of to hide the lengthy code. Wes could feel his fingers reaching for his case’s dials, and his fight or flight instincts kick in.

            But André stepped aside to reveal that inside the safe, which turned out to be refrigerated and letting out vapor, were four bright red cans… of New Coke. He took three of them out, keeping one for himself and offering the others to his guests.

            “They’re a bit old by now,” he said as he dangled a can in front of Wes. “But you probably won’t get another chance to try some, right?”

            Wes hesitantly took the reconfigured soda, but Jace only shook his head. André shrugged and placed the other can back in the safe, and popped open his own drink.

            André took a sip and said, “Got the safe from a biotech lab in town—I didn’t think a chilled lockbox would actually come in handy, though, until… New Coke.”

            On any other day, Wes might’ve been excited about getting to try Coca-Cola’s infamous 1985 experiment on its brand name product, but tonight, his attention was on pretty much everything else other than his taste buds. Still, he did try a sip.

            “What do you know about…” and then it hit him. “Ugh, that’s nasty.”

            “Terrible, isn’t it?” André took another swig. “Though some people did like it.”

            “Are we going to get anywhere here, guys?” Jace impatiently interrupted. “Wes, he obviously knows we’re time travelers. And he knows your name.”

            “Y-yeah.” Wes gulped down more carbonated sugar water. “But, Mr. Cristoff… Uh, André? I don’t really know your… grandfather. He slammed the door in my face.”

            “You… don’t? Hm.” He scrunched up his face for a second. “Yes, I suppose I may have been wrong. I probably know a lot less about you than I thought. Let’s start at the beginning. Time travel, as far as we know, doesn’t move you through space; only through the years. So, you must’ve come from my park… in the future? When? Why?”

            Wes still wasn’t about to start fully trusting the guy, but he had already brazenly admitted that he too was a traveler, so that meant that answers may be so close.

            “We… came from 1998. No—wait, we went back to ‘95 from ‘98, and then here.”

            “Mm-hm. I see. We’re scheduled to open in 1995, so that makes me wonder…”

            “We saw the Time Lab,” Jace said, in an effort to hurry things along. “I swear, adults take so long to actually say anything sometimes.”

            Wes, concerned that André would take offense to the remark, felt a little relieved when he actually laughed instead and replied, “True. Wasting time is a thing you learn how to do when you get older—ironically when it’s ever more important. So… you were investigating my laboratory. I can’t imagine you got very far.”

            “You… built that place?” Wes replied.

            André let out a thoughtful sigh, before taking himself and his drink over to the corner window, where he looked down at the gathering crowds below.

            “It was all meant to be a scientific breakthrough. And then, perhaps a business venture, to help make up all the money I blew through to create it. I never really planned to show it publicly. It was… more for me, an obsession, too dangerous for the world.”

            “So, you’re saying you actually… created a time machine?”

            “Mm, well, ‘success’ is a very relative term. But I did, indeed, time travel.”

            “You make it sound like it just happened one, single time.”

            “Accurate, more or less.” He returned to his desk, sat in his chair, and pulled out a coaster for his sweating soda can. “I arrived in 1975, stranded. I knew about King Arcade, and how they didn’t bother to demolish the basement of the military base. It was structurally sound, so why pay up, right? Mind you, my lab was built even farther below the original sublevels, which were sealed off. I know, it’s an odd location.”

            “And expensive. How did you pay to have construction like that done?”

            “Originally, in my timeline? I was a self-made business man, who retired at an early age of 55, and used his wealth to pursue the science we could only dream of. I figured that I would need some place secretive, that could block noise and was already designed for a large power draw. An abandoned theme park fit the bill rather well.”

            “… Abandoned?” Wes murmured. “Hold on, what year—”

            “Nothing lasts forever, Wes, but I, too, made many good memories at the park that I will see grow out of the dirt in the following years. I… was born just recently, right here in 1989. And by 2035, King Arcade will close, after a good, long run.”

            “Wait… wait a minute…” Jace was mentally hit hard by something. “That was you in the mall! With the old guy—on the day we first arrived in ’95. You saw my iPhone.”

            André smiled modestly. “I’m surprised you remember. I’ll get to that, but first, I need to tell you about my first client, who also became my partner. To this day, I’m still not exactly sure how he found me… But his obsession with the past led me here.”

            “Who was he?” Wes asked, and noticed Jace looking up at him. “… What?”

            “Uncle Wes… I think… I think he might be talking about you…”

            “Huh? N-no. Come on… That isn’t…” he trailed off when André nodded.

            “Your nephew is a keen one,” he said. He swiveled in his chair, opened up the cabinet on the other side of his screens, and after unlocking a safe, took out a flat and very thin futuristic tablet, made out of the same glass as the screen in the lab. “Watch.”

            He tapped on it to wake it up, opened a video file, and handed it to Wes. On the super colorful and sharp screen was a recording made by a camera in one of the ceiling corners of the lab’s reception room, the chair where a secretary might sit still empty…

07-02-2038 – 14:28:22 – Lobby, Camera A

            André Corathine waits in front of the reinforced door to his lab, his life’s work, as to not grant the visiting stranger immediate access inside. About two minutes ahead of schedule, the elevator doors open, and a man named Wes steps out. He’s in his fifties, and his hair is only just now starting to gray and thin. If the watching camera could see his eyes well enough, it might show that they still hold the last remnant of his carefree, youthful spirit. But recently, he appears to have become troubled.

            André greets him and they shake hands. “Mr. Colton? I’m surprised you came.”

            “Secret lab under a ruined theme park, with rumors of time travel research? Of course I had to see if the rumors were true. I used to come to this park, you know…”

            “Many ‘kids’ our age did, I’m sure. Too bad the big one took it out.”

            “Ah, well… It was already on the decline, anyway. Kids would rather just visit a community-built theme park in VR. I was expecting to meet someone above, though.”

            “Mm, sorry about that. I’m operating here legally but in secrecy, and I can’t really be seen welcoming people above just yet. If I can ask, how did you hear about me?”

            “It was at one of the parties people of my… income class are expected to attend. Very boring people for the most part, but their rumors are sometimes interesting. And I’d be very interested if there was even a little bit of truth to what you’re building here.”

            “I see. The engineering and infrastructure are almost done. But I will need some outside investment for that final push on the aspects of science and calculations.”

            “I’m not actually that rich. But I am enthusiastic about your project.”

            André shifts his posture and replies, “I hope you can temper your expectations. I am trying to keep my goals, let’s call it, realistic. It’s not a true time machine—only a chronovisor at best, a means to look into our pasts. But I believe it is possible.”

            “Even just that would be worth making… Lately, I’ve been thinking so much about days gone by. If I could just see certain events again, a few simpler times…”

            “I was always more interested in using such science to discover truths, but I suppose it could be used as a… therapy device as well, if that’s what you’re seeking. Tell me, Mr. Colton—do you have much experience in programming? I could use the help.”

            “It’s been a while. But I think I could get back into the game.”

[Playback Ends]

            “Okay, what the hell?” Current Wes exclaimed and put the futuristic tablet on the desk. “I don’t want to believe what I just saw, but I can’t imagine you faking it somehow. This future me—this is all changed now, right? It has to be, and we just don’t know how yet. That me is old… And you’re showing this to this me… So, that means…”

            While his uncle tried to unscramble everything, Jace got in his own question, “What was the ‘big one?’ Is that like the quake that’s supposed to destroy L.A.?”

            “No, the locals just called it that,” André replied. “It did do significant damage to Royal Valley, though. It was a 7.1 that hit in 2035. Brought an already struggling King Arcade to its end. The same park I’m now trying to help bring about. Full circle.”

            “Um, yeah, about that?” Wes spoke up, shoving his other concerns and questions away for a moment. “Somehow, a weaker earthquake gets triggered in 1996 now.”

            “Ah… Hm…” André concentrated. “No, that hasn’t hit me yet. I’d imagine that would change the one in 2035; make it weaker, stronger, or maybe never happen. If I never create my lab down there, I’m certain we’ll be hit by a paradox at some point.”

            “Hasn’t hit you yet… At some point…” Wes repeated listlessly. “Are you saying changes take time to propagate, or to become our new memories?”

            “That’s what I’ve learned. For example, Jace—it would have been impossible for me to catch a glimpse of your phone in a previous timeline, long before creating a time device was a thought in my head. Even so, such a memory reached me just recently, while I’ve had this office. I can’t yet say how that event might alter trajectories, but so far, at least, I’m still here, and meeting Wes for the first time all over again.”

            “Okay, sure, but how did this other me get so loaded on cash?”

            “In the years I knew him—you, I came to find out. By hoarding it, mostly. Some good stock investments. And you mentioned ‘ratting out’ an old boss some years ago and passing him by for a major promotion. I made my fortunes in this past by backing construction projects I knew would succeed, with a bit of sports betting on the side.”

            “Sports betting, huh… How original. Why not just buy up some shares?”

            “The second Back to the Future… did only recently come out, so in a way, it has been a novel idea up until now. Stocks can work short term, but I knew I’d be here a while. I didn’t need the SEC breathing down my neck more than they already do.” He picked up the tablet again, tapped, and handed it back to Wes. “Here. Watch this one.”

12-25-2041 – 23:28:22 – R&D Lab, Camera E

            Wes has become obsessed with the project. He works long days and leads a small team of programmers and technicians that will get the power settings correct, which will direct the flow of exotic particles in the central chamber and hopefully open a window to the past. But it’s the endless nights alone when he truly feels like he can make progress. He doesn’t concern himself with André’s goals and reasons behind the effort. Wes only sees the potential to revisit his own past, and nothing else matters.

            “Wes?” André’s voice breaks the darkness of the computer-filled laboratory. He approaches, still wearing his overcoat, which has kept him warm during a cold night. “I didn’t think you’d still be here this late on Christmas. We missed you at the dinner.”

            “We’re close, André. So close. I couldn’t break my train of thought on this code,” Wes replies, his eyes never leaving his screen as he rapidly types. “This is too important.”

            “The files will still be here tomorrow. I know the nature of work, but the present is still important, too. When we first met, you didn’t strike me as someone who would just let life pass you by… Come on. Let me drive you home. You need rest.”

            “N-no. No, I’ll sleep here again. I’m all right. I’m just on the last sprint.”

            André sighs, comes closer to the desk, and tries to level with his partner. “Ever since you brought him in, you started changing more and more each day. He pushes you too hard. I don’t think it’s a good relationship. All he wants is to see you succeed, but you put enough pressure on yourself already. You’re always telling me you’re alone, and that your best days are long behind you, but I don’t think that’s true. At least, it wasn’t when we first met. There must be someone else out there who still cares about you.”

            Wes stops typing, and stares at his one remaining friend. “I can fix relationships later, when this is over. This has become my life’s work. I sold everything to help keep things funded, and got him to pitch in, too. Right now, I have nothing else. I need this.”

            André shakes his head and steps away. “I’m starting to regret this project. I never wanted to see it take over someone’s life. You worry me, and spend too much time…”

            “We’ll get it back. If we reach our full potential, we’ll free ourselves from time.”

            André leaves frame as Wes gets back to work—but he can still be heard saying, “You know that was never my intention. I only wanted to use it to share our stories.”

[Playback Ends]

            “Oh, great,” Wes groaned. “I sold everything to help pay for it? Actually… I really can picture myself doing that if I truly thought you could make a time device.”

            “I never learned that much about your personal or home life,” André said once the tablet was back in his hand. “But I did know that you sold a house, and at that point, I started worrying about you. You were practically leading the project by then, too.”

            “Who’s this other guy I ‘brought’ in?”

            André closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. “I’ve been trying to remember all day. My memory… isn’t what it used to be. And I only met him a few times.”

            “You have a bad memory?” Jace asked. “Is that why you won’t really recognize us when we run into you at the mall in 1995? Yeah… I realized that was you, too.”

            “What are you talking about, Jace?” Wes replied, confused.

            “The old guy—that was also André. He was, like… taking care of his kid self.”

            “Your nephew is correct again,” he confirmed. “Those new memories have hit me already, and stuck. In my later years, I will in fact become something of a guardian to… myself. My parents never wanted a child. They dumped me at my grandfather’s house, who, while a nice enough guy, didn’t exactly make for a good dad. My childhood lacked structure. Fortunately, he did have a library of books that kept me entertained.

            “I think it was a combination of several elements of my upbringing that led me to attempt to create a time machine. He was obsessed with time and space and taught me advanced physics at an early age. I read my share of Jules Verne and H.G. Wells, and my sheltered, lonely childhood made me interested in how other adults had grown up. I wanted to see their stories, of being a kid in the 80s and 90s; idolized years through the rough times of the 2020s and 2030s, and decades I felt like I largely missed myself.

            “I kept my project largely a secret, but if I could just get a device to view the past working, I figured I could advertise to wealthy clientele that would help pay for further developments. I did not want it in the hands of the government or military, out of fear for what it could lead to. At first, it was my obsession… Then I saw what it did to you.”

            “And how did you end up here? We still haven’t gotten to that.”

            André groaned and tapped his tablet. “This one may be tough to watch.”

            “Worse than that last one?” Wes replied as he was handed the device again.

            “… Let’s just say… that there was an unexpected temporal accident.”

4-16-2045 – 17:58:00 – Chronosphere Control Room, Camera K

            The command center is small, but filled to the brim with monitors, control dials, and levers. André is at the helm, looking through a thick, wide window into the unseen chamber beyond. Near him are two screens, displaying the chamber’s camera feeds.

            One monitor shows Wes’ face. He looks stricken by anxiety, and his hair is mostly gray. It’s obvious he hasn’t gotten much sleep. The other monitor’s camera is zoomed in on a chair in the center of the sphere, elevated on a sturdy metal pillar. The bridge that leads to it is almost done retracting, and the dozens of projection screens that form the planetarium-like chamber are coming to life, gradually filling it with light.

            “How are the power readings?” Wes asks over a speaker, his tone demanding.

            Checking over several systems at once, André replies, “They look good, but…”

            “No more hesitating. The last unmanned test run showed good results.”

            “We only recorded successful temporal flux. There’s no telling what will happen once someone’s mind is connected. We should at least start on a low power setting.”

            “I’ve devoted years of my life to this, and unless we max out our power, I’ll never get so much as a glimpse at the past. And, André… That’s all that’s left.”

            “That’s not true, my friend. Wes, before anything happens, we should just… talk.”

            “We’ll talk after this is over. Now—full power. I want to… ‘share my story.’”

            André is still reluctant, but he nevertheless taps on his screen and turns dials to get the machine going. Vibrations rattle the control room as bright light shines through the viewing window. The camera on Wes shows his excitement and his eyes grow wide.

            André reports, “Primary capacitors firing in three… two… one…”

            The chamber shakes, and the projection screens display flashing colors and static. Then, for a brief moment, they work together to form the image of a childhood home.

            “I can see it!” Wes shouts over the noise. “It’s real! It’s… It’s 1995… Oh…”

            “Power surge!” André frantically yells and attempts an emergency shutdown. “We have to abort. The chronometer is detecting a temporal leak! Wes!”

            “Mom…” Wes can be heard murmuring as his voice fades. “It’s Mom…”

            “Wes, nothing’s responding! You have to shut it down from your end! You—”

            A bright flash then blinds the recording camera.

 [Playback Continues]

            His hand trembling as he kept hold of the tablet, Wes watched the last seconds of the video in both wonder and shock. The date and time on the recording seemed to glitch as the video distorted into a total mess, with the year jumping back and forth. The event lasted several more seconds, at which point the bright light coming in from the chamber disappeared, the time code settled on 1975, and the control room power shut off—but had lasted just long enough to record André getting to his feet with a cough.

            “… So…” the in-person version of himself spoke a few moments after the video abruptly ended. “A ‘chronometer’ may just be a fancy title for a watch, but in my, or our lab, a key invention put into all of our hardware was a device that can read time itself. In other words, as you could see, it detected the year I was brought into after the accident.”

            “Accident…” Wes muttered as Jace took the tablet and replayed the video for his own curiosity. “What happened? Didn’t… my older self… get sent back with you?”

            “No.” André sighed. “The chamber itself disappeared, leaving only a big hole in the space it once occupied. It’s possible that while the lab was sent to the past, the chronosphere and… the older you, were perhaps sent to the future. But I can’t be sure. Of course, when the lab arrived in 1975, it lost its connection to a power source. I just barely managed to return to the surface with its backup generators.”

            “And then, after you realized your circumstances… You made a life for yourself in the past, and enough money to outbid others for a contract on the park, making sure you still had some control of the site and letting you conceal the lab…”

            André nodded. “Exactly. It’s all to get it back online. To give me a chance to get to you, or pull you back, or at least find out where you went, or send a message. You’re here now, but not as the person I knew, so I don’t yet know if it will work, but… Well, I’ll just show you.” He used a key to open up a desk drawer and took out a blueprint for the park’s drop tower, unrolling it for his guests. “My work has continued, even without my lab. If I can broadcast a signal through time, and create a gateway someone could step through, they might be able to navigate to any moment the signal can reach.”

            “You’ll succeed…” Wes told him as he looked at the white-on-blue sketch. “This answers a big mystery. It was you that made the door I stepped through to get to 1995.”

            “I… I see! Fascinating. You always did say that was your favorite year.”

            “It just came back online again in 1996, before we started jumping around.”

            “Hm. Maybe I’d try to limit its active time to reduce the chance of someone in the past using it by accident… What year did you first use the door?”

            “In 2020. I have no idea if it was running before then, or why it was the door for my pantry in the first place. It came with the apartment; it was always there.”

            “I can’t give you an answer, yet. Could be I’ll just want to give you a chance to return to that year, if you were lost in time. Now tell me—how’d you get here?”

            After taking a moment to think about the door, Wes placed the quartz on the desk for André to see. The inventor stared at it, poked it, and then handled it carefully.

            “This… is a time machine?” he wondered. “It’s… a pink crystal.”

            “It’s also broken. Is it something you might be able to make in the future?”

            “Oh, certainly not. I don’t have enough years in my life to even get close. But I am relieved to find out that I will get a chance to finish my own machine. I hope that somehow, it will help your other self return home, or prevent all of this from happening in the first place. I never should have let the project go as far as it did…”

            He handed the quartz back to Wes, who pocketed it and exhaled sharply. “Guess I expected you wouldn’t have any idea how to fix it. I’ll just… have to keep trying.”

            André returned his tablet to its safe. Then, after some hesitation, he took out a card made of titanium with an attached sticky note and gave it to Wes. “That’s your lab key, if you ever go back, or… wait around a while. You may find more answers down there, but don’t repeat our mistakes.”

            “Thanks…” Wes replied and slid the card in one of his jacket’s zipper pockets. “If I get a chance, I might see you again, maybe in a different year. You’re the only link I have to a strange future where this all began. I’m sure I’ll have more questions.”

            “Of course. As introspective, stubborn, and obsessive as you can be… or will be, you make for better company than Bartles, rich boy that he is. Hadron’s a riot, though. Did you know that he still helps organize the annual county fair? I enjoy his input and ideas for the park… Well.” André stood from his chair. “That’s enough, for now.”

            “André, one last thing… In 1992, your grandfather…”

            “He disappears. I know. I’ll find out why on my own. You already have enough on your plate.” He then shook Wes’ hand, and finished by saying, “It’s good to see you again, my friend. Just…” he looked at Jace, “don’t let yourself feel so alone again.”

            “Wes? You doing okay over there?” Jace asked hours later in the hotel room, as he sort-of-watched New Year’s Rockin’ Eve on the television at a low volume.

            His uncle was by the window, looking out at the buildings across a street that was dark and slick with melting snow, which reflected the warm iridescent lights and the neon signs. He was, not surprisingly, deeply contemplative about all they had learned.

            “What… kind of person did I become?” he muttered, his tone bordering on both anger and disappointment. “Is that what happens to me in another twenty-five years? I was… ‘alone.’ Did I do that to myself, or did everyone else just… do it to me?”

            “I don’t think either answer would be a good one… H-hey… Just look at it this way: you know, so you can stop it from happening. Right? It’s not too late.”

            “I hope you’re right. I never wanted to become… Zeff. Is that what my obsession with the past is gonna do to me? There’s one thing I didn’t want to get into with André, maybe because I was too scared to find out. His grandfather did slam a door in my face, but I didn’t mention that he also did apparently know who I was… somehow.”

            “Well, didn’t he mention meeting a time traveler? Maybe it will be… you.”

            “Augh, man, things just keep getting more complicated. And where did this older, different me even go? And then there’s just the fact… that there’s a future.”

            “Is that really so weird? I mean, the time cop guys had to come from somewhere.”

            “Yeah, I guess… But if there’s a future, then… when does the clock tick? Is our 2020 really not the present? Is there a present? Meeting André really messed me up.”

            “Don’t worry so much, Unk.” Jace went back to watching the New Year’s Eve celebration. “Maybe the present is a ‘state of mind.’ It’s whenever you want it to be.”

            “You precocious kid…” Wes sighed quietly. He took out the quartz and stared at its pink glow in his palm by the window. “Still… why did you bring us to this year?”

            “And just fifteen seconds from now, it’ll be 1990!” Dick Clark’s voice announced on the TV, as Wes began to scan upwards on his quartz, soaring through the years.

            1995, 1996… Past 2019 and 2020, and then beyond. Far beyond. Entire centuries went by. “In five, four, three, two, one…” came out of the TV as the ball dropped.

            The arrival of 1990 didn’t reach Wes’ ears, as he was transfixed on a crystal that had found a point from which there was no more beyond. It displayed the true present, and it was numbing. August 16^th, 2882 at 12:57, with seconds at one… two… three.