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Gerard's Joke
The fat man wearing the brown tweed suit did not look like a time traveler. I retracted my thumb as he pulled over and popped open the passenger door of his ugly green Mercedes. I climbed in, yanking on the tail of my German Army surplus overcoat so I wouldn't get caught when I slammed the door. My high-standing shock of blond hair swept the roof of the car.
I had just made a scene quitting my crummy job at Compu-World. My boss, Mr. Meckle, had caught me playing video games in the back long after my break was over. That was no big deal as he usually caught me once or twice a week. What had really gotten us pissed at each other was the big finger that had greeted him on his computer terminal when he booted up. It was big and blue and anatomically correct, with a very rude message EAT THIS, SUCKER in red text across the bottom of the screen. What was even funnier was that he couldn't get rid of it without trashing his hard disk since the program had embedded itself in the boot sector like a virus.
What wasn't funny was that he was convinced I had done it to him, right down to having eyewitnesses who swore that they had seen me install the thing.
Now, I enjoy a good laugh as much as the next guy, and being the most knowledgeable computer-hacker in the office at the time, I could have done it, but I hadn't. I didn't know what kind of game Beverly and Emil were playing at, those two backstabbing, cash-register-punching types that worked out on the showroom. They swore that they had caught me red-handed copying that disk into the machine, and I could do nothing but deny it. Soon the argument got ugly as Meckle insisted that I reload all his software on my own time, which would take several hours, and that I generally act like a whipped puppy. I had ended it by quitting, then thumbing a ride at the front of the store, just to annoy the management.
"I'm Gerard. Where to, friend?" asked the fat guy. He pulled the Mercedes into the traffic and gunned it to make a light. My head rocked back and I was surprised at the power of the car.
"I'm Ben Svenson. Head for the College, please," I told him in a sullen voice. I buried my hands into the pockets of my overcoat and tried to ignore my battleaxe earring that kept slipping loose and giving me hell. Meckle had called me the last punker on Earth. That had hurt a bit. I'm sure there were a few punks left in London, somewhere...
"You're a big kid, aren't you," commented Gerard. "You play football?"
"I used to," I grunted. "Look, I'm not in the mood for chatting."
"What's your trouble?"
"I've been having a hard time keeping a job, pops. Keep your eyes on the road, will you?"
He just smiled vaguely, like he knew something I didn't, and kept driving. He was a weirdo, I was already certain of that. I looked around the interior of the car and spotted a roll of breath mints on the dash. I grabbed them when Gerard's head was turned and was about to pop one in my mouth when he turned. I slid the roll into my overcoat pocket and sat back, figuring I would eat one and return the roll later. What happened next made me forget about them for a long time.
"Here she comes," he muttered, glancing at his rearview mirror. Without warning the fat guy stood on the accelerator and was weaving through traffic like a detective in a cop show. The engine roared like a 12-cylinder Ferrari.
"Hey man! You're really getting out of hand here!" I shouted in alarm. My fists came out of my pockets, and in reflex my hands planted themselves on the dash. We swerved to the right around a Honda, then pulled a squealing left, cutting across traffic to duck into a side street. I looked back and saw an ice-blue Porsche with a black-haired Asian-looking woman at the wheel right behind us. The custom plates read SYLS944.
"Let's pay the alimony, old man. She doesn't look that tough."
The man in the brown tweed stomped on the brakes, locked them and brought the car to a screeching halt. The front bumper was just kissing a row of garbage cans. He glanced into the rearview mirror and grinned.
"Looks like we have just enough time to do a fade on her." With practiced movements, he pulled out the cigarette lighter, touched the fleshy part of his left thumb to the cold coil and shoved it back into the dash. "She can't touch us now," he told me confidently.
My jaw sagged as I witnessed this bizarre little ritual. My right hand fumbled for the door latch. I was obviously riding with a complete loon.
Gerard paid no attention to me or the woman. She had stopped and was jogging toward us, her green blouse swaying nicely. Her long black hair almost reached the belt on her leather miniskirt. Something silvery flashed in her hand. A pistol?
Gerard turned to me, his face a hard mask. "If you ever see that chick again, run."
"A real nut-cutter, eh?" I said to humor the guy. My hand kept working the door handle. It seemed to be locked.
"The worst. If she catches me, she'll take me downtime and put me on a volcano ten seconds before it erupts." He chuckled at the thought.
I didn't know what the hell he was talking about, but I figured he was remarkably calm, considering that the woman had almost reached our car.
Then the cigarette lighter popped out and the scenery outside the car melted, shifting to an opaque gray. Silence fell; the only audible sound was the quiet purr of the car's engine. I grabbed two handfuls of brown tweed.
"What's going on?" I demanded, twisting my face into my best street-kid snarl.
Gerard pulled out the cigarette lighter and touched it to a filterless cigarette. The tip instantly glowed orange. He clamped it between his teeth and squinted as he drew in a lungful. "We're goin' for a ride," he said with a smile. "Want a smoke?"
I tried the door handle again, no luck.
"We're Time-trippin' boy. Next stop, Station Alt-17."
"What the hell does that mean?"
"It's a local Station for Midtime Earth. Alternate Universe 17. It's sort of a low-rent place."
Alt-17
After a few moments the windows cleared and there was reality outside again. A day-glow orange sign said: TIME STATION ALT-17.
"Hop out," suggested Gerard, talking around his cigarette riding on a fat lip.
I did. I wanted nothing more than to get out of that car. I turned around, trying to take it all in. I stood in the middle of an open area the size of a football stadium. There were shops lining the single street. Gerard had parked the Mercedes at the curb. At one end of the street was a run down looking diner, at the other was a brightly lit lot full of odd-looking machines. The sign read: USED TIME CRAFT - CHEAP.
What really struck me was the sky. It had a light gray hue shot through with a swirling vortex of brighter colors like slowly mixing paint. I gaped.
Behind me a car door slammed. I turned in time to see the ugly green Mercedes dissolve. The fresh dent that the front bumper had gotten from nudging the garbage cans blurred, then disappeared. I realized in shock that I was stranded. I stared at the spot where the car had been. Not a car, a time machine! A few oddly dressed people walked by, glanced at me, then looked away without showing interest.
To my credit, I didn't freak out entirely. I didn't pull out my hair or piss my pants or run around in circles screaming. I liked to think that I was too cool for that, too controlled. I hyperventilated a bit and stared a lot, but that's all.
"Is there a bus station around here, ah, back to Earth?" I asked a short pedestrian wearing a museum-piece Spanish conquistador outfit. The man stopped and put his hands on his hips above the first bulge of his exotic-looking pantaloons. I noted how close his hand was to the hilt of his ornate sword. "What you want, Anglais?"
"How do I get back to Earth? Is there a bus?"
"The stage only travels between stations. You have no timeship? Then you must purchase one. Good day." The Spaniard turned and continued walking, effectively ending the conversation.
With a snort, I turned and headed toward the used timeship lot at the far end of the dimension. A breeze came down out of the odd sky and ruffled my stiff hair, whipping the strap of my stone- gray wool overcoat. Overhead the garish orange flags decorating the lot snapped like plastic kites. My tiny battleaxe earring started bothering me again, so I pulled it off and tossed it away. It tinkled on the sidewalk and glittered back at me.
I walked onto the lot, dazed and probably looking like the perfect mark. Business looked a little slow and I was the only customer. The salesperson on duty was on me instantly, talking expansively and reaching to shake my hand. "Hi there! I'm Al Binz! What kind of vehicle are you looking for, sir?"
"I'm Ben. I need a time machine, I guess," I muttered lamely.
"Right! Ben, you've come to the best lot on this Alt! In fact," he leaned in and winked, "it's the only lot on the Alt!" he told me with a booming laugh. He wore an orange and black checkered sports jacket that matched his checkered slacks. His antique gold digital watch sparkled on his hairy wrist. Al Binz was a classic example of his breed.
I was expertly steered to a nearby vehicle and given the pitch. I nodded for full a minute, then interrupted to pop the magic question.
"How much?" Al repeated my question, blinking as if surprised. "A number, just a number. An E-Z credit payment. Let me show you this little honey over here."
I followed him to another machine, this one an oblong blue-and-white-checkered box about the size of a Holiday Inn double bed. The previous owner's greasy black handprint filled one white square just above the landing gear.
"Isn't this a beaut? Just over forty thousand years on her and a bargain price of only 26k teflons," the salesman told me with a glint in his eye to match the hard white shine of his surgically altered teeth. "Tell me, Ben, what would it take to get you to buy this spacer?"
I wondered how I had gotten into this. Right there, I swore off hitching rides for good. My thumb had taken me to many strange places, but Time Station Alt-17 was the prize winner.
"If you don't like the checkerboard effect," continued the salesman, misreading my expression, "we'll paint it for you, right here and now."
"How do you get in?" I asked skeptically. It wasn't cool, but I had decided to forget trying to hide my ignorance. In reply the salesman pressed one of the blue checks near the top and the thing folded apart like a camper-trailer. A seat cushion popped toward us and I caught it neatly.
"Reminds me of a toaster in a sitcom," I remarked, tossing the cushion back into the vehicle. I stared at the machine, digging my big hands deeply into my stone-gray overcoat. I shook my head. I couldn't believe I was about to buy a time machine. But I didn't feel like hitching another ride at random out of here. Depending on luck to get back to 20th century Earth did not appeal to me.
Catching my expression, Al steered me toward a much more interesting timeship. It was about the size and shape of an Italian sports car. It had two bulbous transparent canopies like dragonfly eyes in front and a rear door hatch that reminded me of a Mazda RX-7. There were tires on it and a triangular steering wheel. I nodded and grinned. Hey, I'd seen my share of movies. To me it looked the way a zippy little time machine/spacecraft ought to look.
"This is an alien model, built by the Kyg back in their Hives. We've been getting more and more of them these days. They're kinda small, but the quality is real good," Al remarked. "Here, climb in and try it out." He produced an odd-looking pear-shaped key and twisted it in a hidden lock. One of the clear bubble canopies popped up and slid away. Carefully, I folded myself in. The interior was larger than it looked, having room for two passengers and an emergency third in the back. I liked the idea of being able to see where you were going. Most of the box-like machines had no windows.
"To be honest, I don't really know the year-age on this, the dial reads in binary and says 17000 something, but 17000 what?"
"Can you drive it on the ground? You know, like a car?" I asked, getting a touch of new car fever.
"Yes, it's a multi-environment vehicle. Besides tripping, it's suitable for road, air, sea or space travel."
"Is there a manual with it?"
"Of course!" answered Al brightly, sensing a sale. "Written in pictures and logical symbols, the universal language."
I was sold. Buying a time machine was the neatest feeling of discovery and adventure I had felt since I found my parents' cache of Janis Joplin albums. After a quick spin around the station and numerous printings of my retina, thumb and tongue patterns, I was the proud owner of a Kyg timeship -- bought on 100% credit, of course.
The Repo-Men
I decided to stop off and get something to eat at a diner at the other end of Alt-17. After all, I had no idea how long it would take to find my way back to 20th century Earth. It was just after lunch here, as it had been back home, and I hadn't had anything to eat since that cup of OJ and an Egg Muffin this morning. I found an exchange office to get some local cash. The girl behind the counter smirked at my twenty-six greenbacks, but punched keys until a machine like the automatic change-makers they used to have at supermarkets, spit out thirteen small coins. I scooped them up, sure that the exchange rates were ruinous for me. The coins felt plastic and slippery, just as the name 'teflons' implied.
I pushed open the door, causing the little metal bell hung at the top to madly jangle. The diner was a dingy place filled with about fifteen dingy patrons. The peeling wallpaper depicted cartoon- like shooting stars and comets and the flooring was a dirty checkerboard of black and white asphalt tiles. I was starting to think that checkered patterns were a big thing on Alt-17. I also had the feeling that for the rest of the universe checkered patterns had gone out of style twenty years ago.
It was in the diner that I met the Asian woman that had been driving the ice blue 944 Porsche. Since the Porsche was sitting in the parking lot, it was obviously a disguised time machine like Gerard's Mercedes. I ignored Gerard's warning, as I couldn't come up with any reason why the woman should be after me. I didn't care if she was after him, all I owed Gerard was maybe a rabbit-punch for leaving me stranded here.
She was sitting on a stool at the counter and had her back turned as I came in. I took a moment to leer at her figure. In a sitting position, her black leather miniskirt had slipped even higher up her thighs. Her legs were revealed in all their shapely glory, and fine black hair flowed down the back of her green blouse all the way to her belt. It was there that my smile faded. On her belt I saw the unmistakable shape of a holstered weapon.
I took walked in, then frowned, considering Gerard's words and just how little I knew about this world and how it worked. Before I could make up my mind the woman turned. I decided to play it smooth and bluff it through. Trying not to look worried, I moved in and sat on a stool beside her.
"Hi, I'm Ben Svenson," I said, giving her a nonchalant nod. I reached for the menu, fortunately it seemed to be in English. "Nice skirt you've got there."
"I'm Sylvia," she said. Her smile was wintry and stern. It seemed likely that her background wasn't pure Asian, as her eyes were icy blue, matching the color of her Porsche. They narrowed as she recognized me, her hand slipping from her coffee cup to her weapon. "You were in a timeship with Gerard. Where is he?"
I gave her a disinterested shrug. "Sitting in his Mercedes somewhere in the cosmos, I imagine, smoking his cigarettes and chuckling about leaving me here. Say, are you by any chance a cop?"
"What's your connection with him?"
"I'm a hitch-hiker from the 20th century. He brought me here when you started chasing him, and dumped me. You definitely sound like a cop."
"I'm from U.P."
"What?"
"Universal Police. I'm investigating Gerard, he is a criminal. Why would he just pick you up off the street at random?"
"I knew it. I knew you were a cop." I grinned, inordinately pleased with myself because I could recognize occupational mannerisms even in this odd culture. Then my smile faded as she pulled out her gun and pointed it at me.
"What is your connection with Gerard?"
"I don't have any connection with him, I'm just a hitcher. Maybe he has a warped sense of humor, I don't know," I said, and pointed at her gun. "Looks like something straight out of a comic book."
"It's a pag, a particle acceleration gun. It fires monofilaments of plastic the size of needles."
"Doesn't sound too bad," I said doubtfully.
"It fires them at around thirty percent the speed of light. On impact the molecular distortion would blow you in half."
"Oh."
"Gerard does have a warped sense of humor, but there has to be more to it than that. You're under arrest," she added. I couldn't help admiring the way her lips parted as she said arrest.
"What? Wait a minute!" The pag was a big and vicious-looking thing. It had a black barrel that flared at the business end. "What's the charge?"
"Vagrancy."
"I'm not a vagrant! Look, I've got teflons," I said, pulling a handful of coins out of my overcoat. "And a Kyg time machine outside. In fact, I was about to order a ham sandwich here for ah, six teflons."
"Your story doesn't synch up. You said you hitched a ride here. Sounds like you're just another vagrant tripper to me."
"No, no. I have my own ship now."
"How did you get it?"
"Down on the lot..." I pointed vaguely down the street.
She waved her pag at me in disgust, making me nervous. "I know where. I mean how did you get the money?"
"I bought it on credit."
"Ha!" She laughed. "Bad move, tripper."
Her words worried me, but for a moment, with a smile on her face, she was one of the most beautiful women I had ever seen. Some women just light up when they smile, and she was one of them. Then her eyes hardened and she was all cop. "It doesn't matter. You're under arrest for trying to bribe an officer, then. Let's go."
I followed her gaze down to the shiny teflons in my proffered palm. I realized that she would sock me one if I resisted and then ticket me for spitting blood on the sidewalk. I got up and headed for the door, hearing her heels click on the asphalt tiles as she followed. I began to regret not taking Gerard's advice concerning Sylvia.
In the parking lot, I was trying to figure out if I should try to escape or not. It didn't seem like the best idea as long as she had that blaster aimed at my back. Then I saw a little guy crouching between our two vehicles.
"Hey scum, get away from my car!" I realized after I shouted that he was trying to break into Sylvia's vehicle, not mine, and that neither machine was exactly a car. The thief seemed to understand what I meant and sprang over the hood of the Porsche, making a run for it. I rushed him, deciding to take him apart. As I've said before, I am a fairly large guy who's big on football and I tend toward the physical in situations like these. The thief looked quite short and I figured that I could handle him, especially with Sylvia's blaster to back me up.
"Freeze! Both of you freeze!" Sylvia was shouting.
"I'll get him!" I replied, thinking that the whole thing might give me a chance to reverse things on her, too.
I followed the thief over the Porsche and threw my arms out for a classic body-tackle, planning to take him down and land on him with all my weight. Before I could sack this quarterback, he surprised me by aiming a penlight at my legs and zapping me with it. The tip glowed faintly and my left knee was gone, totally numb and limp. It was too late to stop my tackle and we went down in a heap. I managed to crunch him pretty good despite my leg. I got a closeup of his face and he flashed me a nasty rat-faced snarl that was not more than half-human.
Sylvia was suddenly wrapped in a fur blanket of stinking hairy arms. She screamed and her gun went off with an odd, whooshing sound that I later learned was the sound of her Porsche vaporizing.
"Sam! I got the bitch, Sam!" whooped the huge hairy guy that had grabbed her.
"You got the Porsche too, you brain-dead ape!" rat-face snarled back. I held his wrist so he couldn't zap me again, but the numb sensation was crawling up to my hip and I took a look just to be sure that there was still a leg down there.
Sylvia did something dirty to the ape-man, who grunted in a way that made me feel just a touch sorry for him. Her gun went skittering across the parking lot. Then rat-face sunk his teeth in my wrist and I let go of him, punching him one in the ribs. He and his partner retreated across the lot and climbed into a machine that looked like a big gray van, but didn't have any wheels. Instead, it rested on skids like a sleigh. Two seconds later it dissolved and Sylvia and I were alone.
She retrieved her gun and after a moment's indecision, holstered it. It was obvious that I wasn't going anywhere. I couldn't stand up.
"Who were those guys? What did they do to my leg?"
"Nerve lance," she said. She was holding her arm down and straight, as though it was injured. Her hair was tousled and hanging into her face, and somehow it made her even prettier. She seemed more human. "It wears off after awhile."
"Who were they?" I asked again.
"The smaller one was a mutant from uptime. I've seen him before. The big one was a genuine downtime primitive, I think. They were after my vehicle."
"I knew that much."
"They're from the credit agency. Gerard froze my account and stopped making payments on my car."
"You mean those thugs were repo-men?" I asked.
"Yeah."