A Collision In Time

Boston has opened and kept open, more turnpikes that lead straight to free thought and free speech and free deeds than any other city of live or dead men.

– Oliver Wendell Holmes, poet, physician, and polymath (1809–94)

September 20, 2027, Boston, USA

Somehow the tea tasted different, more enjoyable. Dov sipped her cup of masala, sitting on the apartment’s front steps pressed close to Cara, enjoying the warmth of her body. In the distance birds sang, children argued, and nearby, a motorcycle revved its engine.

“It’s so peaceful,” Dov said.

“Not what you would’ve said a couple of months ago,” said Cara. She smiled. “How context shifts, eh Dov?”

Dov had returned to her Pachamama tones of olive skin and light brown eyes. She nodded. “I know, I barely recognize my thoughts. Indeed, perspective is everything.”

The door opened behind them. “Would you like some breakfast?” Uriel asked. “Emerson is awake and helping himself.”

Cara stood. “Absolutely.” She began to enter her apartment, but Dov didn’t follow. “You coming?”

“In a few minutes.”

Cara grinned as she closed the door, following Uriel. “She is growing up, Uriel.”

* * *

Dov skipped lightly down the apartment steps. She strolled uncaring, impulsively, and navigated random lefts or rights depending upon her mood and level of interest in what lay ahead—the directions mattered not. She wandered, lost in her thoughts. Eventually she found a bench to rest on and watched the swan boats at the Boston Public Garden.

At the pond, a father helped his young son launch a pedal boat. Each time the boy shifted, new currents rippled out along the surface of the pond. Dov studied the movement of the water. Ultimately, the little boy cried out, changing his mind. Frustrated, his dad lifted him from the boat. The ripples subsided. Dov leapt from the bench and hurried back to see Cara and Uriel, this time walking the shortest path possible.

* * *

Later that morning Uriel, Emerson, Dov, and Cara sauntered along the river next to the MIT Campus. The physics building teemed with firefighters, policemen, and workmen clearing the rubble.

“What a fucking mess,” said Emerson.

“They visually identified the man who ran from the building,” remarked Uriel. “There have been notifications in all the media.”

“Asmodi?” asked Dov.

“Yes. But of course they have no name, only video evidence. A manhunt is underway.”

“Good luck with that,” said Cara. “One can only hope he is far away. Possibly he’s dead, drowned.”

“I doubt he drowned,” said Emerson. “He is a sorcerer. He would have whisked away at the first signs of danger.”

“Agreed,” Dov said. “Like his brother, who had the ability to manifest wormholes when necessary. But the question is where, or when, did he escape to?”

“Perhaps Arion knows,” suggested Dov, a hopeful note in her voice.

“Yes, perhaps,” agreed Cara.

“To be honest, I would rather we not talk about him, if you don’t mind.” Dov watched a mallard glide onto the Charles River. She changed the conversation. “Cara, do you remember where we went for pizza after I first arrived?”

“Of course, Regina’s.”

“Can we go tonight? Em, would you mind if—”

Emerson interrupted. “You two go enjoy yourselves. This morning Uriel told me about an awesome Chinese food restaurant and will help me order. I am looking forward to trying new food.”

Cara smiled and punched Emerson on the shoulder. “There is hope for you yet, Em.”

The pair arrived early for dinner and chose the same table where they had first dined. The same waiter appeared to take their drink order. “Back again so soon? Welcome. If I recall from last week, a bottle of Cab Sav, Chilean, I think?”

“Yes, that’s wonderful,” said Dov. “You have a great memory.”

The waiter grinned. “Thank you. But I did forget your pizza order—my apologies.”

“Neapolitan,” said Cara, adding, “if you like, Dov?”

“Perfect.”

Cara laughed as the waiter moved away. “The last time we shared wine was five thousand years ago, and it feels like a lifetime since we were last here.”

Dov smiled. “The wine here is so much better.”

“Indeed.” She touched Dov’s arm. “I can tell you have been in deep thought this afternoon.”

“I have been.” Dov paused as the waiter brought the wine. “I wanted to discuss this with you, away from Uriel. Not that I wish to hide anything from him, but I needed to hear your thoughts. As my partner.”

“I’m flattered; thank you. So?”

Dov poured herself some wine. “I’ve realized how little we still understand the physics of time travel, and I had an epiphany this morning during my walk.”

“Go on.”

“Time is much more malleable than we think. Look around. By all accounts, the entire world should be different today, yet we sit here about to enjoy the same wine and pizza at this same restaurant. Things should be in chaos now. I used to teach my students that the time-wave was like an endless quiet lake that the universe floated on, stretching forever in time and space. That if we create whirlpools then it’s just a matter of time until we feel its currents.”

“Or maybe…” Cara paused, thinking. “Maybe it’s more like we created a space-time portal that connects time-wave lakes. Like time tunnels?”

“Interesting,” said Dov. “It’s not a new idea, however, Dr. Zitkala-Sa.”

“Okay…?”

Dov laughed. “In fact it’s your idea. Some of your later work in fact shifted away from physics toward philosophy.”

Cara joined in her laughter. “Yes, interesting. Maybe I’m smarter than I look.”

“Perhaps Pachamama’s future is sailing on a different lake than this?” Dov asked.

“I like your metaphor. Stay in Boston, Dov. We can work together and study this. What do you think?”

“Maybe it was meant to be this way all along. Funny, I just had an interesting thought. What if, when I studied the work of Professor Cara Zitkala-Sa in Pachamama, in reality, I studied our work?”

“Maybe, but that implies that Pachamama still exists.”

Dov sipped her wine in thought. She put down her glass. “It does, Cara. I know it.”

The pizza arrived and interrupted the conversation. Dov helped herself to a large slice.

Switching on her phone, Cara pointed the screen to Dov. “Look here—it’s our friend Kushim. His Wikipedia page, of course, has no photo of him.”

“What does it say?” asked Dov.

“They found a pottery tablet that credits his work on the first axle cart and systems of accounting.”

Dov laughed, nearly losing the wine she had just sipped on. “Holy fuck, I can’t believe it.”

“Oh, your mouth,” exclaimed Cara. “I do apologize, my influence is terrible.”

Dov shook her head. “I am changing, Cara. It’s nothing to do with you, so apology not accepted.” She laughed and helped herself to another slice of pizza. “This is delicious.” She grinned. “And, yes I will stay, at least until we can rebuild Ariel, which will take a long time.”

“Thank you. We will do great things together.”

“We will indeed.”

Cara tapped on her phone. “Also, I found a lot of references to the flood; in fact, even referenced in the Bible. Noah is mentioned there as well.”

“And this is new?” asked Dov. “It wasn’t in the Bible earlier?”

“No, trust me. I studied the Book of Genesis, both as a kid and later as part of my Religious Study courses in college. There was no flood, no mention of the ark. In fact, it seems that there is consensus amongst archeologists that the flood event may have occurred in Mesopotamia.”

“Yet, here we are eating pizza at Regina’s both pre- and post-history,” said Dov.

“More evidence,” Cara added, “that we have some thinking to do about the interactions of time-wave ripples.” She split the remaining wine between her and Dov. “And what about Arion and Asmodi?”

“I have a feeling,” said Dov, “that we may not have seen the last of either.”

Cara raised her glass. “To the new time warriors.”

* * *

Arion knelt on a bamboo mat set on a sandy beach in front of the Grand Waterfall. The water fell from the sky, too tall to discern its source. He rose from the mat and moved into the falling water. Like curtains, the water parted to let him pass without getting wet. On the other side, a meadow lay before him. Red, yellow, and white wildflowers carpeted the ground. A dozen steps in, three familiar characters picnicked on a blanket. Arion approached them.

A smiling face glanced up. “Greetings, Arion. Please join us.”

“Asmodi. The rumors are true, I see.”

“What else was I to do, Arion, drown? Incidentally, the flood idea—how clever. My congratulations.”

Lexus reached forward and massaged Asmodi’s shoulders. He leaned back into her.

Arion ignored the remark. “You are now banned from traveling, brother. You will remain under watch for a long time.”

“Yes, I heard. No matter.”

“And you will not be able to escape.”

“I have everything I need, brother. Why would I want to?”

Arion shook his head and exited through the waterfall.

* * *

Alad titled his head in curiosity, wondering what the scraping noise he heard in the distance was. He dropped his tools and walked away from the partially built home he was helping to construct.

His father approached, pulling an interesting looking sledge toward him. Alad had no name to describe it. Kushim pulled a small platform set atop a horizontal wooden rod, with pottery wheels on either end of it. The platform carried mud bricks. “Look at how many more bricks I can transport,” said his father.

“You are so inventive,” said Alad. “What do you call it?”

“This is a wheeled sledge,” Kushim said. “To be honest I got the idea from the strangers who visited. From the man called Emerson.”

“This will change how fast we rebuild.” Alad laughed.

“This will change history,” claimed Kushim. “Come, let’s get to work.”