Robert M. Blevins
Adventure Books
A Question Of Balance
Craig Martin stared at the tape skeptically. "A dog. You say this film was shot by a dog?"
Daly shrugged. "Yes. I outfitted Gertrude with a special collar to hold the mini-cam. She was actually in 1990 for almost five minutes. I think she was being chased. She was able to escape just long enough until I could bring her back. I trained her well."
"I don’t understand. Why was she being chased?"
Dr. Daly smiled. "Probably because she appeared out of a flash of blue light in the middle of downtown Seattle at rush hour. It was bound to draw some attention."
"I guess so,” said Martin dryly. He knew Carson Daly. The man was brilliant, on the edge, and probably now a certifiable lunatic. Craig Martin didn’t believe a single word. “I'd like to see this tape."
"Who wouldn't?" Daly opened the plastic case and carefully inserted the tape into a camcorder sitting on his desk. The camcorder was already connected to a small TV. He switched the TV on and started the tape.
Craig Martin was a full professor of physics at the University of Washington, with several published papers to his credit. This has to be a hoax, he thought. However, if the tape were genuine, everything he had believed about the universe would crumble like a sand castle at high tide. The rulebook would have to be rewritten. Not a chance, he thought. Anyone can make a movie. A tape can't prove Dr. Daly actually sent a dog 35 years back in time for five minutes. No way, he thought.
The first image that appeared was the smiling face of Daly, checking the dog, and speaking into the camera. "For the record, this is Test 44 of the Displacement-Wave Generator, a device that can theoretically open a door for time-travel either to the future or the past." He patted the stocky German shepherd casually and stroked its back. The dog nuzzled his hand warmly in response. "Gertrude will carry a high-resolution video camera. Her science package also includes an air sampler, and sensors for recording environmental data. From this information and images from the video camera, we can verify her position in time, and see if the system works."
Professor Martin watched in both horror and fascination as Dr. Daly led the dog to a coffin-shaped metal box. The box was smooth and shiny and without windows. Daly opened a door on top of the box, lowered the dog inside, and closed the door. The picture went black for nearly a minute. Martin heard sounds of whimpering; a plaintive cry from the animal, and nothing more.
Martin almost fell from his chair in shock. A solid blue flickering light filled the screen, coupled with extremely loud crackling that made him cover his ears. The image cleared and suddenly it was like watching some old movie, except it seemed too real. The image bounced from side-to-side as the camera-equipped dog started running through the streets of downtown Seattle. Martin knew Seattle like a truck driver knows a map of the interstate. "He's near the waterfront," he mumbled, not knowing whether to believe his eyes. It looked like Seattle, circa 1990, all right. The ancient SUV gas-guzzlers, the dated wardrobes of numerous people who were pointing to the camera and shouting things, were fascinating. The film was disjointed and dizzying. It couldn't be real. Was that the Pike Place Market before the 2023 remodeling he was seeing now?
Daly suddenly froze the image with his remote. "See that?" He pointed to the background in the picture.
Martin shrugged. "A news kiosk. You’re pointing to the kiosk. Can’t get much detail there. You faked this footage, admit it.”
"Really? Watch this." Dr. Daly clicked the remote again, automatically sending the frozen image to his computer. In a moment, the newspaper kiosk down on Second Street and Pike appeared clearly, and blown up to many times its original size. The newspapers displayed out front were plainly visible, along with their headline for the day. Martin could not read all of it, but he saw the words 'Desert Storm.'
"It works, Craig. The film isn't the only proof. The environmental readings, the air sample, they all matched Seattle of 1990. I've analyzed hundreds of individual images from the tape, and there is absolutely no doubt that Gertrude visited 1990 for five minutes."
"What happened to the dog?"
"She's napping in the next room. You can check her yourself. She's completely healthy."
Martin stared at a nearby wall, dumbfounded. Either Carson Daly was a genius, or a con man. "Okay," he said slowly, holding up a hand. "Let's just say that all this equipment in your little home lab is what you describe, and that it works. Why me? Why tell me."
"I asked you to come because I need you. I don't care if you believe in the system, but I need help."
"What kind of help?" asked Martin suspiciously.
"I want you to help me to go back to 1990. I have something to do there that is very important to me. I can do it alone, but using an auto-program is risky. If something went wrong…"
Martin pursed his lips and quickly considered the options. If Carson Daly killed himself in some half-baked time travel experiment, could he be held responsible? Maybe. However, his mind was spinning with all the possibilities. Martin was suddenly overwhelmed with a desire to believe-and to see more. "I'll do it," he said firmly, sticking out his hand.
An hour later, fifty-two year old Carson Daly lay prone inside the Field Generator box. He had changed out of his sterile lab whites and into a plain brown T-shirt and jeans. It was completely dark in the metal box and the air was growing stale. Daly tried to remain calm. He had instructed Dr. Martin thoroughly on how to set the programming and activate the equipment. The length of time the field remained active determined the traveler's placement in the past.
Meanwhile, nothing was happening. What was the delay? If Martin ran into a glitch, he was supposed to open the box so Daly could work on the problem. It had been over two minutes now. Daly made a fist and raised it to pound on the lid of the box...
A terrible full-body pain and a blinding blue flash wrenched him violently. He shut his eyes instinctively. His stomach retched and he felt electricity tearing through his body. Daly opened his eyes and became aware that he was now sitting up against a fence on a quiet residential street. Looking around furtively, he was relieved to see no one was around now. He was in a neighborhood of nondescript tract homes with lots of trees up and down both sides of the street.
I did it, he thought. This is the place. The memories returned in a flood. This time it was going to be different. In this very spot, Carson Daly's life had gone from happy student, to guilt-ridden, unhappy, and plain miserable. The worst part was that it had been his own stupid fault. That’s going to end right now, he thought.
It was time to save the princess from the dragon.
Daly removed an object from his pocket and weighed it in his hand. It was a brand-new baseball, actually, it was an old baseball from 1990 he had purchased at a sports shop. When Martin had questioned him about it, Daly just smiled. He stood up and walked to the corner of the street, waiting patiently near the crosswalk.
A small sports car came roaring up the street at something far above the speed limit, its tires squealing. Daly cocked his arm and hurled the ball directly at the car's windshield. It shattered the passenger window and the car screeched to a sudden halt about halfway up the next block. The driver, a young man with a mustache and a purple college sweater, leaped out of the vehicle and looked around angrily for the culprit.
Daly stood perfectly still. The young man finally noticed the gray-haired old coot staring in his direction, but couldn't believe it was he who had trashed his window. The driver continued glancing around the local neighborhood to see if some kids were playing baseball. It was quiet as a church. Walking around to the other side of his car, he reached inside and tossed the ball casually into the street. After a few seconds he gave up and climbed back into his car, driving away.
That should do it, Dr. Daly thought. At last…peace.
A few moments later, he was torn away with a gut-wrenching pain, spinning dizzily, feeling somehow outside himself. He threw up his hands in the darkness and the lid of the Wave Generating box flew open, flooding in light and the familiarity of his lab. He scrambled up and out of the box and saw Craig Martin studying him with a strange mixture of sadness and pity.
Martin shrugged. He held his head with both hands, as if he were trying to burst it like a ripe tomato. He was aghast. "What did you do? I have this strange memory of coming here, but it's getting confused. I guess you can change history, and somehow you did.” He shook his head in disbelief. “What’s going on? I just remembered something. You died years ago, Craig. For the last minute, things around this lab have been vanishing. I think they belonged to you…personal things."
As Carson Daly tried to comprehend what Martin was saying, he saw the Wave Generator, along with all its peripherals, simply disappear into thin air. He looked down at his hand. He could see right through it to the floor. "What's happening to me?" He whispered, terrified to his bones.
"What exactly did you do back in 1990?"
"I…I once had this accident. I was speeding on my way to classes, and I ran over a little girl in the street.” Daly's voice choked. "She was killed. I lied to the police and since there were no witnesses, they eventually ruled it an accident. I’ve had to live with that day my whole life. So, I went back and stopped myself from doing it."
"I never heard about any accident. You were killed by a truck running a red light back in 1990. My memory of it is becoming clearer now.” More equipment from the lab evaporated, and a few seconds later the lab simply changed into someone's empty basement.
"The delay…" Daly whispered, “from breaking the car window.” Everything around him grew dim. "It must have worked. I don’t have any more memory of the accident. But..yes...something else happened that day."
No one will ever believe this, Martin thought. Even Gertrude the dog, who had been sitting quietly in the corner, evaporated. "Yes, you probably succeeded in stopping yourself from killing that girl in an accident. Then you got into another one only a few blocks away, unfortunately. You…you changed everything. Maybe it was just a question of balance." A strange feeling washed through Martin, as if someone was reaching into his mind with a cosmic eraser. He shook his head again to clear it, without success.
Daly faded away to a shadow with an expression of peace on his face. A moment later, he was gone.
Professor Martin looked around the empty basement in puzzlement. How had he gotten here? Why was he here in the first place? He had no clue.
The End
Does this piece ‘work’ at all? I was wondering about the speech tags and the flow of the story.
Robert M. Blevins
Dr. Carson Daly held up the camcorder tape between his fingers reverently, as if it were the very bones of a saint, and showed it to the man who sat calmly on the other side of his desk. "You asked for proof," Daly said quietly. "This is proof that it works."
Craig Martin stared at the tape skeptically. "A dog. You say this film was shot by a dog?"
Daly shrugged. "Yes. I outfitted Gertrude with a special collar to hold the mini-cam. She was actually in 1990 for almost five minutes. I think she was being chased. She was able to escape just long enough until I could bring her back. I trained her well."
"I don’t understand. Why was she being chased?"
Dr. Daly smiled. "Probably because she appeared out of a flash of blue light in the middle of downtown Seattle at rush hour. It was bound to draw some attention."
"I guess so,” said Martin dryly. He knew Carson Daly. The man was brilliant, on the edge, and probably now a certifiable lunatic. Craig Martin didn’t believe a single word. “I'd like to see this tape."
"Who wouldn't?" Daly opened the plastic case and carefully inserted the tape into a camcorder sitting on his desk. The camcorder was already connected to a small TV. He switched the TV on and started the tape.
Craig Martin was a full professor of physics at the University of Washington, with several published papers to his credit. This has to be a hoax, he thought. However, if the tape were genuine, everything he had believed about the universe would crumble like a sand castle at high tide. The rulebook would have to be rewritten. Not a chance, he thought. Anyone can make a movie. A tape can't prove Dr. Daly actually sent a dog 35 years back in time for five minutes. No way, he thought.
The first image that appeared was the smiling face of Daly, checking the dog, and speaking into the camera. "For the record, this is Test 44 of the Displacement-Wave Generator, a device that can theoretically open a door for time-travel either to the future or the past." He patted the stocky German shepherd casually and stroked its back. The dog nuzzled his hand warmly in response. "Gertrude will carry a high-resolution video camera. Her science package also includes an air sampler, and sensors for recording environmental data. From this information and images from the video camera, we can verify her position in time, and see if the system works."
Professor Martin watched in both horror and fascination as Dr. Daly led the dog to a coffin-shaped metal box. The box was smooth and shiny and without windows. Daly opened a door on top of the box, lowered the dog inside, and closed the door. The picture went black for nearly a minute. Martin heard sounds of whimpering; a plaintive cry from the animal, and nothing more.
Martin almost fell from his chair in shock. A solid blue flickering light filled the screen, coupled with extremely loud crackling that made him cover his ears. The image cleared and suddenly it was like watching some old movie, except it seemed too real. The image bounced from side-to-side as the camera-equipped dog started running through the streets of downtown Seattle. Martin knew Seattle like a truck driver knows a map of the interstate. "He's near the waterfront," he mumbled, not knowing whether to believe his eyes. It looked like Seattle, circa 1990, all right. The ancient SUV gas-guzzlers, the dated wardrobes of numerous people who were pointing to the camera and shouting things, were fascinating. The film was disjointed and dizzying. It couldn't be real. Was that the Pike Place Market before the 2023 remodeling he was seeing now?
Daly suddenly froze the image with his remote. "See that?" He pointed to the background in the picture.
Martin shrugged. "A news kiosk. You’re pointing to the kiosk. Can’t get much detail there. You faked this footage, admit it.”
"Really? Watch this." Dr. Daly clicked the remote again, automatically sending the frozen image to his computer. In a moment, the newspaper kiosk down on Second Street and Pike appeared clearly, and blown up to many times its original size. The newspapers displayed out front were plainly visible, along with their headline for the day. Martin could not read all of it, but he saw the words 'Desert Storm.'
"It works, Craig. The film isn't the only proof. The environmental readings, the air sample, they all matched Seattle of 1990. I've analyzed hundreds of individual images from the tape, and there is absolutely no doubt that Gertrude visited 1990 for five minutes."
"What happened to the dog?"
"She's napping in the next room. You can check her yourself. She's completely healthy."
Martin stared at a nearby wall, dumbfounded. Either Carson Daly was a genius, or a con man. "Okay," he said slowly, holding up a hand. "Let's just say that all this equipment in your little home lab is what you describe, and that it works. Why me? Why tell me."
"I asked you to come because I need you. I don't care if you believe in the system, but I need help."
"What kind of help?" asked Martin suspiciously.
"I want you to help me to go back to 1990. I have something to do there that is very important to me. I can do it alone, but using an auto-program is risky. If something went wrong…"
Martin pursed his lips and quickly considered the options. If Carson Daly killed himself in some half-baked time travel experiment, could he be held responsible? Maybe. However, his mind was spinning with all the possibilities. Martin was suddenly overwhelmed with a desire to believe-and to see more. "I'll do it," he said firmly, sticking out his hand.
An hour later, fifty-two year old Carson Daly lay prone inside the Field Generator box. He had changed out of his sterile lab whites and into a plain brown T-shirt and jeans. It was completely dark in the metal box and the air was growing stale. Daly tried to remain calm. He had instructed Dr. Martin thoroughly on how to set the programming and activate the equipment. The length of time the field remained active determined the traveler's placement in the past.
Meanwhile, nothing was happening. What was the delay? If Martin ran into a glitch, he was supposed to open the box so Daly could work on the problem. It had been over two minutes now. Daly made a fist and raised it to pound on the lid of the box...
A terrible full-body pain and a blinding blue flash wrenched him violently. He shut his eyes instinctively. His stomach retched and he felt electricity tearing through his body. Daly opened his eyes and became aware that he was now sitting up against a fence on a quiet residential street. Looking around furtively, he was relieved to see no one was around now. He was in a neighborhood of nondescript tract homes with lots of trees up and down both sides of the street.
I did it, he thought. This is the place. The memories returned in a flood. This time it was going to be different. In this very spot, Carson Daly's life had gone from happy student, to guilt-ridden, unhappy, and plain miserable. The worst part was that it had been his own stupid fault. That’s going to end right now, he thought.
It was time to save the princess from the dragon.
Daly removed an object from his pocket and weighed it in his hand. It was a brand-new baseball, actually, it was an old baseball from 1990 he had purchased at a sports shop. When Martin had questioned him about it, Daly just smiled. He stood up and walked to the corner of the street, waiting patiently near the crosswalk.
A small sports car came roaring up the street at something far above the speed limit, its tires squealing. Daly cocked his arm and hurled the ball directly at the car's windshield. It shattered the passenger window and the car screeched to a sudden halt about halfway up the next block. The driver, a young man with a mustache and a purple college sweater, leaped out of the vehicle and looked around angrily for the culprit.
Daly stood perfectly still. The young man finally noticed the gray-haired old coot staring in his direction, but couldn't believe it was he who had trashed his window. The driver continued glancing around the local neighborhood to see if some kids were playing baseball. It was quiet as a church. Walking around to the other side of his car, he reached inside and tossed the ball casually into the street. After a few seconds he gave up and climbed back into his car, driving away.
That should do it, Dr. Daly thought. At last…peace.
A few moments later, he was torn away with a gut-wrenching pain, spinning dizzily, feeling somehow outside himself. He threw up his hands in the darkness and the lid of the Wave Generating box flew open, flooding in light and the familiarity of his lab. He scrambled up and out of the box and saw Craig Martin studying him with a strange mixture of sadness and pity.
Martin shrugged. He held his head with both hands, as if he were trying to burst it like a ripe tomato. He was aghast. "What did you do? I have this strange memory of coming here, but it's getting confused. I guess you can change history, and somehow you did.” He shook his head in disbelief. “What’s going on? I just remembered something. You died years ago, Craig. For the last minute, things around this lab have been vanishing. I think they belonged to you…personal things."
As Carson Daly tried to comprehend what Martin was saying, he saw the Wave Generator, along with all its peripherals, simply disappear into thin air. He looked down at his hand. He could see right through it to the floor. "What's happening to me?" He whispered, terrified to his bones.
"What exactly did you do back in 1990?"
"I…I once had this accident. I was speeding on my way to classes, and I ran over a little girl in the street.” Daly's voice choked. "She was killed. I lied to the police and since there were no witnesses, they eventually ruled it an accident. I’ve had to live with that day my whole life. So, I went back and stopped myself from doing it."
"I never heard about any accident. You were killed by a truck running a red light back in 1990. My memory of it is becoming clearer now.” More equipment from the lab evaporated, and a few seconds later the lab simply changed into someone's empty basement.
"The delay…" Daly whispered, “from breaking the car window.” Everything around him grew dim. "It must have worked. I don’t have any more memory of the accident. But..yes...something else happened that day."
No one will ever believe this, Martin thought. Even Gertrude the dog, who had been sitting quietly in the corner, evaporated. "Yes, you probably succeeded in stopping yourself from killing that girl in an accident. Then you got into another one only a few blocks away, unfortunately. You…you changed everything. Maybe it was just a question of balance." A strange feeling washed through Martin, as if someone was reaching into his mind with a cosmic eraser. He shook his head again to clear it, without success.
Daly faded away to a shadow with an expression of peace on his face. A moment later, he was gone.
Professor Martin looked around the empty basement in puzzlement. How had he gotten here? Why was he here in the first place? He had no clue.
The End
Does this piece ‘work’ at all? I was wondering about the speech tags and the flow of the story.
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