Precognition

[El Stormo]

“Shh! It’s almost on!” Pete hissed. He was completely agitated. And all about some stupid device he had made. Gary had laughed when he heard what it was supposed to do, but Pete said he’d prove it. Now, Pete had always been a bit of a ‘mad scientist’, and was even regarded as such by his fellow professors at the university where he taught, but as a physicist, Peter Tipton was unequalled, especially in the field of temporal physics.

Tipton studied time and its implications and limitations, trying to manipulate it or bend it ever so slightly. He’d even gotten a national award once, for proving that time progressed slower for some organisms than for others, something which had been merely an assumption before. But the device he’d made, he claimed, could actually make the user take small leaps forward in time. Gary Bruett thought that the only way to accomplish that was by sleeping.

Of course, as a landscaper, Gary wasn’t very knowledgeable in the field of physics, and whenever his neighbour started explaining some obscure theory, he had to tell Tipton to calm down, because he didn’t understand one whit. The expression on Tipton’s face had always been one of disappointment because he couldn’t share his visions, but never one of disdain. That’s what Gary had always liked about Pete Tipton. He wasn’t one of those boasters who felt that anyone who didn’t wear a lab coat was only good for experimenting on.

In fact, Gary had never known a scientist who was as ‘normal’ as Tipton. Because apart from the occasional getting-carried-awayness, Tipton was like any old American father of two. He often came over to Gary’s house for beers and to watch tennis on the TV, a sport they both adored. Tipton would always laugh at the referees, especially the way they implored for silence. “Merci”. He had found saying ‘thank you’ a completely idiotic way to ask people to be quiet. He always said that it was “typical for those snail-eating French to be too stuck up to ask for people to shut their mouths”. And of course, he’d always comment on the “asses on those hot Russian babes” and on how “fuckable” those blondes were. His wife was never around when he made those comments, and Gary knew better than to repeat them to her. He knew how harmless those types of remarks were. Hell, he made them all the time too.

And it was by watching tennis with his neighbour that Tipton would prove it – ‘it’ being that he could actually take small leaps forward in time. He’d predict the outcome of the match: 6-4, 3-6, 6-2 for Pierce in the semi-finals against Capriati. Right now, the camera was on Capriati, warming up by jumping up and down. Gary wished that female tennis players had bigger boobs at times like these. Pete, for once, wasn’t commenting on Capriati’s “guy-arms”. He was leaned over, as if he wanted to will the screen to display the scores he’d predicted. Fat chance, Gary thought. He’d probably dreamt it all.

Pete remained silent during the entire set, and when Pierce aced the last serve and brought the score to 6-4, he smacked his fist into his palm. “Haha! See?!”
“Doesn’t prove anything,” Gary replied calmly, emptying his second can of beer. Pete hadn’t even touched his. “Could’ve just gotten lucky.”
Pete rolled his eyes. “Next set, 3-6. You’ll see.”

Capriati broke early in the game, and dominated the next set. Pierce only managed three games, and Capriati lobbed the ball over Pierce to end the set at 3-6.

“You lucky bastard,” Gary said with a sneer, though he was wondering. Crazy bastard might actually be right. But still, probably a fluke. Pete was getting more and more excited. “Lucky, my ass, Gare! Jenny’s for the chop now. 6-2, in her face. She’ll blame it on cramps in her calf.”
He was so certain of himself that Gary actually started to have doubts. Imagine the guy was right. He’d have been watching tennis for years next to the guy who’d change the world. If he was right. The next set would probably go to Capriati, and Pete could go back to the drawing board. But Capriati wasn’t doing too well, and she started massaging her calf at 4-2. She netted Pierce’s first and last match ball. 6-2.

Pete whooped and actually started dancing and chanting, “In you face, Jen-ny! In your face, Ga-ry!” over and over. Gary looked at the dancing professor Peter Tipton with a frown. “How did you…” but then his face cleared up. Tipton kept dancing but stopped chanting. Gary laughed and got up, shaking his head. He went around the living room table and, with a smirk, pressed the ‘Eject’ button on the lumina disc recorder. It was one of those newfangled things that could record anything with sublime quality. But the tray slid out, and it was empty. Tipton screeched laughter and resumed dancing and chanting, “In your face, Ga-ry!” while pointing his two fingers at Gary.

“You jerkwad,” Gary laughed. “How’d you do it?”
Pete flopped down on the cream leather sofa and opened his beer can, at last. He took a swallow and closed his eyes contentedly. “By going into the future, of course.”
“You liar!”
Pete laughed again. “Hah, yeah, I’m serious, dude. It’s a live match. There’s no way I could have known.”
Gary snorted. “Oh really?”
“Yeah, really.”
“No way.”
“Yes, way. Try to find a way I could pull this off.”
Gary thought for a while, but had to give up. “Fine. Let’s say I believe you. Then you won’t mind if I ask to come with you on your next trip, right?”
The smugness on Pete’s face faded. “No. Not at all. In fact, I was just going to suggest the same.”
“Really. Well then, let’s go,” Gary said, still convinced that it was all a fake. A way for Pete to lead him on and then laugh at him afterward. So he called his bluff and gestured for Pete to get up off the sofa. “Where is your infernal machine?”
“In the shed.”
Gary chuckled. “They’re always in the shed, aren’t they?”
Pete shook his head. “You still don’t believe me, do you?”
“Mmmnope.”
“Ah, you’re such an unimaginative, no-fun-guy,” Pete said with a grin.
“Lead on, McDuff!”
“I shall!”

They stepped over the groin-high hedge, like they always did, into Pete’s garden. Their gardens were atop a high hill, and the view was maginficent. You could see miles away from here. Pete walked confidently to the shed and held the door open. “Age before beauty, Gare.”
Gary shook his head and went in, clicking on the light. “Not much of a machine, is it?”
“Nope,” Pete replied, “and I’m glad it isn’t. Transporting a huge infernal machine from my lab to here would have cost a fortune.”
The ‘infernal machine’ was nothing more than a clothes-changing cubicle with some wires and a small device attached. The small device looked a lot like those old fax machines. “Looks like shit, professor Tipton.”
Pete laughed. “Ha! Yeah, that’s a fact. Still, be glad I didn’t use one of those toilet booths instead!”
“What the Hell kind of idiot would ever think of using toilet booths?”
Pete shrugged. “Shall we?”
“We shall.”

“Right,” Pete breathed nervously, typing on the little device attached to the cubicle. “My machine is going to shorten time so intensely inside the cubicle that we’ll be catapulted forwards in time. I’ll keep the jump close, because the further we go, the worse the nausea will be. Jaunting one month ahead would probably cause us to puke our guts out – literally.”
“What a way to go.”
“Quite.”
“So how far are we going, ahead in time?” Gary asked with mock drama.
“Five days. The furthest trip I took was two weeks, that was last month, and I was nauseaous for days.”
“Let’s not do that then, they’re expecting me at work on Monday.”
“Still not taking this seriously, are you?”
“Nope”.

Pete shook his head and finished typing. “There, Tuesday, May eleventh, 2007. Five days ahead.”
“So how are we, like, going to get back? You said this thing didn’t work in the past.”
“It doesn’t,” Pete explained. “It’s pretty funny. After a few hours, it’s like time stretches back and you get shot back to the present. Automatically.”
“Handy.”

Pete nodded and huffed in anticipation. “Right. Let’s get in.”
“In a clothing booth with another man?” Gary asked in a prissy voice. “How improper!”
“I always told you you were too ugly for me, Gare.”
“In your dreams, ass bandit.”
“Come on, seriously now, get in.”
Gary laughed and stepped inside the cubicle. “Shouldn’t I write a will or something?”
“Don’t be a fool. You’ll be back before dinner.”
“Yeah, that’s what you say. Of course, it only takes a few minutes for you to rape me.”
“Idiot. You ready?”
Gary nodded.
“You might feel funny. Best to close your eyes,” when Gary opened his mouth, Pete quickly said,” No jokes about what I just said.” Gary shut his mouth again.

Pete put his index finger on a small switch. “Here goes.”
“Yup. Sure you’re not just switching off the lights or something?”
“I should, with a face like yours in front of me. Close your eyes.”
Gary did so, and he heard the switch click. There was a soft whine that quickly rose in pitch and then Gary felt like he was being jerked forward, like in those rollercoasters, but only much worse. But he knew his body hadn’t moved. He lost his balance and fell into Pete, who caught him and held him up. “You can open your eyes now, Gare.”
There was a nausea in his belly, like his stomach was swimming around.
“Gary.”
He opened his eyes and saw Peter’s jacket. He quickly regained his balance, although he still felt a little less-than-surefooted. “Is this… five days ahead?”
“Sure is!” Pete beamed. “Wanna see the results of the Finals? Pierce against Williams?”
“You bet!” Gary exclaimed.

They wrung out of the cubicle and walked to the door, occasionally having to hold onto something to maintain their balance.
“Age before beauty, Pete,” Gary said, holding the door open.
“That’s my joke, dickhead.”

But when Pete and Gary stepped through the door into Pete’s garden, the finals were the last thing on their minds. The sky was so dark it was black. And it was late afternoon! Pete’s garden was still there, but from the hill they were on, they could see the horizon – a bright yellow stripe of fire. Pete and Gary looked at each other.
“What the…” Pete began, but he was silenced by an object passing in the sky overhead at an extremely high speed and with a deafening noise, in a bright descending arc.

“OH SH-“ was the last thing Gary could scream before the explosion. The blast was soundless to them, because the flash and the fire reached them before the sound did.

 

[WhiteBeastofWotan]

It was too long, i could only read like 2 or 3 sentences of it.

 

[El Stormo]

It was too long, i could only read like 2 or 3 sentences of it.

Too long? As stories go, this one's quite short!

 

[Pitiless Wanderer]

what the fuck is the point of posts like this

 

[Pitiless Wanderer]

i mean seriously, do you really think anyone is going to read that fucking thing

 

[firewalkjen]

I enjoyed it Good work!

 

[Spikes]

I'm like....totally fucking stoned right now and I read the whole fucking thing

I got so caught up in it, I kinda jumped at the ending hahah!

Surely then no matter what happens to them, time will just set it self and they will be back in the garage...getting the fuck outta the country!

 

[El Stormo]

what the fuck is the point of posts like this

If a thread doesn't interest you, don't post in it.

And thanks jen and spikes