This is a story from my latest sci-fi collection, A Window in Future. You can find the book for free here: Books by Shaily
Here we go again. Pop!
The car arrives in the middle of a deserted street. Houses on both sides are made of stone and wood. The silence rings eerily around us and it looks like everyone is asleep.
“I don’t understand. I made sure the command was correct this time. It must be Royal Street. It has to be.”
My wife is fuming by now, “Really? Well, do you see any signs here? I am sure Royal Street would have quite a few holographic shop signs typical of a high‑society market. And there would be lights.”
She was right, of course. This place has stone houses, and the whole place is dark as night. Well, it is night but not so late as to explain the dead darkness. Royal Street is usually active past midnight.
“It must be the wrong year then. Sigh!”
“More likely wrong century…around 15th century if I am not wrong! Look, I appreciate that you are a history buff, but I am not looking for any more history lessons tonight. I want to reach that show on time. Honey, we really need to ask someone the current year so you can add the correct number of years in the car instructions. I can see a chapel at the distance. They used to keep dated records.”
I know she is right, but I can’t take her advice right now, “That’s all right, Darling! I’m sure, we are in the late 17th century right now. I will get us there in the next attempt.”
Her voice is a little stronger now, “I hate to remind you that you promised me the same thing in the last five rides in the past one hour. We have seen dinosaurs, cavemen, early farming, battles in the middle‑ages and now a sleepy village…”
“Yes, and that means that we are moving forward in time and now we are really close. Just a few centuries more…”
“Probably. But then, we will be late for the show. Why can’t you just ask someone what year we are in? Why do men always have to be so pig‑headed when it comes to asking for directions?”
I try not to take the bait, “Well, it is quite late in the night.”
“It’s 8 o’clock!”
“In the 17th century, dusk meant bedtime. I don’t want to disturb anyone.”
Her voice takes a dangerous edge, “So, you mean that we will stay lost in time for the rest of the night because you are too well mannered to care about my happiness?”
I know when a threat becomes real, “As I said, we are close…”
“And as I said, we are still lost in time! Why can’t you just let go of your ego for once. For me?”
Her eyes fill with tears that threaten to spill and I am terrified. “Darling, it’s not my ego that I am worried about,” I reply, stalling for time.
“Then what is it?”
“Well, if someone realises that we come from a different time, which they obviously will—given our clothes, our car and our question—they might not take it too well. And witches were burnt at stake in the 17th century.” I finish quickly hoping the blow wouldn’t be too hard on her.
She sucked in air as she processed that piece of information. After a second, she takes a deep breath, “Okay, but people have been using time machines for so long. If they had visited around these parts, these people might know about them.”
“When we buy time machines, we are warned to avoid the times between 15th and 19th century. There have been accidents…people caught during these times were accused of witchcraft. Some of them never made it back.”
The threat of tears dissipates, now replaced with a fury I had never seen before, “I hate this piece of junk you bought. It always misses the mark—I end up in Newark instead of New York and prehistoric times instead of prehistoric museum. All I wanted was a basic space traveller so that I could see different countries like normal people do. But you had to buy this trashcan. So now, one little mistake in instructions and I land up in a different millennium all together. And we can’t even return right away because it does not accept the exact year in the instructions. I have to add and subtract the years to wherever it is stuck in time. Then I have to add days and hours and minutes. I have never done so much Maths since I was in elementary school.”
I try to placate her, “Honey, it is just a minor flaw in the instruction reader. I am sure I can fix it.”
“Yes, just the way you fixed the seven‑league boots, the toaster and the ancient electric bicycle!”
I could feel my temper rising, “You can’t put that on me. They were antique pieces. Anyone can blow up an electric toaster. Who uses electricity anymore?”
“Oh, yes? So, why did you buy them?”
“I… well…”
“Once we go back, you are selling this piece of scrap. I don’t understand why anyone would buy the first model of a Time Machine cum Traveller! They are ancient history. But you were so excited when you saw it in the online sale, I didn’t have the heart to stop you. But now, you are getting rid of it. I don’t care if it goes to a landfill on the moon.”
“But I care! It is a precious piece of human history. You know I love it.”
“Well, you can’t love both of us together. So, choose now!”
Knowing that I am defeated, I acquiesce, “Alright, I will sell it, probably to a museum. But, for now, let me take you home.”
“Add five centuries to the date. People had stopped persecuting witches by then and some of them were already discussing the idea of a time‑travel and working on Time Machines. We will ask someone the date and the year then.”
“But I can…”
“Would you prefer divorce papers?” The expression on her face makes it clear that it isn’t an empty threat.
“Fine! But I could have taken you without asking for directions.”
“Yeah, yeah. Should we go then?” So, here we go again. Pop!
Author’s note: Thank you, Google Gemini for the amazing picture. It took a few prompts but we got there eventually!
