Part Two: Chapter Three

"...If time travel ever became widespread, English grammar was going to have to add a whole new set of tenses to describe reflexive situations" -Robert Heinlein

          Cole Bennington flashed a white smiled beneath a thick mustache as the crowd of onlookers cheered until Vincent thought the walls shook. Setting down a sagging backpack, the grad student looked well rested and only moderately unkempt despite having been out in the woods for a week. Allegedly.

            Vincent didn’t think his eyes played tricks on him- he didn’t think what he’d seen was merely a slight-of-hand, but he’d gone camping for a week in the mountains before. None of that sissy s**t with showers and electricity- the kind where you brought your own roll of toilet paper and when you were out, you switched to leaves and hoped there wasn’t any poison ivy nearby. His girlfriend at the time had taken a hose to him before letting him into their apartment, he stank so bad. And the most damning was the shirt Cole wore- the same from a few minutes previous, but without the coffee stain. Maybe he’d washed his shirt in a stream. Maybe his mom sent him to the future with a Tide Stick. Vincent didn’t know for sure, but there was no confronting him about it now. Too many people were crowded around- mostly women- and besides, he was tired from a long day. His phone vibrated in his pocket.

            Where r u?

Vincent hated the shorthand people used to text. What did dropping four letters really do for efficiency anyway? 

            Have to get a couple of quotes. Vincent replied and hit send. He’d catch up with Cole tomorrow at 1 o’clock as they’d planned, but he needed at least two reactions from the audience. A college student walked by and Vincent waved the recorder to get his attention then asked for his name and major.

            “What did you think of the demonstration tonight?” Vincent asked.

            “Man, I dunno. I feel like I just saw an amazing magic show or something.” The college student said, still processing.

            “You don’t believe he actually did it?”

            Instead of responding, he just shrugged so Vincent gestured to the recorder.

            “Oh, yeah man, sorry.” Instead of clarifying his shrug, he just kept walking. A young woman passed by and Vincent tapped her on the shoulder. She stopped and turned, eyeing him behind large glasses that everyone was wearing these days. Dark hair was managed into a messy bun and she had whisps of hair framing her face. She might have been pretty if she didn’t look so serious.

            “Do you have a minute for a question or two?” He asked, gesturing to the recorder. She bit her lip and pushed her glasses back to the bridge of her nose.

            “Sure.”

            “Great. Can I get your name and major first?”

            “Margaret Handil. I go by Maggie. I’m a third-year mathematics major,” she said. This made him hopeful for more interesting answers to his questions.

“What did you think of the demonstration tonight?”

            “I’d like to see the mathematical formula, obviously,” Maggie said, matter-of-factly.

            “What about what you saw?” He prompted.

            “Eyes can be tricked- math reveals the truth,” Maggie said with a conviction that would have made a preacher jealous. A furrow appeared between her brows and she continued, “Have you ever seen a car accident- I mean- while it was happening?”

            Vincent shook his head, “I’ve been in one, but I’ve never been a witness.”

            “Well, one of the biggest problems for cops is witnesses’ statements. Everyone sees a facet of the same thing, but no one can agree on what they saw. Our eyes observe part of something and then our brain fills in the blanks based on our previous experiences and sometimes we just see what we want to.”  

            “Okay. Pretend you have Cole Bennington’s paper and the math is sound. What do you think then?”

            Maggie paused for a second and then said, “I’d say he needs to turn off that box and hand it over to real researchers.”

            “You don’t think Cole is a real researcher?”

            “He’s a dangerous researcher. You never experiment on yourself and you never experiment when you don’t know what the ramifications are. I’m not a scientist- I’m a mathematician, but even I know that this kind of experimentation is unethical. It would be like if clinical researchers manipulated a person’s DNA before knowing what it could do to them.”

            “How would you research this, given a solid theorem?” Vincent asked, pleased to have found a person who he could actually quote.

            “Well, I’d need to know more about how the machine works to answer that question well, but it would not involve sending myself to the future as the first experiment.”

            Vincent nodded. Maggie had just answered the why of Cole’s massive lie. Or had she? Was traveling to the past any better? His head hurt as the questions kept swirling.

            “How could you determine if the machine worked without sending a person?”

            “Well, an animal with a camera attached and a timed return would work- but that’s just an idea and I don’t know how the machine operates. I mean, does someone have to sequence the machine or can it be pre-set? It would seem short-sighted to not build that component in,” Maggie said, her brow furrowing.

            “What are you thinking?” Vincent asked, recognizing the expression on the mathematician’s face.

            “A mathematician- a physicist, is not the same as an engineer. So Bennington works out the theory and develops his paper that proves his theoretical machine works- who builds it? I don’t see anyone else standing next to this guy. Is he saying he did it all? That doesn’t add up.”

            Vincent smiled. Maggie pushed up her over-sized glasses with a forefinger and smiled back.

            “They were right,” he said.

            “About what?”

            “Smart is the new sexy. Goddamn.” 

Author's Note

Feel free to comment on grammar, style, characterization, dialogue.