Les Lynam's Blog: Time Will Tell - Posts Tagged "future"

The young man cracked open the door to the dim room and slid quietly inside.
“Grandad?”
“Hmmm?”
“Grandad, are you awake?”
“Hmmm? Of course I’m awake. I try to stay awake as many hours of the day as I can. Not that many left.”
The room fell silent.
“Grandad, would it be all right if I opened the blinds a little more?”
“Suit yourself.”
The young man touched his wrist band and a holographic screen popped open inches above his wrist. He pushed several screens aside, then selected an icon on one of them. “Fifty percent,” he said. The glass adjusted its transparency.
“How are you feeling today, Grandad?”
“Still breathing. In and out. In and out. Kind of monotonous if you ask me.”
The old man pushed a tiny baton on the arm of his chair and the chair swiveled to face the doorway of the compact room. He squinted at the form standing by the door.
“So… Alex… What brings you by?”
“August.”
“Hmmm?”
“August, Grandad. Alex is a character in your books.”
“August? Are you sure?”
“Ever since I was born… in 2012.”
“Twenty-twelve, twenty-twelve, twenty-twelve,” the old man muttered.
“Grandad, have you been taking your medicine?”
The young man’s sigh was the only sound in the room.
“Dad said you wanted to see me about something important.”
“Yes. Yes, Alex. Very important. Yes. But you were supposed to bring your sister, Jane.”
The young man took a deep breath. “August,” he said through clenched teeth. “My sister’s name is Quin. We are not characters in your books.”
The old man stared at the corner of the room. He blinked a few times, then turned back to his grandson. “How old are you now, Alex?”
August turned his face to the floor and blew out a breath. “I need to go, Grandad. You’re not having a very good day today.” He turned and jerked the door open.
“Wait, Alex,” the old man said desperately, “Don’t go! I’ll call you August, if that’s what you want. Don’t go. It’s too important! Please. How old are you now?”
August turned back and let the door slide closed. “I’m 27, Grandad,” he sighed.
“Twenty-seven… twenty-twelve, twenty-seven, twenty-twelve,” the old man chanted. “That doesn’t seem possible. That would make it… 2039. Twenty-thirty-nine… twenty-fifty-nine. Only twenty more years. You should sell everything you have in fifteen years and buy land in Belize… or maybe Ecuador. What type of governments do they have now?” He waved a hand as if erasing a chalkboard. “Doesn’t matter. Someplace safe and south of the Yucatan. And north of Argentina.”
August nodded as if he finally understood. “Because of the Dark Decades?”
The old man looked to his left then right with suspicious eyes. He whispered, “Who told you about the Dark Decades?”
“You did, Grandad,” August replied, “I’ve read all your books. I like the fourth one best. Dark Decades. That dystopian stuff was pretty good.”
“Did I?” The old man was confused. “Books. Books. Oh! Those books. I wrote them to try to help me make sense of the dreams. Then I found…” He stopped speaking as he suddenly propelled his chair over to his nightstand and opened the top drawer. He reached in, then swiveled his chair to face his grandson. The gnarled fingers of his clenched fist unfurled. “This.” He pushed on the baton and his chair crossed to August.
August lifted the object for a closer look. Most of the black paint had chipped off the ears and nose. “Some kind of dog?”
“Snoopy. Pull his head. Pull his head.”
August pulled the head and body apart. “OK… his head comes off.”
“Look at it boy! It’s a jump drive!”
August slid the head back over the shiny metal tab. “What’s a jump drive?”
“For computers! It stores data and you can carry it around easily.”
“This contains data?” August touched his wrist pad and his holo-screen reappeared. He passed the object through the screen. Nothing happened. He passed it through again. “There’s no data in here.”
“You have to plug it into a computer! Never mind. Where’s your sister? I need to tell both of you. Did you bring… I’m sorry… what is it you want me to call Jane?”
“Quin. My little sister’s name is Quin. My older sister’s name is Marta. How come you don’t need to talk to her?”
The old man waved his hand as if waving away a fly. “Marta’s married and has children. She’s not going to Mars.”
“Mars?” August questioned.
“Your father told me that Ja…” He paused. He closed his eyes shut tightly. His entire face wrinkled. “Quin. He said Quin wants to go to Mars.”
“She’s thinking about it. But not for at least another ten years. Once they get a little more established.”
“The second Mars colony is a failure!” the old man shrieked. “Not as bad as the first, and it probably would have worked well if it wasn’t for being cut off from Earth for more than thirty years. They killed the oldest for food. No one over fifty.” He made a slashing motion across his throat.
“Grandad, you’re confused. You’re getting reality mixed up with your stories.”
“I’m not,” he shouted. “I was born on Mars! In 2185! A time-traveler kidnapped me as a toddler and dropped me off in rural Iowa in the 1950s! To her dying day, my sister wouldn’t admit that I was adopted. But I’ve got proof! Ask your dad to show you old family photos from when I was little. There’s a picture of me holding that Snoopy. Jump drives weren’t invented until… I don’t remember… sometime around the turn of the century. It’s all in there! Read it!”
“I gotta go, Grandad.” August slipped out through the door.
“Don’t let her go!” the old man screamed. “Don’t let Jane go to Mars! They’ll eat her!”
A nurse stepped into the room. “Mr. Lynam? Your Grandson thought you might need a sedative.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
August slid into the car. “Quin’s apartment.” The car pulled away from the curb and started down the street.
“How was he?” Quin asked her brother.
“A little cray.” He handed her the Snoopy.
“A little?”
“Mega-cray,” August sighed.
“Poor Grandad.”

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