To the Time Machine! - Part 9

The Present
Underground Research Bunker


"Ironhide!" Emperor Andy called out. He gazed up at his pickup truck.

Andronicus led the way out of the saloon and into the main chamber of the bunker. The group staggered a might, as they had just consumed large quantities of adult beverages in order to negate the unpleasant effects of time travel. Actually, the Emperor was not making the trip, but he hated to see a group of time travelers drink alone, so he felt obligated to help them drink.

The black, pickup truck (presumably named Ironhide) descended the elevator into the bowels of the bunker. As it screeched to a stop at the bottom, the lab-coated, bespectacled scientists swarmed over it. They were soon a blur of instruments, sensors, and measuring tape, recording all its dimensions, proportions, and pertinents.

“That’s my truck!” Andy bellowed, albeit blurrily

“Yes,” agreed Germ, waving from the truck cab.

“Who gave you permission?” a scandalized Andy said. "Wait, who gave you keys?"

“No keys. I crawled through the window," Germ explained. "We used a zero point energy emitter to bring it inside."

"Used a what?" Andy asked.

"Anti-gravity gun," said Germ, holding it up to show it off, grunting under the burden. "Ironically, it's heavy as hell."

"But why my ride?" Andy was still displeased.

"It was the only vehicle in the parking lot that would hold the temporal displacement engine,” Germ explained. “The bed of your truck is a perfect fit."

“Perfect?” asked Andronicus. “Well, it is my truck, so that makes sense.” Mouthpiece Scott stared at the ceiling and practiced thinking loyal thoughts.

"You put in me charge of this mission, Supreme Commander," Germ told Andy. "By watching you, I've learned that command is all about taking the initiative and making unnecessary risks."

"I suppose that is true," admitted Andronicus, but secretly he was so fond of the title, Supreme Commander, that he quickly grew less upset over the automobile abduction.

"This was the success of which I spoke, Emperor," Surgeon General Jernigan said, as she walked over to a large mass covered by a cloth. She pulled off the drapery to reveal a hodgepodge of motors, circuits, coils, antennae, and unabashedly glowing gadgetry. "May I present, the Time Machine, Mark 2."

"You may," Andronicus answered matter-of-factly, then frowned. "Wait, is that what you're putting in my truck?"

"Indubitably," Jernigan grinned.

"Hrrrmm," replied Andy, making what is known as the Sound of Judgment. “Not very sexy looking.”

“It gets the job done,” Jernigan assured him.

“Speaking of getting the job done,” Mo-Tron, futuristic wrench in hand, rolled out from under her robot raptor, “where is the beverage I was promised?”

Imperial Plumber Stegall held up the two shot glasses she was holding. She handed one to Mo and one to Germ. “It’s a double,” she said. "They're double. Doubles. Quad…. They're strong."

“Where’s my robo-raptor’s shot?” Mo-Tron said.

"Dinosaurs don't drink. You know it's forbidden," Mouthpiece told her.

"Even for robo-dinosaurs?"

"Especially for robo-dinosaurs," Mouthpiece said, but she looked to Andy for confirmation. The Emperor nodded solemnly.

Mo-Tron was sullen, but her beverage quickly improved her mood. Germ likewise imbibed. Now that the important work was complete, it was time to prep the time machine.

The basement dwellers winched the time machine across the bunker and into the waiting bed of the pickup. The truck sagged under the extra weight, and the tires bulged in a worrying fashion.

“We’ll work on miniaturization next,” the scientists assured the Foretold One. Germ nodded emphatically.


“To avoid what happened to Lorma Doom, we've developed two different solutions. First, we’ll be taking the time machine with us,” Jernigan chain-smoked as she spouted exposition. “We’ll actually have the apparatus with us in the Past, so we won’t have to rely on scanners here in the Present to recall us.

"Second, thanks to the latest modifications to my already perfect loyalty chip technology," the surgeon general said, puffing away on the cigarette clenched tightly between her lips. "I am now able to track minions across the globe using expensive satellites and quantum equations. And, with the help of these gentlemen, I have just now successfully grafted the loyalty tracker to the time circuits on their temporal scanners. We can now scan, track, and retrieve any loyalty chip from any time.”

“What?” Andy asked Scott. He was somewhat lost in the technobabble.

“It’ll be great," Scott told him. "You’ll love it.”

Jernigan beamed. “Once again my scientific genius practically is oozing out of my ears,” she said. “In fact, you will notice I am wearing earplugs.”

Elsbeth stopped filling out a demerit slip long enough to roll her eyes.

“That all sounds very good, but if the time machine is mounted in the bed of the truck, where are we going to sit?” asked Stegall.

The squad stepped in to examine the truck cab. It was an extended cab, but just barely. “I foresee unpleasantness in my future,” said Stegall.

"I think we can all squeeze, but that metallic lizard is not going to fit," Germ said, pointing at Mo's robotic dinosaur.

"Not to worry," Mo-Tron smiled. "This robo-raptor is more than meets the eye."

"Robo-raptor, travel-size," she commanded. The automaton twisted, shifted, and transformed before their eyes, compacting down into a smaller form, shifting its mass into a neighboring dimensional pocket for safe-keeping, clinking and clacking, clunking and whirring as it did. When it was done, all that remained was a gleaming, digital camera that clattered to the bunker floor. Mo-Tron picked it up with almost no effort.

"OK, it can come," Germ said. Being of a slightly short stature himself, he had an affinity for all things travel-sized.

“Your robot dinosaur is a Transformer?” Emperor Andy asked, his eyes wide with interest.

“What’s his name?” asked Plumber Stegall, looking down at the camera suspiciously.

“F-stop-er-rator,” Mo-Tron said proudly. The others looked at the camera, at Mo-Tron, at each other.

“What?” she said.

“Nothing, nothing,” they all replied.


One by one, like rejects from clown school, our intrepid band of adventurers crammed into the cab of the truck.

“It doesn’t have a jack,” Andy warned them, leaning through the driver’s side window, as Germ completed his final pre-flight checks. “And the brakes are temperamental. And there’s no dome light. And don’t turn on the headlights because there’s no alarm to remind you to turn them off, you’ll run the battery down.”

"Yes, my Emperor," the occupants of the truck murmured in unison after each of his warnings and precautions.

“And, listen, do me a favor and fill up the tank when you get in the past," Andronicus gave one last instruction. "Gas was only two bucks a gallon back then.”

"You got it," Germ said. Andy stepped away. "Sir?" Germ called after him.

Andy stopped and turned to Germ again. "You need to borrow money to pay for the gas?" he asked, already knowing the answer. Germ nodded.

"Chosen One," Morgborg piped up, "I couldn't help but notice a small cache of cash in the contents of the case you--- in the case that was smashed." She walked over to it to inspect the contents again.

"Wait, Seven," the Emperor sighed, and pulled the cash out of his jacked pocket. "I have it."

"Oh, I didn't see you take it," she said.

"That was the idea," Andy explained, “I, uh, I didn’t want some poor soul to be tempted to steal it, so I was keeping it safe.” He reluctantly counted out enough money to fill up the gas tank. He even threw in a few extra bucks. "Buy some Gold-N-Chees," he told Germ in a confidential voice, then stepped away from the truck.

Morgborg returned to Andy’s side, in case he needed sponging or tried to time travel while inebriated. By his other side, stood Mouthpiece Scott. No matter where he went these days, he was accompanied by aides. He couldn’t get away with anything! Something had to be done.


Germ handed a clipboard to Jernigan, who was riding shotgun. The clipboard was chained to the dashboard.

“Diet Dr Pepper,” Jernigan read from the checklist.

Brett burped.

“Check,” said Germ.

"Pre-heat time circuits," Jernigan read.

Germ flicked his finger against the chronometer to unfreeze it. "Check," he said.

"Emitter properly aligned," Jernigan said.

Germ adjusted his jeans, and said, "Check."

Jernigan frowned, but kept reading

"Coordinates punched and locked," she read.

Plumber Stegall offered up her clenched fist, but Germ waved it away.

Germ tried to read the slip of paper that had been shoved in his hand only moments ago. It was scribbled on the back of a Target receipt, but he could make out most of the temporal coordinates. He punched in what he could decipher, and fudged the rest.

"Check," he said, and pulled down the manual locking bar over the targeting matrix.

"Black box recorder activated."

Germ looked around for it. Everything inside the truck was black.

"Black box recorder?" asked Mo-Tron. "What do they think is going to happen to us?"

Germ shoved the keys in the ignition and quickly cranked the truck up. Apparently, Andy had given him the keys at some point, but no note was made of it in the account you’re reading.

Jernigan spoke up. "I just remembered I can’t time travel today,” she said. “I have to be at work tomorrow. It’s patch Tuesday. I have to supervise the loyalty chip updates.”

Flame shot out of the tailpipes of the truck.

“We’re going to hit that wall,” Mo-Tron’s voice quavered, her shaky hand pointing at the bunker wall ahead of them.

“No, in the Past, the wall is not there,” Germ explained. He locked the truck doors.

“In the Past, the hole for this bunker won’t have been dug yet,” Mo-Tron quavered even more. “We’ll be buried alive!” Germ could feel the panic spreading through the cab.

“Wait, what’s to keep us from materializing out in space?” Jernigan asked. “What keeps us on Earth?”

So many questions. Germ revved the engine and switched on the temporal circuits.

“I think we should think about this a little,” cautioned Plumber Stegall from the cramped backseat.

“We’ll have plenty of time to hesitate in the Past,” Germ said, putting the truck in gear. He gunned it.

The Time Machine anthem blared through the silo speakers. Elsbeth covered her ears.

The back tires of the truck spun in place, aching for traction, and the tail of the truck fishtailed back and forth a bit.

At last, it got a grip on reality and shot backward.

Reality convulsed, contorted, and condensed. The truck shook, shimmered, and subsequently plunged into ... nothing. It seemed to leap off the platform, but never landed. Later, no one could actually recall it disappearing, only that it must have disappeared because it was suddenly not there anymore.

“Ow,” said the Emperor, holding a hand to the side of his head, “my ears popped.”

“Air pressure!” Elsbeth shouted, almost with glee, but her smile quickly faded as her ears detected a disturbing, whirring noise. She looked down at the source of the sound, only to find that a power or data chord of some kind was seemingly still attached to the time machine, and was rapidly uncoiling and whipping across the lab floor.

One end was attached to the truck in the past, apparently - the chord stopped in mid air, but was pulled taut. The other end, Elsbeth began to notice as the chord ran out, was wrapped around her ankle. She stared down at it in disbelief.

"Seriously?” she said.

Right before she was pulled back in time.