B.R. Provost unsnapped the vinyl costume he’d worn almost every waking moment since his arrival—then jumped out of his wheelchair.
His roticolar , a sphere-like appendage made of thousands of smaller bones and joints, began to unfold to its full circumference. The navicals, tiny nerve-like endings that suctioned the roticolar to the body and allowed for a full 360 degrees of rotation, simultaneously transmitted messages, which stimulated the tiny bones and joints to expand and contract as needed. His roticolar began to pulse, unaccustomed to being used, and began to work.
With mixed feelings, Provost gazed at the now empty wheelchair. The human contraption had provided perfect cover, allowing him to blend in and feel almost ‘human’ in the process.
He frowned.
It was a shame so many of the two-legged humans believed he should be pitied; even worse, averted their eyes as if his presence made them uncomfortable. “Fools!” Provost sighed and returned to his desk.
Placing his left hand on top of the main disrupter node, he allowed his mind to fall into a deep, meditative state. If he were going to search for Revolvos, he would need to weave a bubble of present time around himself before initiating the disrupter nodes. Remaining in the present while time paused all around you was not an easy task, even for B.R. Provost. It required a weave of great complexity. Particles manipulated around particles, allowing one layer to remain active while the others slept.
A dangerous and delicate trick!
If his bubble of present time collapsed, Provost would instantly become woven into the time displacement field, trapped along with everyone else in Avondale—one loonocks, three hundred and sixty five days—until the disrupter nodes wore off. B.R. Provost took a deep breath.
Now it begins…
Beneath the very molecules that formed the air, beyond the range of human hearing, a deep, low vibration emanated from the main disrupter node. Silently, it spread like fog creeping along the ground, thickly, covertly, covering everything and everyone in its path, with the exception of a few inches around B.R. Provost, until it reached the smaller disrupter nodes located around the outer limits of Avondale.
Outside Principal Provost’s bubble of present time, and within the boundaries of Avondale, everything stopped. Miss Chantos had just made up her mind to go talk to Nurse Prickel about Principal Provost—now she stood, motionless, half turned toward the nurse’s office, lips pursed in determination. Nurse Prickel had finally found time to have that sip of lemon tea. However, at the exact moment the teacup met her lips, the currents washed over her, leaving the tea hot—yet tantalizingly out of reach.
The exposure happened so quickly that no one had time to notice the person next to him or her freeze into place. No one noticed a thing. Approximately three hundred and sixty five days from now, when the time field withdrew, all of Avondale and anyone who passed within its boundaries would be surprised to find themselves one year behind the rest of the world; thoroughly confused, but none the wiser.
Provost withdrew his hand; the air shimmered and moved around him. Once again, time was the enemy. Three hundred and sixty five days, give or take an Earth day. He must find his old mentor, Petré T. Revolvos. Together, they would find a way home.
Chapter 10
FBI TRANSCRIPT 21204
Agent Wink Krumm and H.G. Wells
Thursday, April 16th
KRUMM : The math does not add up.
WELLS : Twenty-first day of September, Eighteen hundred and sixty—
KRUMM : Dear God!
WELLS : Amazing, isn’t it. I look younger than you. However, having spent over a hundred of those years on Circanthos—
KRUMM : Provost’s planet?
WELLS : The same. B.R. Provost, himself, is close to two hundred years old. Circanthians abide well into their three fifties.
KRUMM : Professor Wells, would you be… agreeable to some tests?
WELLS : I have nothing to
His roticolar , a sphere-like appendage made of thousands of smaller bones and joints, began to unfold to its full circumference. The navicals, tiny nerve-like endings that suctioned the roticolar to the body and allowed for a full 360 degrees of rotation, simultaneously transmitted messages, which stimulated the tiny bones and joints to expand and contract as needed. His roticolar began to pulse, unaccustomed to being used, and began to work.
With mixed feelings, Provost gazed at the now empty wheelchair. The human contraption had provided perfect cover, allowing him to blend in and feel almost ‘human’ in the process.
He frowned.
It was a shame so many of the two-legged humans believed he should be pitied; even worse, averted their eyes as if his presence made them uncomfortable. “Fools!” Provost sighed and returned to his desk.
Placing his left hand on top of the main disrupter node, he allowed his mind to fall into a deep, meditative state. If he were going to search for Revolvos, he would need to weave a bubble of present time around himself before initiating the disrupter nodes. Remaining in the present while time paused all around you was not an easy task, even for B.R. Provost. It required a weave of great complexity. Particles manipulated around particles, allowing one layer to remain active while the others slept.
A dangerous and delicate trick!
If his bubble of present time collapsed, Provost would instantly become woven into the time displacement field, trapped along with everyone else in Avondale—one loonocks, three hundred and sixty five days—until the disrupter nodes wore off. B.R. Provost took a deep breath.
Now it begins…
Beneath the very molecules that formed the air, beyond the range of human hearing, a deep, low vibration emanated from the main disrupter node. Silently, it spread like fog creeping along the ground, thickly, covertly, covering everything and everyone in its path, with the exception of a few inches around B.R. Provost, until it reached the smaller disrupter nodes located around the outer limits of Avondale.
Outside Principal Provost’s bubble of present time, and within the boundaries of Avondale, everything stopped. Miss Chantos had just made up her mind to go talk to Nurse Prickel about Principal Provost—now she stood, motionless, half turned toward the nurse’s office, lips pursed in determination. Nurse Prickel had finally found time to have that sip of lemon tea. However, at the exact moment the teacup met her lips, the currents washed over her, leaving the tea hot—yet tantalizingly out of reach.
The exposure happened so quickly that no one had time to notice the person next to him or her freeze into place. No one noticed a thing. Approximately three hundred and sixty five days from now, when the time field withdrew, all of Avondale and anyone who passed within its boundaries would be surprised to find themselves one year behind the rest of the world; thoroughly confused, but none the wiser.
Provost withdrew his hand; the air shimmered and moved around him. Once again, time was the enemy. Three hundred and sixty five days, give or take an Earth day. He must find his old mentor, Petré T. Revolvos. Together, they would find a way home.
Chapter 10
FBI TRANSCRIPT 21204
Agent Wink Krumm and H.G. Wells
Thursday, April 16th
KRUMM : The math does not add up.
WELLS : Twenty-first day of September, Eighteen hundred and sixty—
KRUMM : Dear God!
WELLS : Amazing, isn’t it. I look younger than you. However, having spent over a hundred of those years on Circanthos—
KRUMM : Provost’s planet?
WELLS : The same. B.R. Provost, himself, is close to two hundred years old. Circanthians abide well into their three fifties.
KRUMM : Professor Wells, would you be… agreeable to some tests?
WELLS : I have nothing to
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