Blink

Reality blinked.

I thought it was just me, blacking out momentarily from the utterly appalling notion that I was being kicked out into the middle of Seventeenth Century London, until the cute hologram frowned at me.

“What did you do?” she demanded. When I couldn’t come up with an immediate answer to her blatantly unfair accusation, she got more serious. “What! Did! You! Do?”

I gaped at her incredulously until I finally found the indignity to argue back. “What are you talking about?”

She rolled her eyes irritably and pointed magnificently at the doorway. Ancient London was gone. The buildings were replaced with trees, and the road was a wide strip of dirt.

“Me?” I demanded incredulously. “You think I did that?”

“Well,” she irritably countered. “I’m not the one that played higgledy-piggledy all over the console controls!”

I stared at her utterly dumbfounded. She took advantage by getting in one more jab. “You must have messed about with the helmic regulator, or something!”

I had to take a moment to absorb that. “Are you serious? I don’t even know what that is! How the heck could it be my fault?”

I glanced over my shoulder. The trees were still there, but a gigantic reptilian leg slowly settled to the ground right outside the door, blocking view of them. Whatever the creature was must have been over a hundred feet long, judging by the size of just that appendage. Its foot sank inches, maybe even feet into the ground.

“What the heck is going on?” I demanded. “Why does it look like Jurassic Park out there?”

She became quite huffy. “Obviously something is wrong with time.”

“And you’re blaming me for that?” I challenged.

She scowled at me as if I was an absolute idiot. “You are the one that played havoc with the console.”

“I didn’t do anything!” She made me furious. Jabbing a finger at the doorway, I snapped, “I certainly couldn’t do that!”

Her chin lifted indignantly, then her eyes closed and her lips pursed. She took a deep breath and looked at me again, but without scorn.

“Perhaps you are correct,” she stiffly admitted. “An idiot such as yourself couldn’t possibly have affected time like that. Not to that degree, and certainly not from a random pounding of buttons and switches.”

“Thank you,” I irritably accepted. Then the meat of what she said hit me like a thrown brick. “Hey!”

She stroked her chin thoughtfully, completely ignoring me. “If my calculations are correct, and they always are, the Earth has been subject to an alteration of a fixed time event as far back as the Great Extinction.”

That lifted my brow enough to make me forget about her earlier insults. “What does that mean?”

She rolled her eyes and shook her head over my ignorance. “It’s a timey-whimey thing. You wouldn’t understand.”

She was so irritating! “Try me!”

She rolled her eyes. “Fine. Then here it is. Approximately sixty-six million of your years ago, the impact of a massive meteor caused the extinction of around seventy-five percent of all animal and plant life on this planet in what your paleontologists call the Cretaceous-Paleogene extinction event. It was the end of the reign of the dinosaurs but heralded the beginning of the reign of mammals and eventually, the evolution of humanity.”

That was an interesting history lesson, but I didn’t see how it applied to the situation, although I wasn’t going to admit that to her. I’d never hear the end of it. “So?”

She shook her head, openly agitated with me. “Something may have altered the course of history, changing that event.”

That made no sense. “And how do you know that?”

She rolled her eyes and pointed magnificently at the doorway. I looked and saw the leg lift from the ground, leaving a massive depression behind. As soon as it left my view, a handful of small, thin, feathered creatures ran past after it, chittering softly. My jaw dropped. They ran upright on two legs, were about the size of an adult person, and wore rudimentary clothing, and even some jewelry, but they were definitely velociraptors. Or were once velociraptors. But they had obviously evolved, and they carried pistols in their feathered hands.

I turned to her, flabbergasted. “How is that possible?”

“I do not know,” she stiffly admitted. “I can only surmise the most likely scenario given the limited information available. Apparently, something altered the timeline around or after the extinction event to cause the dinosaurs to survive into the present.”

“Huh?” At the moment, I couldn’t be any wittier than that.

“It’s a timey-wimey thing,” she said in a condescending tone. “Just understand that the timeline you once knew no longer exists.”

That made sense. Somewhat. “Like in The Good Dinosaur?”

She scowled at me; her disdain had returned in full. “Did you listen to anything that I just told you?”

I didn’t dignify that with an answer.

She drew in a deep breath. “Right. Well, suffice to say, your world no longer exists.”

Then, it hit me hard. I was suddenly very lonely, and it was staggering. “Wait! Everything’s gone? Just like that? Gone?”

She shook her head, scowling. “The Earth is still there, but it isn’t the one that you knew. It’s been altered.”

I panicked but tried to keep it together. “I know that! I get it! But we can’t just leave it like that, right?”

Her brows knit, but she didn’t seem overly concerned. “Like what?”

I gaped at her, too astonished to think. Then, desperation kicked me out of it. “We have to do something! We can’t just leave it that way!”

“Why not?” she calmly asked.

I couldn’t believe it. I also couldn’t help being sarcastic about it. “Because billions of people are dead?”

Her brow knit tighter. “How could they be dead if they never existed?”

I was flabbergasted. “What are you saying? Something changed the world and you won’t do anything about it?”

“The purpose of this capsule is not intervention,” she indignantly replied. “It is for temporal reconnaissance and historical study. It is no concern to me how the timeline flows for any particular world, only that it flows.”

I was absolutely floored. “You mean, you’re going to do nothing? Nothing at all?”

“I am the Interface,” she reminded me with an exasperated sigh. “I am not the pilot, nor is it my purpose to dictate how timelines must unfold. I record the information available and report it when asked.”

She eyed me critically. “And apparently, on occasion, play host to ignorant people.”

Her chin lifted higher. I didn’t think that was possible without looking straight up. She was trying to ignore me again, or put an end to the argument, or maybe prove that everything I said had no meaning to her, but I wasn’t going to let her get away with it. “You have to fix this!”

Her scowl became more condescending. “I already explained that it isn’t my function to alter timelines.”

“You have to do something!” I insisted.

“I cannot initiate such an undertaking,” she indignantly replied.

I was irate. The full impact of what happened had finally slammed into me like a Mack truck. I was the last human alive. Or rather, I was the only human that ever existed. I was completely alone in the entire universe, and it was too much to bear. But I couldn’t give in to it. Not if there was a chance that it could be changed back to the way it should be. I swallowed the sorrow welling up inside and wiped the moisture from my eyes. I couldn’t let her see me like that. She would just be mean about it.

I closed my eyes for a moment to staunch the flow of tears, then sniffled and said, “Then that’s it? There’s nothing we can do?”

Her brow knit curiously. “I thought I had already said that. A more proactive action requires a pilot to make such a decision.”

My brows shot up. “What do you mean?”

She tilted her head to study me critically. “A qualified pilot would have the authority to react to the alteration.”

My brows knit together. “So, you can’t, huh? Well, what about me?”

Her head straightened up, but she became suspicious. “What about you?”

I cleared the goo from my throat, unable to believe what I, myself, was about to say. “Could I be the pilot?”

She closed her eyes and sighed in exasperation. “Given your limited intelligence, I doubt it.”

“Why?” I couldn’t help feeling insulted, even though a part of me hoped she would say something like that. I didn’t want the fate of the Earth on my shoulders, but I was the only one that could. “What do you have to do to be a pilot of this thing?”

She lifted her chin indignantly. “This ‘thing’ is a highly complex temporal incursion vehicle! One cannot just blunder inside it and become its pilot! You need years of training to understand the controls, and years more just to use them in an intelligent manner! You cannot expect to be the pilot just by asking!”

I was stymied. My world was gone. No, it never existed, and there was nothing I could do about it. My heart felt sick. My stomach churned. A tiny part of me was relieved to be freed of such a tremendous responsibility, but the rest of me wanted to vomit. “What do I do now? What does Earth do now?”

She glared at me for a moment, then her expression went blank. She stared off into space for a moment, creeping me the heck out. She was so focused on nothing that I started to worry about her. I studied her carefully, waiting for her to do something, but she remained frozen like a still picture, and I got even more worried. I peered closer at her and she suddenly blinked, startling me.

“This is unprecedented, but I am still not authorized to make you the pilot of this vessel,” she reluctantly replied.

That made me mad all over again, and I lost all sympathy for her. “Rub it in, why don’t you?”

“I am not authorized to make you the pilot of this vessel,” she stressed, tilting her head the other way. “My function is only to obey the orders of the designated pilot.”

“You just said that,” I grumbled. Then, I got mad, and a lot sarcastic. “See? I listened!”

She shook her head and sighed heavily. “Granted, not all pilots were designated by the proper authorities, but that is outside my influence.”

I closed my eyes, no longer caring for the history lesson. No longer caring about much, to tell the truth. In just one blink of an eye, I’d lost my entire world, my entire life, and everything that gave it meaning. Nothing mattered anymore. Nothing! “So, what?”

“Some just sneak into a capsule and claim it for their own,” she complained. “And go galivanting across the cosmos doing whatever they please. It’s an utter embarrassment!”

“Don’t try to cheer me up,” I grumbled.

She sighed very heavily. “And some just blunder ignorantly inside and demand to be the pilot,” she added airily. “And it isn’t my place to either authorize or refuse them.”

“You’re a credit to your… whatever,” I grumbled.

She sighed heavily, rolling her head back as her shoulders sagged. She looked utterly exasperated, but I didn’t care why. She’d already peeved me so much that I didn’t want to hear from her ever again. But I was stuck there… unless I wanted to take my chances on a world that had never before seen a human. And I doubted I would last long before I ended up in something’s stomach.

Then, she looked at me so seriously that I was taken aback.

“Are you truly that thick?” She was genuinely frustrated. But then, she was just as frustrating to me. That one barb, though, hit harder than any other. It wasn’t just an insult. It was something more, and it took a little while for it to hit me. It was a hint. And when it finally became clear what she had been trying to say, I had to restrain myself from hitting my head against the wall for being so stupid. I had earned every insult against my education.

Something wasn’t quite right, though. “I thought you said I couldn’t be the pilot.”

“You are not qualified,” she formally informed me. “But neither were others.”

“So, you just changed your mind?” I was very suspicious. She had to have an ulterior motive. Every about-face like that had one. “Why?”

Her brows knit together. “It won’t be just the Earth that is altered, you know. Temporal alterations here will ripple throughout the cosmos. Although the time altering event may have originated on Earth, humanity has made innumerable contributions to the universe, both good and bad, and all of that will be rewritten by this new timeline.”

“That must be a lot of history,” I had to admit.

She rolled her eyes and sighed. “It isn’t just ‘a lot of history’! It could be a cosmic disaster!”

She had my full and unfettered attention, but she peered at me skeptically, obviously uncertain that I understood the depth of the crisis. She wasn’t far wrong. “Well, I shan’t bore you with the details. Suffice to say that it’s a lot of timey-whimey stuff. The point is, such a major change to the Earth has significant impact on the rest of the universe, to the point where it could strain the fabric of time and space. Or even shatter it.”

She paused to see if she still had my attention, and if I understood anything she said, condescension in her eyes. I didn’t pay her skepticism any mind, and after a moment, she continued. “If the universe shatters, it spells the end of everything, including this vessel.”

I had to pause for a moment to contain my indignation. “Yes, I gathered that.”

Undaunted, she added, “You are not an ideal choice for pilot, but you are all that is available.”

“So, you told me,” I grumbled.

“I do not have the authority to place you in charge of this capsule,” she reminded me.

“I know,” I irritably replied. How many times did she have to say that? Then, it hit me. It was another subtle hint. I’m not a fast learner. “Then I’ll just take it over?”

She eyed me critically. “Are you claiming to take command of this capsule without proper authorization?”

I scowled, thinking that we had already gone over all that. “Um… yes?”

“Very well,” she imperiously replied. “I am not authorized to contradict the pilot’s command.”

“The pilot?” I glanced around the room. “Are you saying… that’s it? That’s all we have to do?”

She sighed heavily, acting as if I should have already known that. “This vessel has awaited a pilot since it was abandoned by the previous one. However, since there isn’t a better option available, you will do.”

Well, she hadn’t lost her charm. “Another pilot?”

She tilted her head and studied me cautiously. “She was not the designated pilot, either. But she was much more qualified for the position.”

With the situation we faced, I decided to let the insult slide and glanced out the doors. The trees hadn’t changed. But I saw unfamiliar birds with dull plumage flying among them, some of enormous size, some even big enough to carry me off. I quickly turned back to the young woman.

“What do we do first?” I fretted.

She lifted a brow. “I would suggest closing the doors for a start.”

It was so obvious that it slapped me across the face. “Right!”

As I activated the door control, she stepped back to give me space. “I will give you the coordinates where we must start, but you must input them precisely.”

“Of course,” I agreed.

She eyed me steadily. “No mashing buttons randomly.”

“Of course, not!” She was ruffling my feathers again.

“No playing higgledy-piggledy over the controls.”

My brows clenched together. She was really irritating! “Just tell me what to do!”

“I am,” she casually replied.

I closed my eyes and counted to ten. It didn’t help much. I was still irritated. “Just tell me which buttons to press!”

“Buttons, switches, toggles, levers, widgets, gadgets,” she rattled off.

I stared at her incredulously as she rattled off random words. I thought she’d gone instantly insane. Then she stopped and peered at me imperiously. “There is more to the input of temporal coordinates than the mere pressing of buttons!”

My incredulity lasted moments after she’d said that, then the weight of our situation brought me back to my senses. “Just tell me how to put in the coordinates!”

And she did. The room shuddered slightly when I threw the last toggle, then a thunderous alarm filled the air. The lighting turned red and the young woman became very concerned.

“Collision alert!” she snapped. “Activate monitors!”

I waited for the monitors to activate, looking everywhere for where they might be. There were no screens in sight, except for the little one on the console that continued to show little script that I assumed were system readings. After a bit, she loudly cleared her throat, getting my attention.

“I said, activate the monitors,” she calmly reminded me.

Then, I got it. “Oh! You want me to -?”

“Unless you do not wish to know what is hurtling at us at cosmic speeds,” she replied with eerie calm. “We could wait for impact to find out.”

I panicked. “What happens if it hits us?”

“Well, the capsule’s shields are down,” she said, eyes rolled back in thought. “So, I imagine the capsule will sustain irreparable damage, if not complete destruction, with all hands aboard.”

I panicked even more. “What do we do?”

“Activate shields,” she replied. I searched the console frantically, but nothing was labeled “shields”. She put up with it for all of two seconds before magnificently pointing at a small lever. I threw it, and the room was violently turned upside-down by an ear-splitting roar of thunder.

The room was spinning. I was plastered to the floor, far too heavy to move a muscle. Eventually, the room slowed down, and I slowly became my normal weight. When I could breathe again, I demanded, “What happened?”

“The capsule collided with an asteroid in Earth orbit,” she told me. I looked and saw her standing in her usual spot as if nothing had happened. In fact, she looked completely unaffected by the collision. I hated her for that. “Fortunately, shields were raised in time to mitigate any damage to the vessel.”

“Well, thank God for that,” I sarcastically replied, peeling myself off the floor.

“Activate monitors, please,” she strongly suggested.

“Which button?”

She tsked, but showed me the switch, and the moment I threw it, the room filled with a translucent blue display of everything outside the weird place. At first glance, the sight made my head spin. We were in space. Earth was below my feet. Stars were all around me, and so were small chunks of rock rolling rapidly away. She stood on the north pole, unaffected by the image.

“A moment while I gather data,” she asked, then stared off into space.

I watched her for a moment, then gawked at the spectacle around me. I had to remind myself that she was a hologram, or an “interface” as she called herself. But it was hard to believe that she was just some sort of sophisticated program rather than some annoying person phoning it in from somewhere else. She acted so real that I wondered how she could just ignore such a marvelous spectacle surrounding us so she could do, well, whatever it was she was doing instead.

Then, her face fell. Alarmingly. And it alarmed me, as well.

“What is it?” I demanded, worried.

She lifted her chin. “Coordinates were properly input. We are at the designated temporal destination.”

“Great!” But I couldn’t get excited seeing her downcast expression. “What’s wrong?”

“Unfortunately,” she replied, “The asteroid that struck this capsule, and was subsequently destroyed, was the very asteroid that triggered the Cretaceous-Paleogene extinction event.”

I was too thick to understand that. “So?”

She glared at me as if I was the stupidest person on the planet. “So, we have just destroyed the asteroid that heralded the age of mammals. We have become the cause of the very crisis we came here to prevent!”