Almost Time

Volkov sat at the table, drumming his fingers on it. The door creaked open and Smith rushed in. "Have I missed it?" He shut the door.

Volkov looked at his watch, and grunted, "'Course not. Six minutes before he gets here."

"Damn watch runs fast." Smith changed his watch to 10:04.

The room was plain brick, about 12 feet by 12 feet. It smelled like damp dust. In one corner of the floor was a painted letter "X" inside a circle. About six feet above it on the wall was another "X". In the upper corner opposite was a camera. There was a cheap table and two mismatched chairs up against the wall beside the door.

Smith paced. Volkov took a gun out of his jacket and placed it in front of him on the table.

"Jesus, Volkov."

"Whaddya want me to do? And don't start in on me again."

"Look—"

"No, you look. I don't wanna kill him. But that's the way things are."

"We don't have to kill him."

Volkov sighed. "Look, what happens is this—"

"No! It's what we've been told happens."

"All right. What we've been told is that Jackson arrives here."

"Why here? It's a bare room! That makes no sense."

"I don't know. That's what happens. And he can't go back to his own time because he screws it all up."

"That's crazy! How could they know that?"

"I don't know. Simulations. Probabilities. Maybe they know how to track alternate timelines. I don't know. And neither do you."

Smith picked up the gun and dragged a chair to the corner of the room where the camera was. He climbed up on the chair and smashed the camera with the gun until it shattered. He threw the gun back on the table.

He drew the chair up beside Volkov. "Suppose we don't kill him."

"It's already been determined that's what we do."

"We talk to him. We explain exactly what's supposed to happen. So he knows."

"Time is unalterable."

"That's what we've been told..."

"Something else would happen to his daughter..." Volkov didn't sound confident.

"All right. Maybe. So suppose we just keep him here? We don't let him go back. We know his daughter had already been born by the time he came here."

"I dunno. Maybe he threatens us. Maybe we're forced to kill him."

"Why are you so sure of all these things with no evidence?"

"I'm not sure of anything." Volkov hung his head.

Smith emptied the gun of its bullets and put them in his pocket. "We're not going to do it. Suppose we just leave?"

"Don't you want to be here when the very first time traveler ever arrives at his destination?"

"Sure."

"So it's determined. It's been determined that you're here and I'm here."

"I don't want to be here enough to kill him."

"Then someone else will come into the room, kill Jackson, and say we did it. Damn, man, they won't want their already-determined history distorted. Maybe that's what actually happens. Do you trust them not to do that?" Volkov looked up at the smashed camera. "I see you don't..."

"Then we tell people what actually happened."

"How do you know we'd even make it out of this room alive?"

Smith took a chair and propped it up against the door handle.

Volkov looked at him. "Do you think that'll stop them from coming in and doing what they need to do?"

Smith was defeated. Feebly, he said, "But we'd know the truth."

"A fat lot of good that would do."

"What do we actually know?"

"It doesn't matter 'cause there's nothing we can do about it anyway. I'm not sure I really care. I've known I'm part of this since I was a kid."

There was a long pause. Smith couldn't find the logic in it at all. He re-loaded the gun and slid it across the table to Volkov. "I can't do it," he said.

Volkov nodded. He spun the cylinder and put the gun on the table.

Smith looked at Volkov. "Have you ever thought about the end of time?"

Volkov laughed quietly. "I can't say I really understand it. They showed me what happens the moment before."

"And?"

"Whoever they are, they say the end is very peaceful. That you're not even conscious of any change." Volkov drummed his fingers on the gun.

Smith looked at his watch. "Apparently, it's almost time for Jackson."

"So it is. You see? None of what we said matters."

"You scared?" asked Smith.

Volkov laughed. "Apprehensive." He picked up the gun.

"So am I."

There was a pause and Volkov started the countdown. "Five. Four. Three. Two. One. Zero."

There was a long silent odd moment and Volkov looked at his watch. "Apparently, it's almost time for Jackson."

"So it is. You see? None of what we said matters."

"You scared?" asked Volkov.

Smith laughed. "Apprehensive." He picked up the gun.

"So am I."

There was a pause and Smith started the countdown. "Five. Four. Three. Two. One. Zero."

There was a long silent odd moment and Smith looked at his watch. "Apparently, it's almost time for Jackson."

"So it is. You see? None of what we said matters."

"You scared?" asked Smith.

Volkov laughed. "Apprehensive." He picked up the gun.

"So am I."

There was a pause and Volkov started the countdown. "Five. Four. Three. Two. One. Zero."

There was a long silent odd moment and Volkov looked at his watch. "Apparently, it's almost time."

Bill's stories, plays, and comedy sketches have been published and/or produced in Australia, Bosnia and Herzegovina, Canada, England, Guernsey, Holland, India, Ireland, Singapore, South Africa, and the U.S. Recent stories were published in Eunoia Review, Once Upon A Crocodile, Bewildering Stories, New Contrast, 365 Tomorrows, Little Old Lady Comedy, Black Petals, and Slippage Lit, and he has stories forthcoming in Brushfire Literature and Arts Journal, Close To The Bone, Evening Street Review, Truffle, AntipodeanSF, and 3 stories (one co-written) in the Horrified Press anthologies, "Twisted Time" and "Blood In The Cogs".

Find more by William Kitcher in the Author Index.

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