One Small Universe ³
The last building block clattered into its appointed place as Zinc closed the toy box; his father was on his way. He could tell because the house’s weight seemed to shift a bit when people moved in it, particularly on the stairs. Oh no! The stairs…toy cars…DAD!
He was looking down at the desk clock still in his hand when the realization hit him that his chin was rushing at the hardwood stairs at a fair rate of speed. Without thinking, he reached for the banister, which promptly snapped out of reach as he reversed direction with a sudden jolt, sending the clock one way and him the other. He was watching himself as in a taped image on fast reverse, but moving AWAY from the stairwell altogether. At a point where his head was now pointing toward the floor, about 15 feet away now, he felt his chest constrict and everything in the room stopped. Looking up, he saw half a dozen Hot Wheels on the stairs, the clock floating in midair, and a slight sigh from somewhere behind his head.
“Sorry Dad. I was cleaning up, I really was, I just forgot about…those.”
“Looks different when the coyote does it…I think it’s the umbrella.”
Whew! Zinc tried not to laugh…it was very hard. “Yea, but his invention Kung Fu is weak!”
“Was that an attempt at temporal reversal?”
“Just then?”
…his son knew what he meant. He was stalling. No need to answer insulting questions…silence.
Oops! Just once he’d like to get away with some misdirection…just once. He never practiced parlor magic on his father. No fun…at all. “Kinetic, actually…that isn’t the same thing, is it?”
He’d had to make it clear that mussing about with time dilation or temporal eventing held the inherent risk of destroying…everything. He wasn’t sure his son’s powers extended into that ability, but no point risking it. “No, it’s not. But I feel like I swallowed an electric eel; how about setting me down, it’s getting hard to breath.”
As Dr. Ryan spun slowly upright, he plucked the clock from the air on his way down like a peach from a tree, then he noticed there were no more toys on the stairs, but the sound of plastic skidding on wood came from the direction of Zinc’s room.
“How long have you been practicing multiple targets?”
“I’m not. They’re just all grouped into the same task. Like time-chopping for…”
“…time slicing.”
“..yea, time slicing for computer processors. If I do it fast enough, it looks the same.”
Sitting on the third step, facing away from his son to hide the obviously proud grin on his face..
“You haven’t been this agreeable to cleaning up or this apologetic for nearly fracturing your dear old dad’s neck since I found that squirrel in the laundry hamper. So tell me…” pregnant pause, just for impact “…is it your grades, your exercises, or another hurt animal that is hopefully not hidden in an underwear drawer that even closely resembles mine?”
“I uh…well, you might be getting a call from the school because of something that happened in school today. AFTER school actually, but at the school.”
Shooting a glance over his shoulder, then stifling the urge to react immediately, “Was, how can I put this; anyone hurt?”
“That depends on if a..well if a car counts as ‘anyone’.” Zinc began to wince and closed his eyes, afraid to elaborate.
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