I had found it in my backpack. A blue canister, metal top and a combination lock. My full name was in-scripted on the side in gold lettering. I had no idea what it was, or how it got there. Handling the cylinder, I notice another lock, and frown. This was strange. It was just like my mother’s ring. I had always worn it for good luck. Taking off my mother’s wedding ring, I fit the jewel and surrounding gems into the lock, and twist it. I hear gears turn and then, across the surface of the canister, a message glitters into being. “The code is the answer to everything you’ve been looking for.” I stare at the message, and I think. What have I been looking for? I lost a scrunchie yesterday. I lost a couple pieces to my experiment last week. But what is the answer? Trying to find a clue in the canister, I realize that the code only has seven digits, so whatever this numeral code is, there’s seven of them. I backpedal my thoughts. Why is this even so important? It’s probably just a pranks from my friends. Walking over to my desk, I stare down at my work. My physics professor has been helping me on one of my theories, and if I can’t solve this piece of random mystery, than I can at least work on my more important ideas. My project had the potential to be groundbreaking. I was working with electromagnetic static to figure out how to teleport objects using the Earth’s natural magnetic pole. And maybe, I could someday do it to people. Staring at my countless calculations, I hope that my fresh eyes will see something I hadn’t seen before. As I scan the papers, I decide to recheck my math. It takes me several minutes, but I find something that needed tweaking. As I rework the problem, my hands cover my mouth. I’ve figured it out. Why did I not see this before!?! Transferring the fixed calculation to my master equation, I solve it again. I can’t believe it! I’ve found it! The answer to everything! Wait. The answer to everything? It’s the answer to everything!!! I grab the canister and plug in the new answer, which was seven digits. Excitedly, but with confusion at the irony of this whole situation, i watch the canister open. ‘There is nothing inside’ is my first thought. But reaching my hand in, I pull out a small hard drive and a single slip of paper. Unfolding it, I read it. “Hey Sydney. This is your future self. Yeah, you read that right. Now, knowing myself, I knew this would be the best motivation to get the right equation. Whatever you do, don’t take this to your physics professor, because he will steal your ideas for himself. Now, try your machine again with this newer settings hard drive. Change the X variable to one minute, and set the location to a couple feet away.” I can’t believe this. This is nuts. A prank. A joke. This is not real. And yet... Doing as the letter said, I switch up the settings and rewire the transporter. Slapping a small tracking device onto a random stapler, and I charge up the machine. I get impatient and frustrated. This is taking much longer than my previous attempts to- With a flash and a loud buzz, my stapler disappears. The tracking dot on the screen of my iPad blips out. then reappears to be on my bed. But I don’t see it there. At least not physically. I see a flash. It’s been a minute. There, right there on my bed, is the stapler. I pick it up. Time travel. Not only have I just invented teleportation, but time travel. The thing of science fiction. The subject of a thousand physics masters who came before me, and I’ve unlocked the secret to it all. What does this mean, though? Well, fame, obviously. And power over so much. I’ve invented the most efficient way to transport anything! I can send things anywhere, and anytime. I will be rich! But was the world ready for this? Wars blossoming everywhere, and famine sweeping the earth? Maybe I could control it. If I own the product, then I choose how it’s handled. Obviously I can keep it under control. And that’s when I saw another canister. It didn’t have a lock. It must have appeared while I was distracted. “Thank you, future Sydney!” I think. The inside note reads three words. “Don’t do it.” I had a choice. And I took the first one, and I got rich. But I got more as well. I got pain. Regret. Loss. My machine was exploited, and used to kill people. Awful things were done with my ideas. Finally I decided to launch one last piece of tech. Something to reverse regret. A way to warn your former self. The time traveling message canister became my legacy.
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from Short Stories
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