Close Call

Close Call

by Brian Wells

1045 Words

No part of this story was written with the help of artificial intelligence.

Supervising technician Wallace Pendlethorpe had devoted his entire career to a two-meter-long piece of thermostat wire.

After whirling in a centrifuge for thirty years with one end at the center and the other end at the perimeter, the wire, it was hoped, would exhibit relativistic dilation properties between the two ends, separating them in time.

Certainly, Wallace had other responsibilities, but it became a personal quest to see how long he could keep the wire spinning, despite the company’s growing apathy. So it wasn't completely for the sake of science that Wallace championed the project since the very beginning at PolyFathom Research Labs.

Every time a corporate VP would visit and declare the noisy, government-surplus centrifuge a distasteful blight on an otherwise well-appointed lab, Wallace would jump in to defend the project. "Pure science, pure research--those are the hallmarks that distinguish PolyFathom." Though the sentiment was heartfelt, Wallace knew his choice of words was both manipulative and cynical.

After Wallace had been with the firm thirty years, PolyFathom acquired a new CEO--a twenty-something loose-cannon son of a board member. Soon afterwards, Wallace discovered a square hole in the carpet where the centrifuge had been.

He also found a pink slip on his desk.

On his way out, he managed to salvage the washing machine-sized centrifuge from the dumpster, along with a chair and two file cabinets destined for the scrap heap. He kept the centrifuge going for seven months in his basement and would have kept it going longer if not for a seized bearing.

After disconnecting power from the disabled centrifuge, Wallace removed the wire from its harness. Though it was an ordinary wire with seven colored, insulated conductors--stiff with age--inside a brown jacket, Wallace treasured it.

Some people get a gold watch after three decades with the same company. He got a short scrap of wire from the dumpster. He preferred the wire to a gold watch, given its history. It was almost like an old friend.

He considered how he might measure its properties. Months of unemployment had forced him to sell his oscilloscope to help pay the mortgage. How does one test dilation properties in a wire without access to proper lab equipment?

The simplest thing to do, he decided, was to try it out on something time-dependent.

Like communications.

He crimped telephone connectors to each end of the wire, carefully taping back the unused conductors. He plugged one end into his phone and the other into the phone jack in the wall behind his desk. He wasn't sure what to expect, but he couldn't think of anything else to do.

What does one do with a telephone but make a call?

As he reached for the receiver, the phone rang.

A bit startled, Wallace hesitated. The phone rang a second time.

"Hello?"

"I'm calling to give you a piece of my mind!"

Caught off guard by the caller's unexpected aggression, Wallace stammered in his response. "I'm sorry?"

"You heard me! How dare you call me up and speak to me in that manner?"

"Excuse me?" Wallace thought the voice sounded familiar, but he couldn't put a name to it. "Who is this?"

"You know darn well who this is, you impertinent toad!"

"I'm sorry," Wallace said. "I think you have the wrong number."

"No, I don't! You called me! What gives you the right?"

Could it be someone from PolyFathom? Someone whose voice he hadn't heard in months and no longer recognized? "I'm sorry, I forget… Do I know you?"

The caller, appearing to be startled himself, said, "What? Oh! Oh, crap!"

The call terminated abruptly, and Wallace was left with a dial tone.

"Impertinent toad," Wallace muttered. "He's the impertinent toad." He constructed a sandwich and ate it as he tinkered with the centrifuge, trying to forget the incident, but he couldn’t get it out of his mind. Who would address a complete stranger in such a disrespectful manner?

Though Wallace generally avoided confrontation, he found the idea of letting the caller get away with such an unprovoked attack infuriating. If he were to return the call, would his anonymity be maintained?

After sufficient fuming, he decided he didn't care. He picked up the phone and dialed star-six to confront the caller.

He heard the ring tone in his earpiece. "I bet the coward won't even pick up." Another ring, and the other party answered.

"Hello?" The voice was meek, tentative, but it was definitely the same voice that had scolded him earlier.

Wallace, raising his own voice, said, "I'm calling to give you a piece of my mind!"

There was a hesitation before the voice on the other end said, "I'm sorry?"

"You heard me!" Wallace shouted. "How dare you call me up and speak to me in that manner?"

The voice on the other end of the line sounded genuinely confused as it said, "Excuse me? Who is this?"

"You know darn well who this is, you impertinent toad!" Wallace felt a twinge of joy at returning the insult so unjustifiably hurled at him.

"I'm sorry. I think you have the wrong number."

"No, I don't!" Wallace said. "You called me! What gives you the right?"

"I'm sorry, I forget… Do I know you?"

"What?"

When Wallace recognized his own voice, he panicked. "Oh! Oh, crap!"

He slammed the phone down.

As he sat in silence, Wallace replayed the conversation in his head several times from both perspectives, marveling at what had just happened. Fear and wariness gave way to wonder as possibilities flooded his mind.

He checked his watch. About half an hour, give or take. What could one do with a wire that reaches half an hour into the future?

What else? Day trading, of course.

He still had a few hundred in the bank. Not enough for the next mortgage payment, but it was certainly enough to get started on some fast-moving stocks. He flipped through the Yellow Pages and found a broker with a respectable quarter-page ad. As he reached for the phone to call the broker, it rang.

He picked up the receiver but said nothing. He recognized the voice on the line as his own when it said, "Wildfires in Columbia. Go long on coffee futures. Now."

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