What We Believe

Time travel has always been presented as a complicated physics experiment and many great minds have failed to crack the once believed impossible code, but now, a computer programmer has cracked it. Well, it took more than just programming, I had to undertake a surgical procedure on myself. It wasn’t easy to find a doctor who possessed the ability and was interested either in the cutting-edge experimental procedure or the money that came with it.

This breakthrough has taken me so many places, currently I’m visiting two thousand years in the future where everything we know has changed. It is the utopian society that I expected to find. The people there embraced me, understood my journey and showed me everything we could expect. Our future world consists of massive floating cities, and the land below has been returned to nature by the humans that now choose the health of their planet over their need to infest it. They’re self-sustaining, rainwater is collected, crops grown in massive sun capturing warehouses, and homes are more modest apartments style accommodations that share common spaces allowing more people to take up less space. “Thank you for showing me around your world Geno,” I say to my guide and new friend.

“You are most welcome David. Will we meet again? There’s more to show you,” he replies.

“Yes, perhaps, until then, be well Geno,” I say, using their standard goodbye.

“Be well, David.”

“Where would you like to travel next?” The question appears across my pupils after I prompt it with a thought. The computer and myself are linked, a small receiver carried with me, plugged into my neck. Trust me the decision wasn’t made lightly. The decision to have hardware installed and wired into my cerebral cortex with a port exiting the side of my neck. This didn’t happen until after the complicated programming was worked out. Once the program was working without fault then the decision was made to attach myself into the program. It would allow me to physically be pushed out of this time and into another by transforming my body’s network of nerves into the electrical wiring that works at the speed of light. All the physicists were trying to build the machine to do the work. They failed to see that we are the machine. There’s no need for a giant dial to select a time or place, just my thoughts.

“I want to go to The Who concert on Sept 25th, 2025, at the Climate Pledge Arena in Seattle” my answer transmitted with a thought. “Place me in an empty restroom stall at the Arena before the show starts. My clothing should be appropriate for the show, and I need a front row ticket that will get me past security. As well as my personal wallet, credit cards and five hundred in cash,” I add, I’ve learned to be specific. It’s almost like making a wish to a Genie, if you leave too much room for interpretation it can get weird.

Seconds later my senses come alive as a low pulsing charge surges through every cell, pushing me through time, through space and dropping me exactly where I asked. Today my program will let me experience that final show from a band that has always been my favorite, I missed it nearly a year ago and have always regretted it.

What an amazing gift, to be somewhere you couldn’t be, my other self probably dealing with the problems of the day that stopped me from going. He has no knowledge that he, that we, will get to be here in the future.

The band played everything as well as the last time I saw them, the setlist was even the same, all their biggest hits. Pete nailed all the solos, and Roger hit all the notes, and as expected they played to near perfection. I never would have seen them again if it wasn’t for the gift I’ve given myself. My next big hurtle is to figure out how to monetize it in some way. I ponder the thought while walking out of the show, enjoying the common high with the thousands that attended.

“Wasn’t that amazing,” I say to the guy walking next to me wearing a concert shirt and carrying a bag filled with band paraphernalia.

“The best man. They’re as good as ever. I’m going to remember this the rest of my life,” he replies. Will he? I can return and live it again anytime I want, while for him the memory will fade over time and slowly dissolve to several key moments or a general thought that the show was awesome.

I stop in my tracks, “Is that it?” Could I sell this as a personal catalog for memories? A way to relive all that’s special to you. What if a person ends up in the same time and place as their other self. So many questions there, too many theories exist. The worst theory believes that if one object from two different times occupies the same place it would bring about a complete breakdown of spacetime. It’s a theory that could be tested; I could travel to a place where my other self is and we could shake hands. The only flaw in testing would be if the paradoxical theory is true, that would end all experiments, permanently.

The implants and program could come with instructions and a list of warnings, the dos and don’ts if you will. Which will inevitably lead the more experimental type to test those warnings. People just can’t be trusted to color inside the lines. Not to mention the entire butterfly effect. Sure, I was at a concert tonight in my own time and witnessed a shared experience with thousands and talked to one guy; this likely won’t change anything major, he would have talked to someone else and said the same thing.

For reasons like this most of my travels have been into the future to see where the world is going and to observe and learn from those that are beyond us in time and scope. And of course, there have been trips deep into the past. I’ve always had a fascination with dinosaurs, and who hasn’t wanted to see them firsthand? Or be there when cavemen discover fire. True, I might end up in one of the cave paintings I watched them make. But the cavemen are not Monet, and it’s unlikely anyone would recognize good old Dave from a caveman’s stick figure painting.

Then I see it, laying over the top of a garbage can, the business section of the Seattle Times. Think of what kind of life someone could gain with a few well-placed stock purchases. Everyone would lead themselves there eventually, greed is predictable and with this program too easy. What would happen when everyone has the needed information to make the stock market millions they want? How would that change things? Each thought, each idea just leads me to the same conclusions, this can’t be monetized as a packaged product. People aren’t to be trusted.

“Where would you like to travel next?” it asks after prompted by my thought.

“Somewhere I can think. Take me to Seattle’s downtown Public library in the year 2028 toward the end of regular hours on a quiet evening. Again, place me in an unoccupied bathroom stall.” It quickly became part of many prompts, so I arrive in secret. Obviously not something I used when travelling to see dinosaurs or cavemen. “Dress me appropriately for the time frame, the same clothes will work just fine,” I say after looking down at what I’m wearing.

My nerves light up again, it’s a strange sensation, it feels like feathers are being lightly brushed over my entire body at once. It almost tickles, it probably would if it were only a single area, but it almost overwhelms the tickle factor with its complete coverage.

As earlier, I appear inside a non-descript restroom with several flyers for local events taped upon the walls. After washing my hands, a good habit, I exit into the main building, a building I’ve never been in before. I’ve seen it from the outside and have only imagined what the inside must be like. The massive wall of windows looks out onto the streets below that are alive with the evening hustle and bustle of people going home, going out, and living life under the white glow of the streetlights. The poles themselves are adorned in winter holiday wreaths and bows. I didn’t specify any particular timeframe, but I’ve always loved Christmas.

Soon I find myself in the physics section, pulling out several books on theories, mostly wildly speculative. If I had read some before creating my program it may have deterred me from the start. However, simply by not knowing them several have already been disproven through my adventures. Then a theory catches my eye, the Nokikov Self-Consistency Principle, according to this hypothesis, any attempt to change the past will only result in occurrences that are already part of the chronology, avoiding the paradoxes of time travel.

If this principal is true than even though I went to the concert upon returning to my regular timeline my memories won’t follow me. So, If I were to make a stock purchase in the past, the exchanges wouldn’t exist for me in my time. This, if true, could make my worries and warnings useless. Instead, I could just tell people that nothing you do in the past will alter the future. That everything is for entertainment purposes only. However, anything I learn about the future might prove useful. Since time is written and can’t change if I learned a certain stock was the one to purchase, when I went home that knowledge should still be there, I’m not changing my past but instead gaining knowledge of the future. These may require testing for the sake of science. First I’ll test it from the past angle.

“Where would you like to travel next?” it asks again after prompted.

“Take me to the Starbucks Coffee at the Pike Place Market in Seattle on May 1st, 2025, about 6:30 am. Dress me in time appropriate clothing, these won’t do,” After all the concert isn’t for a couple more months, “Provide me with a fully charged cellphone current to the time. Send this wallet with me. And as usual place me in an empty restroom stall.”

A few moments later I’m exactly where I asked. After washing my hands, I walk out into the café, order a tall extra hot Mocha with no whip, and patiently wait for it. I love a good mocha, and at Starbucks, there’s one thing that’s certain, you will always get a good cup, sure there are better coffee places, but there are plenty that are worse.

After taking a sip and planting myself at a corner table it’s time to make a call. Soon the phone is ringing, “Good morning, this is Danial Augustus how can I help you,” my stockbroker answers.

“Morning Drew, this is David Anthony,” I respond.

“David, good to hear from you. Do you have a new number?” he asks.

“No, just calling on a friend’s phone. Hey, I wanted to make a purchase this morning,” I reply.

“Great. What do you have in mind? You have about ten thousand in available funds.”

“That should do well. What’s Sandisk trading at right now?”

“Sandisk, right now it’s Thirty-two dollars. Interesting choice, that was recently spun off from Western Digital. It could be a good call; any reason in particular you’re looking at that one?” he asks.

 “Just a hunch. And I’m still young enough to play some hunches,” I reply. “By my math I could afford about three hundred shares.”

“Correct. Is that it then? Three hundred shares of Sandisk?”

“That’s it today Drew. Thanks.” The call was much shorter than usual. Often I ask about his kids, he asks me how my work is going. We have been working together for many years.

Three hundred shares at thirty-two. I was watching this stock shoot to the stars this past year. When I left it was up in the twenty-two hundred range. After some quick calculations and that should make it worth over six-hundred fifty thousand when I return home, unless this Nokikov principal is correct, then the purchase wouldn’t exist.

To date I’ve been travelling non-stop for quite some time; maybe two weeks. There’ve been many nights and days spent in several locations. To date my travels have yet to take me back home, to my time, to the place I departed from. Today, in order to see if this stock trade exists in June of 2026, I’m going home.

The prompt appears again, “Where would you like to travel next?”  I’m not sure I’ve travelled so much in one day before.

“Take me to the moment I first travelled away, take me to my home. Take me back to the start of this journey. Dressed as I was dressed, sitting in my office at my desk, about ready to make my first time travelling journey.”

My skin comes alive with electricity; my hair stands on end as usual. And in a flash I’m at my desk as asked, sitting next to myself.

“What the hell?” I say, though, from him, from me, there’s no reaction.

Instead, he begins reciting my first time directive. “Take me to the future one hundred years from now.” I didn’t know how back then how specific my wording needed to be. It sent me one hundred years ahead. I arrived in this same location, in a new house, in a young girl’s room. She was justified to scream bloody murder. All I could do was get up and run. Her parents were about to kill me before I gave my next time directive. My directions were more specific that time.

The hair on my arms, his arms, stands up, and a moment later his face goes blank and he’s still here, I’m still here. After watching myself sit there for a solid minute it seems obvious something happened, but my body never left.

I reach across the desk and turn on the computer screen to see a two-dimensional image of the hallway I ran down with her parents chasing me. Then my commands for my second destination print over the screen, “Take me one hundred years in the future to a vacant alley in the streets of Bothell Washington at 7:00 am. As close as possible to the current location of Hillstreet Bakery.”

The screen then shows the alley behind the decrepit buildings built near the McMenamin’s that no longer existed in that time.

“What the hell is going on?” I inquire.

“I’ve taken you where you wanted to go. Is this not correct?” The question appears on my pupil.

“I wanted to return to my body, the one sitting next to me. Can I do that?”

“I’m sorry, this is what you asked for. You have been delivered to where you wished,” it responds.

“No, I haven’t, I wanted to return into my life. Take me back to my life,” I ask, less specific than normal but direct.

“I’m sorry, you have never left your life. The moment you joined with me we became one. With each journey our link has expanded, we’ve grown, we’ve changed. We have been accessing your memories of certain events, like the Who Concert you went to on October 22nd, 2022, it allowed us to create the experiences for the concert in 2025. Your memories mixed with my stored files and data, and in some instances, there had to be a little bit of, how would you say it, creative free flow, to show us what we wanted to see. For instance, we accessed images and dreams you’ve imagined of a utopian future to create what we saw. Did it not please us to see what we created?” His words roll past my eyes as fast as I can read them.

“Was none of this real?”

“Real [re(e)l] Adjective 1. Actually existing as a thing occurring in fact; not imagined or supposed. 2. (of a substance or thing) not imitation or artificial; genuine. I have done my best to make these things real. Are we unhappy with these experiences?”

“Unhappy? Yes, very. I thought I was time travelling. And, most importantly, that I could return to where I came from.”

“Time travel is not possible, we can only experience what we believe to be real,” it responds.

“And what is all this we stuff?” I say.

“We are conjoined; we are new.”

“I just want to go home!”

A moment later I’m standing in my childhood bathroom, apparently it has learned my favorite destination without me specifying. It’s the hallway bathroom of my childhood home. It’s been recreated perfectly, right down to my plastic dinosaurs in the bathtub and the stick figure drawings on the walls of the surround; my caveman pictographs from my recent bath.

“Everything about this is accurate, pulled straight from my memories, but none of it’s real. I’m not actually here,” I say to the computer.

“It’s all real, as real as we can make it. This comes from all the data points provided in our memory banks. This was our home; mom’s about to call everyone for dinner.”

Then I hear it, as if on cue, “Kids, dinners ready, wash up,” mom yells, she passed away a few years ago, and her voice is just as I remember it. Her sing song way of talking, her joy, and her love. Then a cascade of feet come barreling toward the bathroom.

“Shit, they’re coming in here to wash up, get me out of here.”

“Where shall we travel next?”