A year ago, when I was seventeen, my grandfather died. Everyone knew about Dad’s life, but in many ways, my grandfather’s life had been just as big an adventure. James Paulson had been one of the earliest members of Four; had helped to build both Bethany House and Gethsemane House, and then spent a decade keeping Four’s biggest secret, as he and my grandmother carried vaccine to Christians around the globe.
After the funeral, we all gathered at Aunt Kimberley’s house. As friends and family came and went, I spent the time with my cousins, but never took my eyes off Dad. He slipped away and out the door; so I followed him, and caught him sitting on a park bench two blocks away.
“It was a little crowded in there,” I said, as I sat beside him.
“Actually, I thought it was a little lonely,” he replied.
I put my head onto his shoulder.
“You miss grandpa.”
“Even when you know it’s coming, you’re never really ready,” he said.
“I think everyone was surprised and disappointed that you didn’t give a eulogy.”
“I didn’t know what to say to everyone,” he replied.
“I believe you,” I said. “But even if you didn’t know what to say to everyone else, you still composed a eulogy in your head, a tribute to grandpa for your own ears. Will you tell it to me?”
Dad thought for a few moments, and then cleared his throat.
“They say the world shrinks a little, the day your father dies. Our father’s strong arms are the first to lift us high in the air when we’re just babies. They lift us high above their heads and we feel like we’re so high up, that we can see more of the world. Then, when they think we’re ready, they’ll toss us into the air. It’s like a father has an instinct to show his children more of the world than they can see for themselves, so higher and higher they’ll toss us, to expand our worlds; but no matter how high we go, we’re never afraid. We know with the same certainty that the sun will rise tomorrow, that those strong hands are going to be there to catch us. So today, knowing those strong hands have left this earth, I could let my world feel a bit smaller; but I’m not going to allow that to happen to myself or to his memory. Instead, I’d rather that his passing lift me and expand my world one last time; so I’ll lift my eyes and my heart to the place where our Father has lifted him, knowing that those strong hands have caught him.”
“Dad?” I said. “I noticed that you didn’t cry at the funeral.”
It occurred to me that I’d never seen Dad cry, ever.
“Maybe crying a little would be a good thing,” I suggested.
He rested his head on top of mine.
“Jocie, with all the things I’ve done in my life - some of them good, and some of them bad - I’m afraid of crying.”
How could Dad be afraid of crying? He’s the man who was tortured nearly to death in the mountain and stood strong in Christ’s name. He shouldn’t be afraid of anything, anymore.
“Afraid?” I asked.
“Afraid that once I start, I’ll never be able to stop.”
******
I send Zera back to the barn to get Austin; then secure a rope and throw the loose end into the pit. Soon I’m standing on The Tombstone. On one corner of the concrete, I find a line of letters. These are the initials of the people who poured the concrete to lay the mine to rest. One of them also wrote “and the Angel.” I look at the remains of the elevator that was used to raise and lower the miners and their equipment.
The elevator wasn’t at the bottom of the shaft when The Tombstone fell. Why not?
I look at the smashed elevator and realize that it is actually two cages. There was a smaller cage underneath the main cage. It was probably a place to carry equipment.
There must have been a hole in the floor for the lower cage to drop into so the miners would be level with the floor as they got on and off. Anything in the hole would be protected when the Tombstone fell.
I jump off the massive slab and see that it’s resting on a couple of boulders. I don’t need to move The Tombstone; I just need to clear enough room to wiggle under it. A long, straight piece of metal is lying between the boulders, which I use to lever out the smaller rocks, while I clear the sand and gravel with my hands. After an hour, I find the edge of the hole. I reach in and feel something made of metal, which I can just squeeze through the opening. It turns out to be a metal lockbox. When I dust it off, I find the name “Paulson” written on it, in my handwriting, along with a message.
I’m not sure how long I sit, staring at the box ,before I hear Austin emerge from the electrical tunnel above me.
“Jocie? What are you doing down there?” Austin asks.
Zera emerges next.
“She’s been under The Tombstone,” Zera says. “What did you find?”
“Pandora’s box,” I say.
“Why do you say that? What’s in it?” Austin asks.
“I don’t know. That’s why we can’t open it.”
“You make as much sense as your father,” Zera says. “Come up here and explain it to us.” I climb up the rope and meet them on a ledge.
“Here’s what I know,” I say. “I’m going back to the year 2039, but I don’t know why. When I’m there, I’ll place that box in the bottom of the mine.”
“Then why can’t we open it?” Zera asks.
“Paradox,” I say. “What if it’s a letter saying goodbye, because I’m stuck back in time? Whether it’s good news or bad, anything in that box could affect the decisions we all make.”
“Why would you send it, if not to open it?” Austin asks.
“It’s for you to open, after I’m gone,” I say. “That’s what I wrote on it.”
******
For the next week, Austin is the star of the show. He leaves me to the busywork of tending the oven as the composite puzzle pieces are heated and cooled, while he builds a time machine from the pieces found in the cans. William closes part of the museum display and helps us move the computers from Timber Ridge Camp to the ruins of Bethany House.
It’s Zera’s night on the bed inside Wendy’s house, and I’m lying on the hay, when Austin finally asks the question I’ve been waiting for him to ask.
“Jocie? This has been a great adventure, but the adventure will be over without some large crystals of tellurium 120. Where are we going to get them? I’ve read stories about this one formation under a deep rock gold mine near Cripple Creek. The miners had broken through into a natural cave on their way to a gold vein, but left them alone. They sat there for decades, but when the government came to take them for The Traveler’s Initiative, the crystals had disappeared. Maybe we can find out what happened to them and…”
I raise my hand to stop him. He’s read everything there is to read about time travel and he’ll go on all night.
“Have you ever heard Dad say that the first piece of a puzzle is as important as the last? The crystals were actually the first piece to be put into place. I’ve known about them nearly my entire life. I just didn’t know what they were, until you realized that the shepherd’s hook was part of a time machine.”
I remove a small leather pouch from an outer pocket on my pack and dump the contents into my hand. I pick out all the worthless diamonds, rubies and emeralds, and put them back in the pouch.
“These are the last eight minable crystals on earth,” I say. “Dad had them all along.”
“Eight?” Austin says. “I know you’re small, but it took twenty-six crystals to transport Mom and Dad. How am I supposed to transport you with just eight?”
“I’m small and I’m only going back two hundred years rather than two thousand.”
“I don’t care if you lose ten pounds and I send you into last week. This is a matter of physics,” he says.
I have no way to respond.
“Jocie? Is the reason none of us can look in that box because eight crystals is only enough for a one-way trip?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then I’m going to open the box …” he says. “… and if it says you’re stuck two hundred years in the past, then I’m not going to send you. I’d rather face a paradox.”
“Don’t face a paradox, Austin. Face a puzzle. Ask questions. Ask what limits the crystals, and then figure out a way to overcome that limitation.”
“Physics, Jocie. The limitation is physics, and there’s no magic combination of puzzle pieces that’s going to change it.”
“I know,” I say. “But we also know that there was an arena that you built sitting in that cave, and a box with my handwriting on it under The Tombstone. It’s going to happen, Austin. The best we can do now is to make it happen in a way that’s consistent with what we know.”
“You mean create a new solution to the puzzle,” he says.
“We are Paulson’s,” I reply.
******
The next day, Austin and Zera carry much of the time machine to the cave, leaving me with the tedious job of heating and cooling the composite pieces of the arena cage. After two hours, I’m thoroughly bored with the job and find myself singing to pass the time. I like singing, but I rarely do it when others are around because I know I’m not very good. I’m singing the classic “He’ll Find You,” when I hear Zera giggling behind me. She and Austin snuck into the barn and have been listening. I stop singing and feel my face turning many shades of red.
“Don’t stop,” Zera says. “Austin and I will sing harmony.”
She starts the song again from the beginning, and I join in. Zera’s range is much higher than mine, so I have a hard time staying on key. Austin joins in at his much lower range, and I become completely lost. Halfway through the song, Austin drops out. I expect him to laugh at me, but instead, I find him staring into space. Zera and I stop singing.
“Austin?” Zera says. “You know that look Jocie gets on her face, just before she solves a puzzle? You have it too.”
“Harmony!” Austin says.
Zera and I exchange a confused look.
“The tellurium crystals,” Austin says. “All crystals have a resonance frequency. For the most part, two crystals of the same material have the same frequency when subjected to the same energy, but there is some variability, due to imperfections in the lattice. The people who made the first time machine probably ignored the variance. They let the crystals sing out of harmony.”
“The crystals sing?” Zera asks.
Austin finally stops staring into space.
“Let me show you,” he says.
One of the barn stalls is an old workshop where Austin has set up some equipment. He takes one of the eight remaining crystals out of a protective case and carefully places it inside a chamber taken from the original time machine.
“We can apply a small amount of energy without hurting it,” he says, then uses his com to activate the device.
“The crystal is resonating far outside the range of our hearing, but we can use the computer to give us an audible signal,” he says.
We hear a low-pitched hum.
“Now - listen to this,” he says, and places a second crystal in another chamber.
“It sounds exactly the same,” I say.
“That’s why nobody sings duets with you,” he says. “You can’t hear the difference in the crystals, just like you can’t hear your own voice.”
“They sound the same to me, too,” Zera says.
Austin repeats the process with each of the eight crystals, until all eight are humming.
“It sounds like white noise,” Zera says.
“Exactly!” Austin says. “It has a randomness to it, caused by the variations and imperfections in the crystals. The power output has a matching randomness, too.”
He points to a screen where power output is displayed in the form of a bell curve.
“If I’m right, getting the crystals to resonate in harmony will increase the power output.”
He starts to adjust the resonance of each crystal, using miniscule changes to the power flow. It’s clear that he can hear each individual crystal and is bringing them together. Even I can hear the sound moving from white noise to a single perfect note.
“Look at the power output!” Zera says.
What was a broad bell curve is now a single, perfect spike on the monitor.
“We’ve increased the power output by ten times,” Austin says. “I think it will be enough … but you could still lose a pound or two … just to be safe.”
******
Transporting the necessary equipment to the ruins of Bethany House takes a few days, but I’m glad to have a little more time. When Dad travelled the first time, it was done with great fanfare. When he and Mom travelled, they were sent off with a gunfight and an explosion. My turn feels like a disappointment in comparison.
“Do you have everything you need?” Austin asks, as we walk with the last load.
I have what looks like a bundle of sticks on my back - the pieces that I’ll assemble into two time travel arenas.
“A little more courage would be nice,” I reply.
“I have a going away gift that might help in that department.”
He reaches into his pack and takes out what looks like a thick cylinder of his composite, less than half a meter long, and hands it to me.
“Hold it horizontally and push both buttons at the same time,” he says.
When I do it, the cylinder telescopes out and locks. It’s now about a meter-and-a-half long, exactly the size of a standard sparring stick.
“Won’t the chip in it fry during transport?” I ask.
“There are no chips. It’s just springs. I made two. I was thinking we could try them out together when you get back.”
“I’d like that,” I say.
“Promise me, Jocie. Promise you’ll come back.”
“I’ll be back,” I say. “There’s no way I’m going to miss a chance to end your undefeated streak of sparring wins over me - especially with your own stick.”
“It’ll be worth it.”
******
We haul everything into the old tunnel.
“I still can’t believe that bundle of sticks is going to be part of a time machine,” Zera says, as I set to work.
The pieces are precise. Many of them appear to be identical, but are actually different from each other by a millimeter here or there. Those millimeters are just enough to ensure that the cage only fits together in one way. Austin and Zera watch in fascination, as I slide and twist the pieces.
“You worked so hard to get that piece in,” Austin says. “Why are you taking it back out?”
“It’s part of the puzzle. Not many people think about going backward in order to move forward.”
“As far as we know, nobody but us is ever going to see this puzzle,” Zera says. “Why go to all the trouble?”
“I guess it’s a Paulson thing. As we worked on this arena, I was actually thinking of an even more complex design, but we don’t have time.”
After fifteen minutes, I’m down to the last piece of the first arena.
“I need you to hold pressure on this piece,” I say to Austin, as I place his hand on the right spot while sliding the piece shaped like a Shepherd’s hook into place, then twist it to lock the entire structure together.
“Was needing a second person also part of the puzzle?” he asks.
I raise my eyebrows in response.
“Of course it was,” he says.
The second arena goes together even faster. Austin isn’t watching this time though, his eyes are darting to the metal box that I retrieved from beneath The Tombstone.
“The sooner I go, the sooner you can open it,” I say.
******
“How bad will the blackout be?” I ask, when the arena is set up under the time machine.
“At least the Eastern seaboard; maybe most of North America,” Austin replies.
“How quickly will they figure out the source of the power drain?”
Austin’s face falls.
“I hadn’t thought of that,” he says. “When Dad went back, every day that passed for him back there corresponded to a day passing in our time. We don’t have that kind of time. Once the power comes back on, the government will be here in less than an hour.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, and climb into the arena. “Defend the machine as long as you can.”
“Zera, you push the button,” Austin says. “I can’t do it.”
She doesn’t want to do it either, but she knows it has to be done. The machine starts to hum, as it draws massive amounts of power from the Sunspot One fusion reactor that supplies electricity to the entire Western Hemisphere.
I’m just moments away from transport, when Austin runs past the control computer and dives for the old metal box.
“Austin, don’t!” I yell.
There’s a single piece of paper inside the box, which he reads. His jaw drops slightly and he looks at me; then this head snaps towards Zera. Whatever he planned to say to her is lost in an immense flash of light, followed by complete darkness.