The Decameron 2.0

Day 7.5 Humor - LOST BECAUSE OF LATTE elaroadshow

Vanilla chai latte, how I love but hate you.

If it weren't for you, I wouldn't be in this mess. If it weren't for whirling around with you in my hand, brushing against her delicate fingers, losing control of the contents of the cup that held you, and dumping your vanilla-y goodness on my shirt and tie, none of this would have happened. I might never have known that Sarah existed.

Thanks for nothing, latte.

Let me explain. I, Dr. Edgin Daily, have one claim to fame. At age seventeen, I invented the PortaChron2812, a fully-functional time machine. Creating a time machine was the sort of thing that should've made me rich and famous. But in my case, it only made me famous. That's because while PortaChron2812 was a feat of engineering genius, I've only been able to make one.

I must admit that a bit of luck played an important part in my success. Genius that I am, I could never have invented my time machine without the help of my father--gambler and space cowboy that he was. Sadly, when I was not much more than a toddler, he took a left turn herding asteroids when he should've gone right. So, I hardly got to know the man. But before he was vaporized, he gave me the rarest of gifts.

I still remember him handing me the tiny springy coil of an iron-like metal.

"Here ya' go, Edgin," he had said.

"What's that?" I had asked.

"A precious metal from a distant galaxy. Somethin' called "anachrony." Won it in a card game. Previous owner called it 'magic.'"

Turns out, Dad was right. That piece of anachrony was magic. It became the secret ingredient that powered my time machine. After testing the properties of that sliver of metal, I realized it somehow warped time and space. By magnifying its properties, I was able to manipulate the temporal continuum. I could travel through time.

My speck of anachrony, then, was the key to my machine. Without it, the Portachron2812 wouldn't function. And there's the rub. To this day, my father's gift has been the only piece of the alien substance I've been able to find. It's been thirteen years since I invented the PortaChron. But without more anachrony, I've been unable to replicate my time machine.

And, of course, the moment news leaked that I had invented a time machine, buyers were pounding on the door to my lab. They were looking to make me wildly wealthy in exchange for the plans to the PortaChron. But until I located more anachrony, I knew that there'd be no deal for my machine. What's more, the rarity of anachrony was a detail I didn't dare let potential buyers know. So instead, I told the world that time travel was still flawed and dangerous. I hoped to buy time while I scoured the universe for my secret ingredient.

That was also the reason I decided to speak at GreenichCon thirteen years ago--to add credence to the idea that time travel was risky. It was a great speech, believable. And, when I finished my lecture, a woman's voice, as sweet as a leap into light speed, called to me from behind.

"Dr. Daily?" she asked. That's when I spun around and introduced my shirt to my tea. But, in the sliver of time during which the cup had left my hands but had yet to shatter on the floor, I also saw who had called to me.

I recognized her immediately. She was Dr. Sarah Cera --Ph.D., astrophysicist, nineteen, and a prodigy like me. My dream match. Well, she would've been except for the latte incident. After my mishap with my mug, I shuffled off stage with my speech clutched to my chest, convinced that Sarah could never love a klutz like me.

After that day, I pulled away from society and focused on my work. My statements at GreenichCon about the PortaChron being dangerous were mostly lies, of course. In fact, I started using the PortaChron daily to search for my precious anachrony.