“We’re still running tests to try to figure out what went wrong.”

Silence and mottled rage.

‘I know what went wrong, you fucking nerd. YOU were there.’

Silence.

The words were never said. He just stood, clamping on his rage, holding it close, his gaze boring at the uncombed hair on the back of Supernerd’s head.

‘You were there, and you fucking cocked it up like you’ve cocked up every fucking pathetic thing in your stupid fucking pathetic world.’

Except for earning coin.

Supernerd earned a fortune. He didn’t deserve a dime.

That was the only way geeks like him would ever get a girl. But the chicks didn’t smell the money on him because you could spend all day looking at his filthy thick glasses and his sloppy shirts, his nonentity trousers and his fat brogues and not have a clue he had money. Supernerd didn’t have a car. He had a motorbike, but Supernerd was an uncool biker. He was a complete asshole.

He was the linchpin of the Time Analysis and Research Program. Not that he was in charge of it. Oh no. You couldn’t put a prick like that in charge of a beer bottle. But the project leaders of TARP all looked to him. Whatever question they wanted answered, whatever expert opinion - the real expert opinion, because everyone there fancied themselves as an expert - they went to Mr PA, Mr Prize Asshole, Mr Ugly Extraordinaire. Jeez! When was that loser going to get himself to an orthodontist?

Nobody else liked Mr Prize Asshole, but no-one else loathed him either. Astronaut Jim Coulsden had never liked him, but now he disliked him for a good reason.

His gaze flicked down to the ever-present clipboard resting on the computer console.

Signs of acute distress.

Jim’s gaze snapped back at a room full of people. Normal people. the ‘Are You Okay?’ types you could have a conversations with, without feeling your attention slip away under a monotonous drone about transponders and particle physics and reactionary forces and speed of light compressors.

Normal people who watched him screaming and hammering at the door of the chamber, bellowing, “Turn it off. Turn the motherfucking thing off!”

Signs of acute distress.

He looked back at the clipboard again.

It would have been better if he had never seen Supernerd’s notes, so carefully cataloguing a reaction he wanted to forget. Shouting, swearing, threatening.

‘The subject has demonstrated...”

The subject had not demonstrated how much he disliked being a lab rat. He thought he had learned to cope with it, being an astronaut, weighed, measured, records taken of his heartbeat, blood pressure, bowel movements.

They could have carried on measuring him forever, if only he hadn’t screamed. But the screams, in front of all those people, ripped out his self-respect as the breath tore from his lungs. He was an astronaut. He wasn’t supposed to scream. He was supposed to stay cool, in control. He was a scientist too. He was professional.

He wasn’t supposed to fall apart in front of all these people. But he did. And they all acted like normal people would, stunned, shocked, sympathetic.

Except Supernerd. He took meticulous notes about vital signs and acute distress. He had been in touch with the hospital to check on Jim’s progress - not to ask how he was, but to log all his bodily functions.

Fucking Prize Asshole.

“You've not made it safe yet, then?” He spoke for the first time. The very first words he had said to Supernerd, since the incident.

“I’ve run certain tests, but have not yet altered the configuration of the compression process.”

“That’s a bit dangerous, isn’t it?” He could feel his anger rising. Perhaps it was best not to talk to the Asshole at all. He didn’t want to lose his cool again.

“You have to understand the delicacy of the process - “

“No, YOU have to understand - “

Breathe. Slow. Deep.

Jim pressed his lips together deliberately, reminding himself to say nothing. He let his glare do the talking, aware of people watching them.

Supernerd waited. He had that dopey kind of stillness that stupid people do, when they’re used to spending their lives doing what other people tell them because they haven’t the sense to work things out for themselves.

“That thing of yours nearly killed me,” Jim said.

“I’m aware of that, sir.”

Jim hadn’t heard that word Sir for a long time. It was a shock to remember he outranked Supernerd. Supernerd ran the whole show these days. What he said mattered most, regardless of how potentially lethal his toys had become.

A time-travel chamber!

Why had Jim even let himself be talked into a nonsensical project? He loved the idea once. Not any more. TARP was a government-funded body that had been incorrectly labelled as a sub-section of NASA. It should have been labelled a sanitorium, and the chief lunatic, the doctor death of all doctor deaths, was the snot-nosed, slow-witted, four-eyed geek who had never even apologised for what he had put Jim Coulsden through.

“I’m concerned - “ Jim felt himself growing in confidence. This was good. He was using management-speak. He was back in control. “ - that you are not taking the risk seriously.”

“I treat all aspects of the project very seriously, sir.”

Smart-arse. Jim felt his mottled rage rising again.

“But not so seriously that you have taken the precaution of making your chamber safe. You’re not worried about any future accidents?”

“With all due respect, sir. People will be careful. Everyone knows what happened to you.”

Everyone heard you screaming.

Supernerd hadn’t said that, but he might as well have done. Jim felt the words like a knife to his skin. He glanced involuntarily back at the chamber, remembering most the pressure on his eardrums, on his nostrils, the bulging feeling behind his eyes. No air. Thick panic.

His body went hot, then cold again. He felt a clamminess along his chest, his back, his armpits. He realised his clothes were sticking to him. He was sweaty.

“Yes.”

The word came slow, revealing his frailty. Yes, everyone knew what had happened to him.

He felt tired now. His anger had exhausted him. He didn’t want to discuss the topic any more. Instead he moved absently round the console and rested his rump against the tall stool beside it. They were crap chairs. No-one ever sat in them because they were too high and caused backache. But Jim Coulsden sat in one now, thinking of the void that had so panicked him.

His realisation came with disturbing calmness. He was going to quit the project. He wanted nothing more to do with it.

“I’d like to run more tests on the transponder.”

“Sure.” Jim wondered why Supernerd was even telling him, as though he were asking Jim’s permission. The Asshole would do what he wanted anyway.

He ran a casual hand over his forehead, then realised how much his unthinking gesture revealed about him. He was losing his cool. The group of senior managers and technicians, about 10 in all - were watching him curiously. It was up to Kate, because it was so typical of her to pick up on these things, to break their uneasy silence.

“Are you okay? Can I get you anything?”

“Just a coffee, thanks.”

He tried to smile at her but couldn’t summon the energy. It was like a grimace. His head was swimming and with something like a sense of horror, he realised he felt tearful. He looked away, swallowing hard on the harsh lump in his throat.

Why did he feel so empty?

He glanced back at the chamber, remembering the void, and away again quickly. Too late. He felt heat rushing through him and his tears broke free.

He turned his head away quickly, brushing his eyes casually. By the thick silence, he knew his colleagues had seen his tears but would pretend they had not. He could carry the moment, if only he got himself together right now.

Kate placed the steaming cup silently on the console and withdrew. He picked it up, gulping thirstily at the hot liquid. His nose was running and he sniffed loudly. It was an announcement, advertising his distress.

Signs of acute distress.

He felt the drink fortify him and braved a glance back at the others, who had made a point of making themselves look busy. His quick smile was rueful, but detached. He was thinking already about them continuing without him. Plans were already forming in his mind. He’d go to his brother’s house on the coast. He’d hang there for a month or so, making sure he was with other people all the time. He didn’t want to be alone.

He would not have been able to express his fear of the emptiness that clawed at him. He wondered if everyone who crossed the distance between time - if it was possible - would feel that same sucking nothingness, as though there had never been anything. A world without smells, or taste, or memories, or sight. His hearing had faded. Everything had gone.

It occurred to him then that he could not taste the coffee he was drinking.

Or hear the room around him.

He looked up, not at blackness, but an opaque mist. The shapes around him were fading from his vision, as though in a deep fog.

He lurched to his feet, grappling at the console before him. Another seizure. Oh God! Don’t let it hold him for long. Not this time. Not now.

“Kate.” He had no idea if he shouted or whispered. He even started to doubt it was her name. Perhaps he was babbling a kind of baby talk.

But she was there.

“Captain?”

He grasped her hand, feeling her. Warm hands. He almost gasped with relief at the sensation. His eyesight was correcting itself too.

“Can I have another coffee?”

He realised mid-sentence he was bellowing and adjusted it. By the time he got to the word coffee his volume was normal. she looked at him oddly, then down at the shaking hand that grasped hers.

He realised only then how much he was shaking and released her. He tried to smile, to joke, to demonstrate his control.

“This place gives me the creeps.”

She gave a half-smile back, but didn’t seem reassured.

He looked away, unwilling to meet her anxious eyes. His gaze fell on a lever on the console. He had nearly grabbed it earlier in his panic. Now he stared. He knew what its function was. He had so nearly started to activate it.

He looked around the room for Supernerd. The sight that met his eyes was such an affront he could almost believe the void was swallowing him again. Among the quiet hub-bub of the lab, he noticed only one thing: Supernerd and the new lab assistant, Phyllis Ryder, were IN THE CHAMBER.

The door was open. Ryder was taking notes. She had just taken something over to Supernerd and seemed to be making a list. She still donned protective eye shields, suit and gloves, but her protective ear-pads were slung around her neck.

Supernerd had no protective gear on at all.

Jim had so nearly pulled the lever on them all.

But no. It wouldn’t have activated. the open door would have cut out the initialisation sequence.

Kate put the fresh coffee on the console and took the old cup away. He barely noticed. He was still staring at the scene before him. As if in slow-motion, he watched Ryder finish her list, step out the chamber and close the door.

The click sounded like a canon-shot to Jim.

The significance of what he saw was like a blast, hitting him in waves. Rationality mingled with rage, and as each wave of rage subsided, the rebound grew in strength when it returned.

Madness seized him. With a bellow of rage, he grabbed the lever with both hands and pushed it.

“Careful, are you?” He barely recognised his own voice. Gritty, but with a hint of squeakiness in it. “Is this how fucking CAREFUL you are?”

They didn’t seem to get it. Like his earlier waves of rage, everyone else felt waves of realisation, at first uncomprehending, then puzzlement falling away and horror taking its place.

Supernerd was the slowest of all to comprehend. That he could feel something was obvious. He looked like a string puppet, with the set of his spine so rigid it looked as though there was a string pulling him taut. He looked as if he were about to speak, but couldn’t quite remember what he was going to say. His mouth opened, but he didn’t utter a sound.

Scream, you bastard, scream.

Jim so badly wanted to watch him scream, but the asshole didn’t look ready to oblige him yet.

Jim looked up at the assembled group of project directors, technicians and team leaders, whose faces all seemed to carry identical expressions. The sight looked almost comical, and he laughed, knowing even as he laughed he sounded like a maniac.

“You gonna stop me? Huh?” He taunted, wondering why this sorry crew were not running forward to end Supernerd’s torture. Perhaps they wanted to see him scream too. “Stiles, what about you? How about you, Bannermann? You gonna stop me? You gonna rescue him? Huh? HUH?”

He looked back at Supernerd.

The guy had dropped to one knee, half kneeling, as though trying to stand up. He still had that same puzzled look on his white face.

Scream, you fucking prick. Scream. SCREAM.

“Come on, then.” Jim challenged. “Who’s going to be first to move? Which one of you will stop this?”

But they didn’t move.

Jim looked back at Supernerd.

He knew the sort of pain that guy must be in by now. He knew about the panic. He could feel the man’s hurt.

By this point, Jim Coulsden had been shouting and screaming and swearing, but the asshole in the chamber was doing none of these things and that was a shock.

Supernerd had more balls than him.

He looked again at the faces of his colleagues and wondered why no-one had moved. All they had to do was walk forward and push a lever. But they just stood there and kept looking in silence. What were they going to do? Watch the man die?

Supernerd was half kneeling, no longer looking up, but still looking puzzled. He was staring at the floor where his glasses lay broken. His string puppet body was beginning to twitch, as though some giant were snagging the strings.

Disgusted, Jim pulled back the lever.

They moved then, all at once. Just as all their expressions had been mirrored earlier, so now were their actions. They all moved to help, breaking into speech.

“Jesus.”

“Call the medics, quickly.”

“Are you okay? Oh God, Andrew! Are you all right?”

Jim heard Supernerd vomit. He was lying on the floor. And while they all huddled around him in concern, Jim slowly walked out.

That fucking asshole had more balls than him.

*******

He didn’t think they’d let him see Supernerd at the hospital, but apparently the asshole said he wanted to see him.

The guy was sitting up in bed, looking like a lost little kid without his glasses. They had shaved his hair to operate on the haemorraging. Oddly enough, he didn’t seem to be such a bad-looking boy. Even his toothy mouth didn’t look quite so goofy. His heavy-lidded eyes had irises of dark blue that Jim hadn’t noticed before. The kid looked lost in thought.

“How are you?” Jim muttered, feeling foolish.

“My blood pressure is - “

“For Christ’s sake, how are YOU? Not the fucking blood pressure or your pulse or your temperature either.”

The kid smiled. “I think I might have worked out what the problem is with the transponder.”

“I’m so fucking relieved.” Jim said. “You know, I was so worried about that? Couldn’t sleep over it.”

The boy’s smiled widened, acknowledging the older man’s sarcasm. “Would you like some of my grapes? I hate them.”

Jim sat himself on the side of the bed and plucked off some fat green grapes from the stalks. Not a single word of condemnation. That was quite something. The kid was forgiving as well as brave.

He flicked a look at the younger man, wondering uneasily if he had yet suffered any of those seizures afterwards. Jim hadn’t yet told anyone about the fade-outs and hallucinations.

“I have a theory,” The boy interrupted his thoughts.

“Oh really?” Jim wondered if Supernerd would ever ease up long enough on his theories to act like a human being.

“The chamber works at going back through time, but through the mind of its previous occupant.”

“Come again?”

“I seemed to be picking up your thoughts, your emotions, from the time immediately before your accident in the chamber.”

The kid was talking in a semi sing-song way and Jim wondered if the guy was delirious. He was smiling beautifically.

“They say you shouldn’t judge a man ‘til you’ve walked a mile in his shoes, but I know all your memories. I can judge you, Jim.”

The kid’s smile was creepy. He was evidently highly amused. Jim stared for a moment, a little spooked by the joke. He never had the guy pinned down as being one to pull practical jokes, but he was taking the rise out of Jim Coulsden all right.

After a moment, Jim began to laugh, a little uneasily at first.

“You’re a card, Andrew, you know that?”

“Yeah.” The younger man’s spooky grin was widening. “You know something?”

He leaned towards Jim slightly, as though about to tell a secret, then grinned a little bit more.

“I always thought you were a prize asshole as well.”