All the Tyme in the World Chapter 1-5

A Chapter by Dustin Stone

Jeff Corleone finds his life crumbling and meets a strange man who makes a tempting offer.

All the Tyme in the World

By Dustin Stone.

Chapter 1

Under the shining light of a floating chandelier people had gathered. They were a select few of the world’s most elite and eldest. They paraded about in an age old routine. Concealed words and empty banter was batted about between all those in attendance.

“Hello William,” a man greeted another. Both of them were dressed in the prime of their lives; young, healthy, and strong. But neither was in their prime, nor their forties, or even their sixties. Both men were well passed their hundredth year.

“Good to see you, Richard.” Richard eyed the three beautiful woman who were at William’s side. “Ah, please, let me introduce you to my wife Barbara, my daughter Clara, and my granddaughter Jennifer.” Each woman nodded in turn. Each woman stood tall at the most gorgeous time of their lives. Not one of them appeared over thirty. Not one gray hair or wrinkle spoiled their faces. Time held no sway over these people. Old age had been conquered. Another of the myriad of diseases which humanity had conquered in turn.

Eighty years ago William Arneal’s company, Arneal Pharmaceuticals, had developed a revolutionary new drug. The miracle drug. The last one you will even need many claimed. A game changer to the entire world. The Thymade Formaldehydrate compound or Tyme as by the popular nomenclature. A miracle drug which stopped the degradation of the telomeres of the chromosomes and collagen break down. In short those who took this medication ceased to age. They never changed so long as they continued to take the proper dosage medication. A small price to pay for eternal life so long as you could afford it.

And those who lived in these castles in the sky could. Their lives were infinite. They never feared the passage of time. They were beyond the reach of Death. But it was a different story in the Undercity. Beneath the pillars of shimmering glass and splendor was the abysmal Undercity. Streets ran across the ground, untouched by the sun’s light far above. In that darkness the masses scrapped and scratched and slaved for each second of life. The price of Tyme had inflated uncontrollably, and people continued to pay it. They paid that they might live.

“Come on,” Jeff urged the store clerk. “Can’t you slip me a little more? I can pay you back next week.” The muscular worker’s eyes stared at his left forearm. A series of small turquois numbers read out the time left for him to live. It told him how much longer his current dose of Tyme would last. All the Tyme he had was stored in a small vesicle buried among the musculature of his left forearm. Jeff had only enough of the compound to prolong his life only two days, three hours, and sixteen minutes. After a week of working double shifts, he had only amassed another three hours and seven minutes before his supply was exhausted.

“I can’t take credit. I ain’t risking my job for it. Either pay me the money or leave. That’s your choices,” the clerk argued.

Pissed, Jeff stormed away from the clerk and the store. This could not be it. All that work and he gotten nowhere. Jeff had been living in the Undercity all his life. Day after day, year after year, he had worked to keep himself alive. At first he worked for food and shelter, but as he aged his body began to fail and soon he turned to Tyme to keep up his vigor, to keep up with his job.

This was the fate of those in the Undercity. They were born to work and to die. They lived at the foundation of the great civilization. They watered and tended to the roots so that the trees above would grow their fruit, even if they might never taste the sweet rewards of their efforts.

Jeff’s faded boots disturbed the filth of the streets. Compressed trash and waste had been packed into any crevice people could toss them. A few other denizens passed him on their own paths. No one spoke. At this rate Jeff felt he would have enough time saved up for a vacation by the time he died of exhaustion. It was a sick joke he laughed to himself.

“I shouldn’t have double my doses to keep from needing to sleep. Idiot,” he insulted himself. His worn boots clunked under weak artificial lights of the Undercity. His eyes drifted to their fixtures overhead. He had never felt the sun’s warmth on his flesh. That was what he wanted. That was his dream. He wanted to step into the blazing world above if only for a week. To travel beyond the location of his birth. But he knew what would never happen. He would want to return and he would be caught between wanting to live and wanting to live.

He turned off the main street and found himself alone on the walkways as he closed in on his apartment. The dark window of his home loomed above. An abysmal reminder of what his life was… Empty. He stared at it for a moment. In that one second the fate of his life was about to plummet.

In that instant, two men swooped from the alley beside the apartment building. Jeff had only a moment’s warning before the first assailant brought a pipe down on his face. Jeff stumbled and collapsed to the ground. His mind clung to consciousness only by the overdose of Tyme in his system. Horror tore his over his face as a needle pierced his arm. He watched as the numbers on his arm fell. To two days. To one day. To twelve hours. To six hours. To one hour. To thirty minutes. To zero.

“F**k, s**t had only s**t,” the assailant cursed before kicking Jeff in the ribs and disappearing. Jeff could see their shadows on the concrete for a moment, and only a moment before vanishing. Jeff lay there motionless, almost dead. He felt he should be dead. He had no more Tyme. He was dying. In every sense of the word, he was dying. Dying from his injuries, dying from aging. It no longer mattered, Jeff was dead. All his work and it was over he cried to himself. He cried. He cried on the sidewalk. All alone he lay there undisturbed by in the dark and silence. Jeff no longer cared. He lay there until he fell asleep.

Jeff’s mind swirled. A pitiful light flickered above him. Jeff clapped his hand to his face. It was warm and swollen. Cursing he sat up. In the dim light, Jeff caught sight of a man. A gray beard and hair covered his face. He was old.

“Who are you? Where am I?”

“My home,” the old man laughed. Jeff looked around the place. It was no house, or even an apartment. This was a sewer which had been crammed with a mattress and a chair. The light was a small bulb plugged straight into the electrical grid. In the dim light of that bulb, Jeff caught another source of illumination. This man’s left arm glowed with numbers with amount of Tyme he had. Jeff’s mouth dropped as he read the numbers.

“What the f**k?” Jeff gasped. His eyes wide and mouth open. “You’ve got enough Tyme for… S**t man. Where the f**k did you get that much?”

“How does anyone get Tyme? I worked.”

“Worked doing what? Playing God?”

“I worked. I bought my Tyme with clever planning and execution.”

“S**t. Doing what?” The old man replied by pointing at Jeff’s forearm. “You stole Tyme? Like those thugs that did this to me?”

“Like those thugs no. Nothing as brash and distasteful as stealing from this cesspool. No, that is like drinking piss. It only gets worse with each cycle. No, I only pick fruit from the best orchards. And where are the best orchards?”

“In the sun?” Jeff replied.

“Smart boy. I stole from up there.” He pointed straight up. “Grab one well connected person and you’re golden. One rich a*s hole and suck the Tyme from him and you’ll live for years.”

“Why you telling me this?” Jeff barked raising his arm. The turquois zero shone all the brighter in the dark.

“Because I want more Tyme. So here’s my offer. I teach you how to steal Tyme. Not the scant amounts thugs like those took from you. No, I am talking about a real deal. I am talking about years’ worth, and all I ask from you is half. Half the take. That’s what I get and then you’re on your own. A clean cut deal. No mess and no fuss.”

“Did you teach those thugs?” I snapped.

“What? The little Tyme leeches? No. Any dip s**t with a needle can extract Tyme from a vesicle. No. I am talking about not getting caught afterwards. No cops and no warrants. That’s why you’ll come back to me. You’ll get off for free. And you’ll pay me for it.”

“How do you know what happened to me?” Jeff question. His suspicions rising.

“Walk down this drain. Go ahead. Do it. When you understand you can come back.” A pittance of light sat at one end of the tunnel. Jeff did as he was instructed. His boots squashed the sewage beneath them with each step as he walked towards the light. Jeff blinked for a moment as he saw where he was. The drain before him opened into an alley across the street from Jeff’s apartment. He had seen it every day, but never paid mind to the pipe stuffed into the ground.

“You watched everything from this drain?” Jeff questioned walking back to his host.

“More. I’ve seen you around for days. I’ve even noticed the signs that you’ve been overdosing on Tyme for a while. Delayed reaction, excessive yawning, and fatigue. You did it just to be able to pull double shifts. You want to go somewhere. It’s in your eyes.”

“And all you want is half the Tyme?”

“Half the Tyme of your first go. After that you’re on your own.”

“How do we do it?” Jeff accepted the offer. And the gray haired man smiled.

“Patience.”

Chapter 2

“Where have you been?” Emily asked.

“Sorry, I ran late,” Jeff replied entering his tiny home. His wife, Emily stood before her husband. Her skin sweaty and clothes stained from another day of cooking for others. She was a pretty enough woman. She was no model. She was too thick and too short. Her hair a mess of brown on her head.

“You’re filthy!” she exclaimed. “What happened?” Without listening she rushed into the kitchen and pulled a rag from the drawer and soaked it in water. She began to rub the dirt, blood, and muck from her husband’s face. Her eyes widened at the sight of his arm. “My God! My God! Jeff! The Tyme! Where’s the Tyme? You didn’t go gambling again, did you?”

“I was mugged. They took the Tyme.”

“My God!” Jeff’s eyes drifted to her forearm and read the numbers there: Two days, twenty one hours, and sixteen minutes.

“Don’t worry,” he comforted. “It will be alright. We can start collecting again.”

“Jeff,” she cried. “It took us ten years to get that much. It will take more still. I just heard on the television the price is going up again. Jeff, we can’t get that much again, not in ten years, not twenty. Jeff, it isn’t possible.”

“Relax, Emily. We can do it. I promise.”

“How? How are we going to do it?”

“We’ve got all the time in the world. The Tyme isn’t going to run out, and Paris and Sydney aren’t going anywhere. We just need to be patient, like always. We just need patience,” he urged. “I’ll take extra shifts and we will do it. I promise.”

Fretting, she nodded. Jeff returned to his struggling life of working and working and never living his life. He left home, he worked in the factory, he ate his lunch, and worked some more, came home, slept with his wife, and repeated. Always repeated. Through each cycle Jeff waited for a message. He knew it would come, if he was patient. That was what he was ordered to be. Patient. But what was patience to a man now? All it meant was to wait. With Tyme sitting about meant only boredom.

Weeks crept by, and then a month, finally a year, and Jeff came home to find a single letter on the front door, wedged into the crack between the door and its frame. Only one word was written on it. Just one…

“Come.”

And Jeff obeyed.

Jeff retraced his route through the sewers back to where he and the old man met. There he sat as aged as ever.

“Why did you wait so long? I was beginning to think you had died, old man.”

“We had to wait for the opportunity. You never force a door open. No, that attracts attention. Here we want finesse.”

“And what sort of finesse are we needing?”

“Well, my good gentleman. How are your manners?”

“Good enough,” Jeff figured.

“I will be the judge of that.” Every night afterwards Jeff was put through his paces and his etiquette was refined.

“So you are wondering what the point of all of this is?” Jeff was questioned on evening after a week.

“Yes, I have been wonder,” Jeff answered. “What am I breaking into the Presidential Inauguration?”

“If that was what we were doing, we could it easier as part of the press. No, we are going somewhere much more insular and with a higher yield.” Smiling, the old man explained everything. Every step of the plan… Their plan.

“I see,” Jeff asked once it was all laid out before him.

“So what are your questions?”

“What happens to me after this? Looks like I am taking all the risks?”

“Yes, you are the one in danger, if not for me. I will make sure you are safe. I will hack the security systems and prevent you from being shot at. But yes, you will be doing the foot work, I will handle the wet work. And afterwards, I will clean your records so no one will be able to link you to it. So long as you don’t f**k it up, you’ll be safe.”

“Agreed.”

“Good. We will go next Saturday night. Can you come up with an excuse?”

“Of course.”

“Good. Go home. I won’t see you until then. I will leave another letter on your door with the time and place shortly.” Jeff shifted about for a moment. “Go.” Without a word, he headed back home. He walked along the familiar streets, among the filthy. He breathed out as he walked into his own home. The warm room sat dark. Emily had been pulling a double shift herself. She left a note on the table and some meatloaf in the fridge. He sat down at the table, silently. His mind buzzed with what they were about to do.

Jeff had a clean slate. There was not so much as a speeding ticket or a reprimand at work on his record. He was about to gamble it all for Tyme. Not a little Tyme, a lot of Tyme. Enough to give his wife what he always promised. To get them both out of this rat hole.

“Welcome home,” he kissed Emily as she walked through the door a while later.

“Hey. What’s with the extra attention?” she laughed seeing the candles lit and the table set so eloquently.

“Just being special,” he whispered gingerly into her ear as he wrapped her in his arms. Her eyes sparkled at seeing her husband’s attempt at making dinner for her. Whether she enjoyed it or not she never told him, but the act alone interested her.

Later in the evening, Jeff awoke while cuddling with his wife. Her body resting on his arm. It tingled while she lay motionless. Finally, he surrendered to his arm protesting the lack of blood flow and he worked to extricate his arm without disturbing his wife. Free of her, he walked to the window and whispered silently to himself, “It will work.”

Chapter 3

Jeff walked through the crowd unnoticed. He had been cleaned up, trimmed up, and dressed up. Anyone who had known him would have never recognized him in this get up. The fancy suit and shoes were as foreign to him as the world he now strolled through. The moon blazed over head as he moved through the spring garden. Jeff stood by the flowers on the balcony overlooking the city. A sight he had never seen in the Undercity. Snagging a glass of champagne off the plates of a server he turned and looked out over the city. He marveled at the shining towers of glass and glimmering lights. It was the closest thing he had seen to Heaven in his life. And it was good.

“Beautiful isn’t it,” a young woman asked taking Jeff’s side. “I have always loved the skyline at this time of day. I have a holo picture of it in my living room. I’m Barbara Arneal.” She extended her hand in greetings.

“Jeffrey Corleone,” he answered kissing her hand. “It is a pleasure to meet you. It is a beautiful view. I have never seen anything like it,” he agreed.

“I haven’t seen you at one of these functions before?”

“No, my first time. I am just here on a business trip. My grandfather arranged for me to come. I was to meet with an associate regarding a mutually beneficial venture,” he recited his well-practiced lie.

“Ah. How long will you be in town?”

“That depends on how my meeting goes.”

“I hope it goes well for you.” Jeff listened to every shallow word she spoke. She talked without revealing anything or seeking any. It was empty talk. It was exactly what had Jeff wanted. “Ah, this is my daughter, Clara,” the young woman added as she was joined by a woman of her own age. She was shrouded in an exquisite blue dress and concealed in a light white over coat.

“Hello Mother,” she said. “Are you enjoying this evening?”

“I am. I am enjoying a conversation with Jeffrey Corleone here.”

“Nice to meet,” the new lady extended her hand and Jeff repeated the greetings. “Your mother was just telling me about a holo picture in her home of this view.”

“Yes, she is very proud of that. She purchased it at a Gala some time ago. The photographer, Jacob Gelb, was exhibiting some of his more exquisite works. I rather fancied his work of the coast lines.”

“I am afraid you have me at a disadvantage. I am not familiar with Jacob Gelb’s work.”

“That is a shame. Our host, Mr. Devon, has some of his early works in a gallery down stairs. Maybe I can endear our host to offer a private showing. He does love to flaunt his collections.”

“I would enjoy that.” Clara offered her left arm, and Jeff accepted with a smile. “It was pleasant to meet you, Mrs. Arneal. Excuse us,” he added.

Clara led Jeff inside the elaborate house. Everything about the place boasted of wealth. Portraits of family, landscapes, and historical figures lined the walls between gorgeous sculptures. Ornate carvings in into the woodwork around the moldings and stairs. This place was unreal in Jeff’s mind, but it was not what he was considering. Jeff was looking for the next step of his plan. When Clara had offered her arm, Jeff took note of the numbers on her exposed arm. This girl has filled with Tyme. If he could get it, he would be good for decades.

Clara guided him along the crowded halls in search of their host. Jeff’s eyes swept side to side in search of a hiding spot. Some empty place to make his move. Some lonely corner in which they could be alone for a few minutes. As they walked, they continued the empty talk and socializing.

“Mr. Devon,” Clara greeted their host finding him among the guests in the foyer. He was a plump man in his early thirties.

“It is good to see you, again. What brings you back this way? Don’t tell me you are wanting to leave?”

“No, I was just speaking with Mr. Corleone here and Jacob Gelb’s artwork was brought up. I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind showing us your collection.”

“Yes, of course. Right this way.” Their host gladly guided them along the corridors. As they walked he pointed out each piece of artwork he had gathered over decades of his life. His obsession with his artwork could only keep Jeff’s attention for so long.

“So Mr. Corleone, I don’t believe we have met. What brings you to my little soirée?”

“No, this is our first meeting,” he admitted. “I was invited here by my grandfather Theodore Hilden.”

“Ahh, Theo. Yes, I remember him. I haven’t seen him in a good forty years, ever since he moved across country. How is he doing?”

“He’s doing fine. Still ticking.” Jeff answered. He began to twitch nervously, rubbing his hands together.

“I am glad to hear,” Mr. Devon smiled. “Tell me Jeffrey, do you share your grandfather’s interest in cars?”

“Yes, of course. He had an old ’37 Chevy that he loved,” Jeff rambled. He was blinding grasping to keep the topic off him.

“A ‘37? When did he get that?” Mr. Devon asked, turning the nob on a closed door.

“A good twenty years ago back when they were new.” They were lead into a massive room. Once the lights flared up, they all could see rows of vehicles from classic automobiles to the hottest of the new hover cars.

“Yes, my collection. Three hundred sixteen of the finest vehicles ever built. The advantage of being a majority share-holder in your father’s company, Clara. I make five cents for every dose of Tyme sold. Nothing compared to what your father brings in mind you, but there are over ten billion people on this planet. And all of them are wanting our product,” he smiled. Jeff’s first thought was that of a parking lot crammed with only the most expensive cars in the world.

“It…It’s impressive,” Jeff stuttered.

“Yes, it is. Here,” he guided his guests over to a bright red hover car. “Take a seat in it,” he opened the driver’s side door and Jeff climbed in. Afterwards he swung around to offer the passenger door to Clara. “What do you think? It’s the special edition of the new Century XS 12, 2158 Edition. It’s got everything.”

“Self-driving?” Jeff questioned with an idea in him mind. A small key knob sat on the dashboard, just awaiting a driver.

“Self-driving, keyless entry, navigation, tracking. This baby’s got everything.”

“Does it? Good,” Jeff answered. Reaching under the dashboard he reached up and jerked off a panel exposing wires and circuit boards.

“What are you doing?” Mr. Devon screamed as Jeff gave one more tug removing the tracking systems from the car.

“Leaving,” Jeff answer jamming his finger onto the ignition button. The engine revved up. Clara moved to get out of the car. “Sit you a*s down!” He barked, pulling a small gun from his suit. Clara stared back at Jeff in horror. She began to rambled, pleaded, and begged. Gunning the gas the car shot out of its spot and took to the air. Clara edged over to the door. “Put your seatbelt on!” he ordered. The woman gazed at her capture for a moment and then out to the speeding concrete to her right and back to the gun pointed at her. She only had a moment before the automatic garage door opened and the car shot out into the night air.

The hover car rose into the black sky. Clara was trapped in the car some hundred feet above the ground. Jeff’s hand danced over the wheel and switched to self-driving. “Please select your destination,” the car requested. Blindly, he gave the car a random destination. The car swerved among the traffic on its own volition. This left Jeff free to work. He shoved the sleeve up on his left arm, exposing his forearm. His free hand slipped into his jacket and retrieved a small needle bound to a simple tube.

“Stick out your arm!” Jeff ordered.

“What?”

“Stick your arm out!” Timidly, she obeyed. Jeff pierced her skin with the needle. Pulling the other end of tube from his pocket, he brought another needled out and inserted it into his own arm. Unhooking the valve the soft blue fluid began to flow down the tube. Jeff’s eyes watched as the numbers on his arm rose. He watched as it rose to days, weeks, months, years, and finally decades.

As her capture worked Clara looked at him for the first time, truly. When she met him in on the balcony overlooking the city she barely gave him a glance. She assumed he was a man in his prime, muscular and strong; but what she saw now was different. She noticed the specks of gray in his hair and the cresses beneath his eyes. For the first time in her life she saw someone who had aged.

Her eyes shifted to the car’s side mirror and she gazed at her own reflection. Her reflection had been the same for over seventy years now. It was the same face she had when she married, on the day her daughter was born, the day her granddaughter was born, and all the days in between. She was unchanged in all her photos. Always the same. Sure, her hair and clothes changed with the times, but she was always the same. Clara saw herself as a fixed point.

“Where is he?” Jeff muttered to himself. His eyes sweeping the horizon for his destination.

“He? You have a partner?” Clara pursued.

“Yes,” he spat.

“What for?” she continued to probe. Her answer came a moment later without a word from Jeff. He knew what had happened the instant he stole the car and kidnaped Clara. Mr. Devon had immediately called the police. Not the run of the mill law enforcement that the masses hated and relied on, but the special division that catered to the needs of the elite. Those who know how important it was to handle the situation with tact and the efficiency or prompt decisiveness that was required by those on top desired when wanted.

And William Arneal wanted action. He wanted his daughter home safe and now. As soon as word reached him of the situation, he was yelling his demands to the chief of police, and the city council. And they were listening to his threats. For they knew that with one word from him and their careers were over. With access to the city’s surveillance systems it was not difficult for the authorities to find Mr. Devon’s stolen car. Within a few minutes Jeff caught sight of the strobing lights in the car’s mirrors.

“S**t,” he cursed. His hands swept to the wheel. Mashing down on the controls the autopilot disengaged. The car jerked to the left and he shot down another street. Four cops cars flying right behind.

“They’ll shoot you down,” Clara began to speak, attempting to distract the driver.

“No, they won’t. They won’t shoot because of you. That’s what I was told,” he explained.

“By your partner?”

“Yes,” he replied, tipping the wheel down.

The car dropped hundreds of feet as Clara screamed. “What are you doing?” she yelled as they neared the ground.

“Are you going to shut up?”

“Yes.” Jeff leveled the car off only a few inches from the ground. The screech of metal cried out behind them. Looking back, Jeff and Clara saw one of the cop cars turning to scrap metal upon impact to the ground. “They’ll be fine,” he spoke to himself as much as Clara. “Those things are built for collisions, but slow as bricks.” The car shot skyward.

Jeff began to swerve through the traffic, dodging oncoming traffic. The sluggish cop cars were unable to match the speed of the stolen hover car. Soon, the lights of the sirens were mixed with the taillights behind them. The car’s navigation screen lit up with a traffic warning. A warning to advert all traffic out of the area. An order for all vehicles in the area to land. Jeff’s eyes locked onto the screen and he thought. Land and be caught or run and be caught. A smile split over Clara’s as she understood the dilemma herself.

“What are you going to do?”

“Land.”

“Good.” The car veered towards the ground. The engine hummed one finally time before the car settled onto the ground.

Chapter 4

“Get out!” Jeff ordered. His gun leveled straight at Clara’s heart. Jeff’s hand slip opened his door and he slowly began to back out. “Get out!” He repeated. Gingerly, his hostage began to follow.

“Now what?” she asked. Her head spun about as she surveyed the scene. They had landed at the base of a one of the countless skyscrapers that fielded the city. The concrete sidewalks spread out along the massive towers that surrounded them. Only faint light seeped down from above them. This region had been neglected. While the masses stared at the stars, they ignored the crumbling ground at their feet.

“Come!” Jeff spoke, grabbing Clara by her arm he marched her along the buildings. Their shoes scrapped along, echoing in the emptiness around them. Her eyes stayed on the gun pointed at her heart.

Once more she began to plead, “Please. I’ve got a daughter, and grandchildren. Please, let me go. You’ve got what you want. You don’t need me.”

“Shut up,” he continued. Jeff guided her along the alleys at the roots of the buildings. They flitted between the shadows and sparse light raining down from above as they moved forward. Clara spoke constantly, never paying attention to where they were going. Her every thought was what was going to happen to her. Jeff ignored every word, his mind was focused on where he was going.

He pressed her against a wall as a streak of light passed over head. The light lingered for a moment over them before passing on. She could smell the sweat on his skin. Without another Jeff dragged her on.

“You can let me go,” she continued. “You don’t need me anymore. You have the Tyme. Look,” she pointed at her arm

“They won’t shoot me this close to you. They’d be screwed if you got hit. Could you imagine the lawsuits? The news would have a hay day with that s**t storm. Mega billionaire’s daughter shot by cops. Yep, they won’t take any risks.”

It was not long before Jeff’s claim was tested. Turning a corner, they found themselves face to face with a large metal construct. The armature was an automated security system deployed under critical situations such as this. The glimmering machine lacked all the flaws of human emotions. It followed all the precautions that humans would screw up. It made zero mistakes and took zero chances. The perfect law enforcement machine. It was ten foot tall monster on wheel. It looked like a valiant knight wielding dual machine guns.

“Halt!” The automated voice barked. “Put your hands in the air!” Jeff shifted behind Clara.

“Reach into my coat pocket,” Jeff whispered into Clara’s ear.

“What? Why?” She questioned. Jeff responded with a nudge of his gun. Her hands slipped into his pockets and clasped a small metal cylinder. She looked at what was in her hand. “What is it?”

“Put your hands in the air!” The machine repeated. Red lights flickered on and began to sweep over Clara and Jeff’s figure, searching for a clean shot.

“Toss it, and don’t throw it like a girl. Really throw it.” He dug the barrel of his gun into her side as a warning. She gave one final glance at her capture before complying once more. Her arm raised slowly, ready to toss the device.

“Sorry for the inconvenience citizens. Have a good day,” the machine barked as its bright red lights flicked off before she could toss the device. Its wheels ground on the stone floors as it spun about and headed off in the other direction.

“What just happened?” Clara asked, her hand tucked the small metal device into the pocket of her overcoat.

“My partner. This is his part of the deal. He helps me escape and wipes my record when this is done. He hacked the systems and cleared the way from security droids. And give me the device back. This way,” he dragged her around another corner as she put the cold cylinder back into his pocket.

Ducking around a corner, Jeff pulled Clara close upon stumbling into a patrol unit. Four officer all armed in special tactile assault gear. Heavy Kevlar and ceramic plates covered their bodies. Each of them armed with the latest in Smart Gun tech. These high tech pistols and rifles could identify targets and safely predict bullet trajectory. These guns would not fire at Clara, but Jeff was another story. Red laser sight swept over their bodies, each searching for a clear shot.

“Let the girl go,” their leader cried.

Jeff cowered behind Clara’s slight frame, safe in her shadow. “Grab that cylinder again,” he whispered into her ear. The cops began to spread out and encircle them. Jeff dug his barrel into her ribs and slowly back her down an alley. “They could shoot me, but you’d be dead first.” Clara hesitated, but relented. Her fingers dug out the metal cylinder from Jeff’s pocket a second time. “Toss it.” She raised her hand, ever so slowly. Eagerly, she wanted to appear as if she was complying, but not.

The audible click of the guns shattered the night, but nothing else.

“What is this? They are registering two women?” The cops cursed when their firearms refused to fire.

“Do it, now.” He order twisting his gun deeper. Scared between seeing the cops defenseless and having a gun to her heart, she tossed the device. It clattered to the ground between the officers. A single high pitched screech splintered the still night air. Clara felt woozily for a moment while, but Jeff dragged her onward. She gave a quick look over her shoulder and saw the police motionless on the ground.

“They’re dead?” she questioned.

“Unconscious. It puts off a combined sonic burst and EMP. Disables any electric device and renders anyone in the area cold for a few minutes. Come on.” Jeff pushed her further through the streets, twisting and turning. Clara struggled to remember where they were let alone where they had been. She was lost, and she knew it. She wondered how he knew where to go. She turned her head and stared her capture in his ear. A small wire ran through it. A radio?

Up ahead was an abandoned building. All the windows dark for years. The automatic door creaked open as Jeff approached. Shuffling down a dark and garbage strewn hall they came to a patch of graffiti covered wall.

“What’s this?” Clara questioned. “This is a very poor attempt at artwork.”

“Shut it, woman,” Jeff cursed. He etched a figure across the painted surface and the wall split open into a door. An elaborate clean room spread out before them. Dozens of holoscreens filled the space. A single occupied chair spun in the middle of the room. The door snapped shut behind them, sealing Clara inside with Jeff.

“This is your partner?” Clara realized. She looked over the man, his tattered clothing, his filthy gray beard, his wrinkled skin. She saw it all and was filled with disgust.

“I’ve got it, old man,” he declared raising his arm high.

“And you brought the girl, too.”

“Yeah, you were right, she did offer good protection.”

“But you brought her in here,” the old man complained.

“Sorry,” Jeff bowed his head.

“It was inevitable that someone would find this place.”

“You’ll have plenty of money after we sell this Tyme that you can afford this.”

“You’ve got what you want, so why keep me around?” Clara joined in.

“We don’t need you anymore, but you will not be able to leave until we are done breaking this down.” The old man stood up and began to dismantle the computers, packing them into small cases. “You can stay here for a bit. I am going to set the door to automatically open after we are gone and then you are free. I have disabled your phone, so you will not be tracked and you cannot call out until I release it.”

“Fine,” Clara accepted, fear quailing any protest that she could muster. She looked at the small band on her wrist. Usually, it beeped in various colors telling of messages and phone calls, but now it was completely black. Poking it, a clock was displayed, but nothing more. Squatting in the corner, she watched as the two men set about their task. Slowly, she etched every trace and detail of their faces into her mind. She wanted to give detailed reports to the officers to ensure that they were caught. How dare such vandals do this to her. Surely, they knew who she was. Of course, she bemoaned. That is why they choose here. She was part of the greatest lineage of all eternity. In her silent complaining she caught sight of something. The old man’s forearm presented with the familiar turquois numbers. He had ages of Tyme stockpiled. Even amongst the wealthiest of circles no one held this much Tyme.

“Why are you doing this?” She asked.

“To live,” Jeff answered, but she ignored him.

“Why are you doing this?” she repeated.

The old man looked at her and he spoke, “Would it matter to you? If I said ‘I am doing it to live,’ what would you say? If I say ‘I am doing it for revenge,’ what would you do? If I would be to say ‘I am doing his just because,’ would you understand? Well?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then, I do not need to bother answering you.” The old man ignored her and returned to breaking down the computers. She caught them casting furtive glances at her, but no more words not until everything was sealed up.

“We will be leaving. The door is set to open in one hour. That will give us time to leave and then you will pose no more threat to us. Until then your phone will also be inoperable.”

“You’re certain,” she muttered to herself.

“I am sorry for this, Clara,” Jeff remarked as he shifted the last case into his arms.

“Then turn yourself in,” she suggested.

“If I could afford to do that, I would never have done this.” The door cracked open and the two men left, lugging their belongings with them. She hesitated for a moment, thinking of chasing after them; but Jeff still held his gun and she knew nothing of the old man or what he could do. She held her breath as the door sealed closed behind them. Running up she began to claw and pry at the door, desperate to open it. Despite her efforts, it held fast. Her nails bleeding from the work. She paced back and forth, fearful as time passed. Fearful that they lied, that she was truly imprisoned in here. She feared she would never see her parents, her husband, or her children again. She wanted to hold her grandchildren again, she wanted to argue with her mother again. She wanted to go through the rigors of her life again.

Her eyes kept flicking to the watch on her arm. She counted the seconds and the minutes as they slipped by. Eagerly, she awaited the hour to pass. The instant the hour was up she clawed at the door again. A minute later, nothing. Another and still the door held.

“They lied!” she screamed. “Help! Please, help me.” No one came, she sat down and began to weep. Tears splattering the floor. Five more minutes passed and she heard the whoosh of air. Springing to her feet, she raced to the door. Before her fingers could even touch the metal, it gave way. Squeezing through she leapt free and back into the dirty hovel. Her feet pounded on the crumbling concrete as she slipped back into the shadows of the towering skyscrapers and ever distant stars.

A faint jingle told her that her phone was ringing. “Thank God,” she prayed to whoever was on the other line before they spoke a word.

“I told you I would keep my word,” the old man’s voice replied before handing up.

Chapter 5

“Thank you, ma’am,” the office finished after interrogating Clara for the past hour. He had poked and prodded her mind for any information on Jeff and his accomplice. And she gave every detail she could muster. She had given two picture perfect descriptions to the sketch artist. Now the work was in the hands of the officers. Once the officers left, Clara was alone with her family.

“Are you alright?” Barbara Arneal cradled her daughter in her arms.

“Yes, I am. They just wanted my Tyme. That’s all they cared about.”

“They didn’t hurt you,” Clara’s husband asked sitting down on her other side.

“I am fine, Robert. Just shaken.” She lean her head onto his broad shoulders. He was a man that presented in his late twenties, but he was much older than that. Old enough that he had grandchildren.

It was one of them that next spoke, “Lunatics, that’s what they are,” Suzette spat. “They just wanted Tyme the easy way. If they want some, they just need to work.” Clara stared at her granddaughter. She was the spitting image of her mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother. Except that she had frozen her age at thirteen.

“It’s not that easy,” Robert corrected her. “You’d be surprised how often I got rejected from one thing or another? Hell, I think I dated a three dozen women before I found your mother.”

“And I rejected you twice before hand,” Clara laughed. “But I did finally give up.”

“Well, after a few drinks.”

“I don’t want to hear about this.”

“It’s no different than how you met your boyfriend, Suzette,” Barbara chuckled. “We’ve all done it.”

Clara’s family comforted her and soothed her throughout the day, and the next. Slowly, her life returned to normal. The consoling of her family faded, but her memories continued to burn vividly. Each night Jeff approached, gun and knife drawn. His rough hands dragged her by her hair off the edge of her home, to the balcony. She kicked and screamed while the faces of those she knew watched and laughed. They laughed and laughed. And she screamed as she plunged over the ledges. The towers of metal and glass blurred passed her as the asphalt loomed ahead. Larger and larger it spread until it consumed everything before her.

Jerking in my sheets she awoke. Sweat pouring off of her. Escaping from the bed, she raced to the cold night air on the balcony. Shivering, she struggled to calm herself. She paced back and forth in a futile attempt to find peace. She ran through her familiar hobbies: painting, playing the flute, a bottle of white zinfandel. None of it eased her agony. Her ordeal had scarred her mind.

“Are you alright?” Robert asked already knowing when he awoke a little while later. He stood in the doorway to their den watching his wife sitting on the couch.

“I still can’t get that night off my mind.”

“It’s over. You’re safe. Those men won’t bother you again. They won’t return. I spent a fortune on upgrading security. Everyone is. Nothing like this will ever happen again. Arneal Pharmaceuticals has done the same. Any more attempts like this are doomed. We are safe. You are safe. Trust me. That is a fact.” Robert walked over to Clara before wrapping her in a one handed hug.

“I know. I know. I keep telling myself that. I just can’t get it out of my head. I was so scared.”

“I know. I know,” he replied rubbing her back.

“No. You don’t. You weren’t there. You have never been in such a place. So don’t tell me that ‘you know. That you understand.’ Because you don’t!” She screamed, tears streaking her face. Before he could utter another word she stormed away. She escaped her home in a fury. She climbed into her personal hover car sped away into the night.

“Please select your destination,” the auto pilot chirped. The car hummed through the air silently.

“Please select your destination,” it repeated.

“Please select your destination.”

“Please select your destination.” She punched the screen, but the flexible glass screen was undamaged.

“Please select your destination.” She punched it again and again and still it repeated undeterred.

“Please select your destination.”

Sighing she spoke “Contacts… Jaxon Tennent.” The car turned of its own directive as it set a new course. It slipped through the air in silence. It descend to ground as it turned onto the safe-drive highways. Her car passed and turned elegantly through the traffic of travelers and shipments. It broke off from the endless stream of red lights as it headed off the main roads. The car followed the swerving road through the country side. A blur of trees rushed passed the headlights.

A massive wrought iron gate loomed into view. The car automatically pulled up to the gate and activated the intercom.

“Who is it?” A voice spoke up, grumbling.

“Hello, Jaxon Tennent? This is Clara, William Arneal’s daughter.”

“What are you doing here, Clara?” his voice yawned.

“I needed to get out of town. I… I…” Without a word the gate swung open. “Thank you,” she said. A moment later the car pulled up the front door.

“You have arrived at your destination,” the car pointlessly reported. Clara opened the door and climbed free of the car. Her shoes clicked on the smooth stonework stairs as she moved towards the front door.

“Come in, Clara,” Jaxon Tennent greeted the woman as he opened the door. He was a man who still clung to his thirties. His messy brown hair and wisp of a beard covered most of his face. Despite the late hour he was still dressed in a button down shirt and slacks. Jaxon Tennent was considered the most brilliant man in the world for his invention of Tyme. Ever since discovery he had move through the company into William Arneal’s inner circle. He know over saw all of Arneal Pharmaceutical’s experimental projects, but he continued to baby his pride and joy of Tyme.

“Thank you.”

“Having issues after your ordeal? I am sorry I wasn’t there to help you.”

“It’s alright. There is nothing you could have done then.”

“So what’s wrong?” he asked as he guided his guest to the familiar den. Clara had been here many times growing up. While her parents spoke with Jaxon, she had played with the knickknacks that Jaxon had collected throughout his life. Clara’s eyes shifted over every object: ships in bottles, maps, models of Da Vinci’s inventions, globes of the world and night sky. “Can’t sleep?”

“You’ve know me too long.”

“Well, I am a father. Hell, I’m also a grandfather, and great grandfather. I know when someone is concerned.”

“They haven’t found either of them yet.”

“No, and I don’t think they will. Sounds like they had this planned out. These men knew how to hack and what would follow. I don’t think this is their first crime, just the first this large. But this will be the last.”

“What makes you think that?”

“They went after Tyme directly, straight from the vein. They had one target. Tyme. You’d be surprised what that will see for on the black market.”

“Why would people want to get it from the black market? You can get it from every store.”

“But those stores are all monitored. Sure you could have someone else buy it and then take it from their vein, but then your couriers need to be paid and the question comes down to can you trust them and will people get suspicious. You weren’t alive back when it was methamphetamine. You can’t imagine the nightmarish work that people put into getting their supplies. They would gather every ingredient separately from different stores, cook it in secret. But it was dangerous and people did notice. Eventually it always went south.”

“How does this go back to the Tyme?”

“It’s the same thing. If you have a criminal record you don’t want to buy it legally. They will catch you eventually. So what are you left with? Make it yourself? Without my formula that is impossible. It requires special equipment that I designed myself and a list of very specific ingredients. You could do it. If you had millions of dollars and don’t mind being noticed by the government and know the recipe that I alone know. So you are left with stealing it.”

“But why steal it in the first place?”

“When you were a little girl was there something that you ever wanted but didn’t get?”

“Of course, but I didn’t throw a temper tantrum and attack people with guns.”

“Minus when you were really little. Otherwise, why not?” the old man asked, an old memory bringing a smile to his face.

“Because I knew the difference between right and wrong,” Clara defended.

“And you learned that where?”

“My parents. You’re not blaming this on their parents are you?”

“Hardly. But parents are the not the only source people learn from. Regardless, their morals are not as remarkable as yours or to be more accurate yours have never been pushed far enough.”

“What do you mean?”

“Did you ever take philosophy in school?”

“No, I did not.”

“Not a surprise it has become a forgotten art. Let me ask you a question. When self-driving cars were first invented there was a debate. You are driving along in poor weather and see a person walking in the middle of the street. You cannot stop so you must choose. Do you run this person over, killing them, and saving your own life; or swerve into fatal crash, killing yourself, but saving the person.”

“I don’t know,” Clara stuttered.

“What if the person was a known criminal? Say this Jeff. Or someone worst?”

“I would let them be run over, I think,” she stuttered.

“Well, what if it was just two ordinary people?”

After a moment, Clara spoke, “I guess… I would crash.”

“What if they were two extremely elderly people, two people who had only a few short years at best to live?”

“I don’t know,” she hesitated.

“Then you run them over.”

“Wait! No! I didn’t say that!”

“But you did. You didn’t make a choice and under this condition that is the same thing as killing them.”

“I see,” she pondered for a moment.

“But of course this argument is irrelevant. It was decided decades ago.”

“Mr. Tennent, you remember what the world was like before Tyme. Don’t you?”

“Mr. Tennent? You haven’t call me that in a long time. This must be a serious question. Yes, I do remember what the world was like. People were terrified of old age. Millions of dollars a year was spent on anti-aging cream and plastic surgeries to fight aging. It was a lucrative industry that my invention reduced to zilch. What more when people reached the end, they were hidden away. Rest homes they called them. Glorified prisons others. It was a way to keep them out of the eyes of public, so that they were never seen. But I remembered those places. My grandfather was in one. He suffered from Alzheimer’s. His mind was lost and he could never remember anything. He forgot everything. Where he was, who I was, what he did for a living; even his name. All of it lost.”

“I am sorry to hear.”

“Don’t be. That’s what happened with old age. That’s why they were hidden… Do you know what is interesting?”

“What?”

“There was a time when old age was venerated. People were supposed to bow in reverence to their elders. To stand when someone with gray hair entered the room. Regrettably, society always changes for the better and for worse.”

“What do you mean?”

“Ramblings of an old man. Yes, I am old man. I don’t look it, but I am. I feel it some days.”

“But you are taking Tyme. It prevents arthritis and organ failure. How can you feel old?”

“Regrets, shame, painful memories. Those things are what make you feel old. Not your body, but your soul. Your soul does age too.”

She was about to asked about his regrets when she caught a man walking passed the door. He looked in only for a moment before moving onward. Instead she asked, “Who’s that?”

“My wife’s boyfriend.”

“Wait? What?”

“My wife and I have been together for… S**t, close to a century. We’ve gotten tired of each other at times and have both gone outside our relationship for substance and support. We’ve become numb to so much that this has become our only source of renewal.”

“I’m sorry.”

“We aren’t. It is the way we are now. We still love each other, but we just need something new once in a while.”