Inventions

Next day. The Danson racetrack.

Five minutes to high noon.

We'd both taken turns pedalling his car from his lab to the track. Well, okay, I took one turn pedalling it, for about half a block before Mister Inventions insisted he wanted his seat back. It had felt surprisingly easy to propel for that half block; very lightweight, smooth-as-glass gear shifting, hardly any drag, any friction too weak to notice. Maybe it would be enough to beat a walking, talking skeleton in a race.

Now, Inventions sat in the cockpit of his dark blue pedal-powered creation, an old-fashioned leather aviator's helmet and goggles atop his head. I figured this headgear was purely for show; his car's sloped windshield would prevent any bugs from hitting his face, no matter how fast he was going. He was parked just behind the starting line. The track was one giant asphalt oval, with banked curves; I could't tell how long it was just from looking. It could have been a half kilometer around, or a half mile, or a full kilometer.

Inventions' erstwhile opponent was nowhere to be seen. I glanced at my watch. "I don't think he's gonna show up."

Inventions crinkled his nose a bit. "He has been a no-show from time to time, but never when he was the one issuing the challenge. I have a feeling he'll —"

Movement at the far entrance to the track. I squinted into the distance. There was another aerodynamic shell on wheels, similar on the outside to the one beside me except painted bright green. It trundled in and angled toward us.

"Right on cue," Inventions said.

As it got closer, I could make out a white stripe with black trim on its nose. A racing stripe. In the middle of the stripe was a white circle with a black number 1 on it. The contraption stopped about ten meters away from us, and its bony occupant clambered out. The Skeleton Monster stood proudly beside his creation. He was uncovered except for furry pointed socks on his feet, which made them look like the feet of a Dr. Seuss character.

"Well well, George," Inventions taunted him, "You showed up."

The Skeleton Monster growled through gritted teeth, "I'm the Skeleton Monster. Not George."

"Whatever you say, George."

The skeleton rasped, "You won't be so smug two laps from now."

Inventions got out of his cockpit. "You'll understand if I take a close look at your car, of course. Just to be sure you didn't sneak an electric assist motor in there."

"As long as I get to inspect your car too," the Skeleton Monster said.

Inventions gestured grandly at his own dark blue car. "Be my guest." As he walked over to peer into the green car, he looked at me, pointed at the Skeleton Monster, and said "Don't let him touch anything."

I walked obediently over to his car to chaperone the skeleton's inspection tour. Up this close, I could hear the faint percussive clatter of each bone against its neighbor. How he could keep from wearing those joints down with no cartilage to cushion them, I hadn't a clue. The Skeleton Monster scanned the inside of Inventions' car for at most five or six seconds, then he stood and folded his arms. He called out to Inventions with a condescending air in his voice: "Nope, I don't see anything interesting in there at all."

We both walked back to the Skeleton Monster's car. I was curious to see what my mentor's arch-rival had come up with. Inventions was hunched down over the cockpit, gazing intently at the floorboard, his brows knitted. I looked in with him.

"That's different," he said, pointing. "Instead of the usual pair of rotary pedals, he's got what looks like a big brake pedal in there. It's wide enough for him to rest both feet on it. Is he just going to pump it? Is that how the car gets its power?"

"I . . . don't see anything else in here he could crank. Other than the steering wheel."

"He must have been huffing paint fumes when he came up with that idea," Inventions said. "He'll have even less of a chance of winning than if he'd bought regular bike pedals off the rack." He stood up, then took out a tiny flashlight and threw himself on his back in one smooth motion, so that he could see underneath the nose of the car. "Nope, nothing in there but axles and gears." Sliding on his back, he whirled around to peer under the back of the green car. Whatever kind of shirt he was wearing seemed to glide smoothly over the asphalt. Another of his inventions, perhaps? "Ditto here," he said. He stood up. "Looks like George might actually play clean this time."

"I heard that," the Skeleton Monster said.

"Okay," Inventions said, bounding back to his dark blue car and jumping in the cockpit, "Let's get your humiliation over with." He inched his car forward until its nose was just shy of the starting line. "Sam, do us the honor of starting the race when the ol' bag of bones here is in ready position."

The Skeleton Monster gave a sour "Hmph!", then his sock-covered bony feet slipped into his own cockpit. His green car lurched forward like a drunkard until it, too, was right before the starting line.

I stood between the cars and raised one hand high above my head. In my other hand, I held a stopwatch. One pair of goggled eyes, and one pair of empty eye sockets, glared at me intently. They were ready. In one motion, I threw my hand downward, clicked the stopwatch into life, and yelled "GO!"

Inventions' dark blue car took off like a shot. The Skeleton Monster's green car took off a bit more slowly. Again, it lurched forward, then seemed to coast for a fraction of a second, then accelerated again in another short burst. Over and over. It must have been like Inventions said: the Skeleton Monster was pumping that one giant pedal with those fur-covered feet. Every downstroke provided power. But in making the pedal come back up again, the car could only coast on its own momentum.

Within ten seconds, Inventions was a full quarter of a lap ahead of his rival. It looked like an insurmountable lead. Inventions was at his full cruising speed, dominating the track just as he'd said he would.

But each time the Skeleton Monster's car lurched, each time that pedal pumped, it went a tiny bit faster. Those little bursts of speed were beginning to add up. At the end of the first lap, I tapped the stopwatch as each of them crossed the line to record their lap times. Inventions crossed the line first, but now . . . the Skeleton Monster was going faster than Inventions.

Inventions had built up nearly a half-lap lead by then, but now this lead was beginning to erode. I found myself looking at his dark blue car and muttering "Come on, come on, pedal harder, pedal harder!" I swore I could see him glancing over his shoulder, trying to get a read on his opponent. He sped up just a little bit, but then . . . did he actually slow back down to his cruising speed again? Was Inventions beginning to tire out?

The Skeleton Monster, though, didn't slow down one iota. He'd reached his own cruising speed, and with it, he was steadily gaining on Inventions. The second lap was nearly half over, and the green car was now less than a quarter lap behind the dark blue. Another quick burst of speed came from Inventions' car, and again he couldn't sustain it.

I watched in slack-jawed amazement as the Skeleton Monster overtook my mentor. In the end, the green car crossed the finish line more than two seconds ahead of Inventions.

Both cars gradually coasted to a stop. Neither inventor had seen fit to include brakes. I ran over to them as fast as I could, until I couldn't sustain that running pace any more than Inventions had been able to sustain his own top speed.

The Skeleton Monster had already clambered out of his car by the time I arrived. He pointed a bony finger at Inventions in triumph. "HAH!! I! Win!" He formed his hand into an L shape and held it up to his cranium. "Loser! Loser!" He pointed at Inventions again. "Loser! How does it feel, mister I-always-win? Huh?"

The Skeleton Monster didn't wait for a reply. He hopped back into his cockpit and stomped down on his thruster pedal. As his contraption started lurching away, he called back, "After all these years, I've finally bested you! And there's not a damn thing you can do about it!"

I trotted up beside Inventions. He was still in his car, still facing forward, still catching his breath from all the pedaling. He hadn't taken off his goggles or leather helmet, despite the obvious sweat. He didn't even glance sideways at me. He just said, in a flat voice, "I lost."

I opened my mouth to say something, then closed it.

"I lost," he repeated just as flatly. He seemed to have lost more than just this race. He rambled — mumbled, at his usual breakneck speaking speed — and every word sounded hollow. "I should have seen it. I should have seen it. I should've thought of it, the moment I saw that one giant pedal. He could push. He could push with his whole body. With his gluteals and his back at the same time. Normal person, couldn't sustain that for more than a few strokes. Muscle fatigues. He doesn't. He doesn't fatigue. He can keep pumping at full force for the whole race. His acceleration cost for the single stroke doesn't matter. It's top speed. Thrust to drag ratio. That's what counts. That's what counts in the long run. And he had me." At last, he turned to look at me, and when he did he glared. "He had me the whole damn time, and I didn't see it coming."

What could I say to something like that?

Inventions was lost in that daze for the whole trip back to his lab. I could barely get him to unlock the door and let us back in. He stood still and glared at everything in the room as though it were now his enemy.

"Um," I offered, "I've finished that batch of sodium t—"

"Doesn't matter," he muttered. "None of it does." He looked me squarely in the eye. "The late George Herkamer, that second-rate hack, beat me. At my own game. If I lose out to him on something as simple as a custom pedal-power car, how the hell do I know I'm the best at anything else?!" He stomped over to the digital radio transmitter he'd been building last night. "This improved-range transmitter! There's probably some jerk over in backwater Mississippi who's bulding an even better one right now. Hell, maybe even George could improve on my design!"

With one swift, enraged kick, Inventions sent his radio transmitter crashing to the floor in pieces. Then he slumped down next to the pieces and cradled his head in his hands.

I crouched down next to him, and began slowly scooping the shattered fragments of his transmitter into one pile. "You . . ." I began, then shook my head. "You think you're worthless if you're not the best?"

He scowled from the depths of his funk, his eyes still lost in the distance. "You don't need to rub it in."

I winced. I hadn't meant . . . damn. I slumped down next to him. All this, all this self-doubt, all this falling apart, all because he lost to the Skeleton Monster with one of his inventions.

His inventions . . .

Wait a minute.

I took a chance, and opened my big mouth again. "This pedal-powered car of yours. It looked pretty . . . normal."

"Hm?" Inventions said, glancing at me and then immediately looking back off at nothing.

"I mean," I continued, "Just how much innovation did you put into it?"

I thought I could see his brow furrow, just a bit. He took a breath, let it out, and then said "None." He turned his head half way toward me. "That design was completely off-the-shelf. Except for the high-end bearings, I could have bought one just like it at Pedal Powered Cars R Us. I didn't put any innovation into that car at all."

Time for me to state the obvious. "The Skeleton Monster did. He went all out with every ounce of smarts he had, until he figured out a way he might be able to beat you in a race."

He looked right at me, and said nothing.

"You put in a casual amount of effort, against a man — a skeleton, whatever — who was at the absolute top of his game." I took a deep breath. "Really, you shouldn't even be surprised that you lost!"

I could swear I saw anger flash in his eyes. But it lasted less than a second.

"Hm," he grunted. It was a quick, flat syllable.

I opened my mouth to speak again, then closed it. I might not be the greatest expert on social interactions, but I could tell he was sitting on the fence. He could snap out of this funk and re-attack the problem with his normal frenzied gusto. Or he could double down and shut me out completely, and maybe shut the rest of the world out in the process. I —

A rhythmic tapping from one part of the lab tore him out of the moment. "My tachyon receiver," he said. He looked genuinely surprised, and alarmed. "I didn't think it would work!" He leapt to his feet and bolted over to the source of the noise. I ran after him. There, by a dull gray cylinder, lay what looked like an old-fashioned ticker tape machine, dutifully recording each tap onto a lengthening paper strip.

"What is this thing?" I asked.

Inventions didn't take his eyes off the paper. "It's a far-fetched idea I came up with, a way to receive a message sent back in time by my future self."

"But I thought your time travel inventions always got shut down," I replied.

"Hmph," Inventions smirked for an instant. "The tachyon receiver could only work if future me ever invented a way to send the message in the first place. The mechanics are limited enough that it might just fly under the time-travel radar." He looked up at me. "Lock the door in case Hitler shows up again."

I gasped, then charged toward the front door.

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding!" he called after me. "Come on back. If a time traveller was gonna interfere it would have already happened by now, and no walls or doors could have stopped it."

By the time I got back, the tapping had stopped. Inventions was staring at the paper tape and frowning. "I never did decide on a comm protocol. This doesn't look like Morse code. Might be binary, though. Wonder if it's ASCII." He fished a tiny laminated card out of one pocket. "Yyyyup, that's 7-bit ASCII, all right!" His eyes flitted between the card and the message while his expression went blank. I could almost see the intense calculating going on behind those eyes. Finally, he looked up, blinked, and stared off in the distance. His mouth hung a tiny ways open, like he'd just seen a ghost. "It says listen to Sam, don't give up."

You could have bowled me over with a feather.

Inventions glanced at me, took a deep breath through his nose, and said "'Scuse me, Sam. I've got a pedal-powered car to improve on." He marched toward the door to retrieve his second-place car like a man on a mission.

I followed after him with the biggest grin I've ever had on my face.

"Ya know," he said, holding up a portion of the ticker-tape as he walked, "Future me thought this message was important enough that he annihilated himself to send it."

I did a double take. "What?"

"Well, think about it," he continued. "The only reason he would've told me to listen to you is if, in his timeline, I hadn't listened to you. So now, by sending this message into the past and changing my mind, his timeline no longer exists."

I frowned. "But if his timeline doesn't happen, then he won't be there to send the message back to you, which means you wouldn't have gotten the message, which means you wouldn't have changed your mind, which means his timeline would happen. You know, time paradox!"

Inventions shrugged. "Many-worlds interpretation of quantum mechanics, maybe? I wouldn't know, I'm not a theoretical physicist."

Hmph. The guy invents a way to send messages back in time, and he still doesn't consider himself a theoretical physicist.

He opened the door. "Oh," he said before he crossed the threshold, "Pick up the pieces of my improved-range transmitter prototype, and look for salvageable parts, wouldja? No reason to throw the baby out with the bath water."

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