Timepiece (Hourglass 2)

“I couldn’t find anything in Dad’s office.” I stuck my thumbs in my back pockets. “Paychecks from the Hourglass don’t exactly run through any of the normal government processes.”

Nate kicked at a rock on the ground. “And there’s no one to ask around here, because Jack pulled his Jedi mind tricks on anyone who’d have any decent information.”

Dune turned his entire huge frame to the side and stared at Nate. “Please do not disparage the Force by including it in the same sentence as Jack Landers’s name.”

“You just did,” Nate pointed out, making an “oof” sound when Dune elbowed him.

I knew it had to hurt. Dune had told us he was the smallest of his Samoan brothers, coming in at only 220 pounds and 5 feet 11. Just one of the reasons I tried to stay on Dune’s good side.

I cleared my throat. “So Lily was right. A paper trail is the best chance we have to find out what Jack wants. And since he used to work here …” Dad had just started a three-hour staff enrichment, along with the rest of the physics department, so we were free and clear to get in and dig around. We’d stood behind a couple of trees and watched them trek from the science building to the administration office.

“Let’s go,” Dune said, and we followed him across the lawn.

Getting in the building was easy enough, and so was getting into the records room, thanks to the key I’d lifted from my dad. Rather than a dusty storage space, it was a former classroom, a little on the small side. There were at least twenty boxes that held files, along with a model of the planetary system, Pluto included, a couple of defunct microscopes, and a teaching skeleton missing its left leg bone. The skeleton hung from a rolling stand by a silver hook in its head.

The room also had a window, which meant we didn’t have to turn on lights and draw unnecessary attention.

“Nate, keep a lookout, would you?” I took a box off the top of a stack and handed it to Dune, and then I picked up the one below it.

“Why would you make me be the lookout when I can go through those boxes at ten times the speed you two can?” Nate asked.

“Excellent point.” I shoved the box in my hands at him and let go. It landed on the ground with a solid thud and a cloud of dust as it slipped right through his fingers.

“Nate, what are you—”

“Holy hell.” Nate’s voice hit a really high pitch. He was pointing out the window.

A hundred or so young men in caps and gowns sat in the middle of the quad on white folding chairs set up in rows, all staring intently at the stage and podium in front of them. The fallen leaves that had littered the ground two minutes ago were gone, replaced by a lush green summer carpet of bluegrass.

At the podium, a distinguished-looking gentleman reigned over the festivities, wearing a cap and gown.

The banner behind him said congratulations, class of 1948.

“Please tell me you see that,” Nate said. “Do you see that?”

“I do,” Dune said, setting down the box in his hands. “There are no women. Where are the women?”

I paid a little more attention to the scenery. The stone on the side of the buildings lacked a significant amount of moss from what I was used to seeing, and the art building was completely missing. “This was a men’s college until the 1950s.”

“So this is a ripple,” Nate said. “From before then.”

I heard a crash and a yelp behind us.

Nate and I turned to find Dune on the ground, tangled up with the teaching skeleton.

“I realize this is probably plastic and used for teaching purposes,” Dune said, handing Nate a tibia with the foot attached, “but I want it off me.”

Nate proceeded to use the metatarsals to scratch his back, and then he started to giggle.

I interrupted. “Guys. Look around.”

Either my tone or the situation put an end to the giggling.

The storage space was now a classroom. Neat desks lined up in rows, and a blackboard full of equations. The only similarity between this room and the one we’d walked into five minutes ago was the skeleton. Dune was still tangled up in it.

“Where are we?” Nate touched a couple of the desks with his free hand. “Is this a rip? Because I’m still holding this leg bone in my hand. That’s not normal. Right?”

“Shut up,” I hissed. “Someone’s coming.”