Surf’s Up

By J. M. Cobb

“One more time. Please, dude.”

“You’ve already tried ninety-nine times, John!”

“No sweat, dude. One hundredth time’s the bomb.” John paced in the only open area the lab equipment left them.

“I don’t know. Dr. Perrault’s due back in the lab soon.”

“Don’t be square, bro.” Fingers picking at a loose thread on his board shorts, John tried not to glare at Tony. “I know it will work this time.”

“I think you’re mixing up your slang eras.”

“Whatever, man. Don’t be a downer.”

“You know, this isn’t how the Box is supposed to be used.” Tony tapped out a sequence on his computer.

“Come on, Tony. I’ve been waiting for this concert for ages! They’re my faves. I’ve worked too hard on planning this to not give it one more go.”

Using his thumb print, Tony unlocked the door to the Box. “All right, all right. Step into the Box.”

“Far out, dude!” John grabbed his tablet and walked into the coffin-sized room.

He grinned at Tony through the cloudy Plexiglas window. The lab disappeared in a swirl of pink, yellow, and orange. Rows and rows of computer terminals in the Alpha Five University library from two hours ago replaced the view. All but one of the 100 terminals were occupied. Identical heads swiveled towards John as he walked into the room.

“Dude!” Ninety-nine voices echoed off the high ceiling.

“Dudes!” John yelled back. “Are we ready?”

“Right on,” flowed across the room in a wave as John sat down next to himself and thumbed the terminal to his personal account. He was happy to see the hack allowing him to have 100 copies of his account open was still in use. Laying his tablet on the desk next to him, he held a forefinger over the play icon. “Go!” he said, and the strains of a bass, a synthesizer, and a soft male voice came from the identical tablets around the room.

For the next half-hour, furious clicking dominated the room. John watched as the spinning dots rotated slowly on the screen. When they disappeared, he held his breath, then released it in a whoosh of disappointment as the words “Website overloaded, please try again” flashed into view moments before the home screen reappeared. He reentered the site as quickly as possible.

“Catch ya on the flipside,” called his first duplicate at the far end of the room before disappearing. John’s heart raced. Another John would disappear every minute after this. Only ninety-nine minutes remained to secure the concert tickets. He cursed the spinning wheel of pain as it yet again kicked him off the website.

Every “Catch ya on the flipside,” tightened John’s neck muscles a little bit more. He tried to keep track of how many were left, but the spinning wheel of torment kept him focused on his terminal. The thought of missing even the slimmest of opportunities was unbearable.

The clicking lessened. Out of the corner of his eye, John noticed only one other John remaining in the room. Down to the last two minutes, his last two minutes of opportunity. His heart began to sink.

“Bam!” The John next to him jumped up, arms elevated.

Just as he turned to look, that John also disappeared. His tablet chimed at the same time. John grabbed his tablet, but before he could look, his vision swam with pink, yellow, and orange lights again.

“Well? Did you make it this time?” Tony’s voice crackled from the small speaker in the Box.

John didn’t look up from his tablet as he stepped into the room. There they were! He smiled. “Don’t ape out, dude. Check it out!” He held the tablet out for Tony to see.

“May I see that?”

The voice from behind them caused the smile to slide from John’s face. Tony immediately snapped to attention.

“Dr. Perrault, you’re early.” John slid his tablet upside down onto one of the desks.

“I thought we had agreed that you wouldn’t use the Box to go gallivanting through the past. I don’t need to be called in front of the PPP again to explain why a painting of you showed up in the great pyramid at Giza.”

John held his hands up. “Whoa, dude! I promised you I’d never make that mistake again.” He shuddered. “Being interrogated by the People for Past Preservation once was enough. Here, look.” John picked the tablet up and turned it to show Dr. Perrault.

Reaching out, Dr. Perrault tipped the tablet to see the screen. “Am I to believe you’ve used the Box to snag yourself tickets to a Clone Concert?’

“Not just any concert, du—Doctor. And not just for myself.”

“You used scientific equipment, currently being run under a grant from Multi-World Corporation, to buy concert tickets. And you think you get to keep them?”

“Aw, don’t act like the Man, Dr. Perrault.”

Arms crossed, Dr. Perrault frowned at the accusation. “I know several people who would pay more than you paid to get their hands on those tickets. I’m sure the lab would appreciate a bit of extra cash.”

John opened and closed his mouth several times. “Dude,” was the only word he could get out.

“All right, I’ll let you keep the tickets if you write up this—this stunt as the experiment it obviously was. On your own time, that is.”

“Twitchin’… I mean, I can do that.” The concert was worth the sacrifice.

“Tony, send me all the raw data you’ve collected since I’ve been gone.”

“Yes, sir.” Tony nodded.

Dr. Perrault walked towards his office, but stopped in the doorway. “By the way, John, what makes this concert so special?”

“The beat’s really hot, dude.” He smiled and tapped a couple of times on his tablet.

Tony and Dr. Perrault’s tablets dinged simultaneously. Fishing a tablet out of his pocket, Dr. Perrault smiled at John. “Neato, dude. We’ll be sittin’ on top of the world.”

Can you guess which song from the 1960's inspired this story? Share in the comments!

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

J. M. Cobb looks like a normal human, but, with a wild imagination, she keeps her nursing co-workers thinking they should buy her a Snuggie with straps. J. M. enjoys entertaining loved ones, and strangers, with stories. She lives in the region formerly known as the Finger Lakes, which is currently undergoing an identity crisis and can’t decide between Seattle or Florida. Hopefully it will decide before J. M.’s plants are either drowned or burnt to a crisp.