Chrono Contagion – A Timekeepers Story

By Luca Nobleman

Luke’s six-fingered hand trembled as he poured foamed milk with precision into the inky black liquid—each muscle begging to be the first to perform the long-awaited act. He had only read about making an espresso macchiato in his Human Studies courses, but now he was here on Earth, hiding his Civaran hand beneath caffeine-resistant gloves, as one splash of the toxic drink would make his skin bubble like oil in a hot pan.

He wondered how long it would be before he made enough money to afford a ticket to Istanbul and check in with the Civaran sleeper unit there.

Or worse, how long would it be before someone realized he was an alien from forty years in the future masquerading as a barista?

Thankfully, his faulty quantum spark regulator sent him to 2004 rather than 1804 and nestled him into the eclectic melting pot of Manhattan and not somewhere in Idaho.

He slid the drink across the counter and called into the crowd, “Hot espresso macchiato for Dorian!”

As the customer reached for it, Luke said, “Live long and prosper!”

Just as Luke turned away, the customer spoke in a calm British accent. “Oh, I plan on it, Therrus.”

Luke froze, lip twitching. How does he know my real name?

He turned back slowly and met the eyes of a pale, handsome young man in his twenties. Too handsome. The man’s smile widened like he’d heard a confession.

Beads of sweat poured from beneath Therrus’s ball cap, fogging his thick-rimmed glasses. The increased humidity altered the salinity of the holographic camouflage he wore, causing the skin of his forearms to shimmer between the human mahogany and his actual Civaran seafoam green. He shoved his opalescent hand behind his back.

“S-Sorry?” Therrus stuttered. His keen Civaran ears picked up a faint servo whine in the man. Cyborg?

“Great disguise, Therrus.” Dorian leaned in. “But I’ve been everywhere and met nearly everyone. I know a Civaran when I see one.”

Therrus swallowed hard. “You must be mistaken.”

“Am I?” He tapped the counter with an all too perfect staccato beat.

Therrus tightened his fist. “I have to get back to work.”

“Sorry for my intrusion. Please allow me to explain.”

“Fine.” Therrus surveyed the shop; the last group of the morning college rush appeared glued to their MySpace pages. “I have to restock the pumpkin spice, so I don’t have forever.”

“Well, fortunately for you, I’m building forever.” Dorian nodded at the calendar on the wall. “Plus, 2048 is probably missing its old friend Therrus.”

***

Dorian explained it like a marketing pitch. He had discovered a genetic replication virus that overwrote reproductive code. Anyone infected would pass Dorian’s DNA to their offspring. All future children would be exact copies of Dorian.

“You weren’t always a machine?” Therrus asked.

“No,” Dorian whispered, eyes glazed, as though lost in a memory.

“You’re still insane.”

“I’m infinite… even foreordained.” Dorian refocused and grinned.

“Why me?” A lump settled in Therrus’s throat, like a bean that wouldn’t grind.

Dorian placed a gift card on the counter. “Here are the schematics. They are incomplete. I need your expertise to make it universal—cross-species.”

Therrus glanced at the card. “My expertise?”

“I know your background.” Dorian raised an eyebrow. “Civaran School of Genetics and Biological Reprogramming. Best in the galaxy. Help me, and I’ll get you back to 2048. Refuse, and every warrant chaser in this sector will find your name on their list.”

***

After his shift, Therrus scanned the card on his Mobile Genetic Processor. Data burst onto the screen—viral blueprints and a decoded string of Dorian’s DNA.

Therrus squinted as he read the strands. How? Buried in the code was something Dorian must have missed—a clock. Every clone the virus created would die roughly twelve years after birth. Diffuse muscular dystrophy.

“Immortality?” Therrus smirked. “Not if I have anything to do with it.”

***

Therrus sat across from Dorian in a small, dark booth.

“You want forever,” Therrus said. “But the virus will extinguish every clone before their reproductive years. You’ll fill the universe with yourself, but just long enough to watch them all die.”

Dorian squinted. His eyes twitched with computation. “You’re lying.”

Therrus pushed the tablet across the table. “Check the allele codification at position eighty-five.” He pointed. “You’ll see.”

Dorian’s mechanical jaw tightened.

“I can fix it,” Therrus said. “But on one condition—I embed a sequence in the virus to block infection in certain species’ genomes.”

Dorian smirked. “Yours?”

“Mine, and a few others.”

“You’d hinder the extent of my plan.”

“You still get your ascendancy, just not complete genocide.”

Dorian sat back, fingers tapping. “If you think I’m a monster, then why help me?”

“Because your virus has an expiration date. At least this way, I can make sure you leave some life untouched.”

His smile returned—almost imperceptible—almost human. “You’re clever, Therrus. You could play a bigger part in this. Become a god like me. I’m only just begin—”

“Just get me back to 2048,” Therrus interjected, staring hard.

***

The two worked in silence for an hour.

Therrus corrected the allele sequence, splicing in his immunity patch. Dorian replaced parts within Therrus’s quantum spark regulator.

When finished, Therrus slipped his portal hopper onto his wrist.

“To immortality.” Dorian raised the paper cup, finally sipping his cold macchiato.

Therrus scowled at the cyborg and typed in the year 2048 on his wrist. It’s a good thing there’s more to genetics than DNA.

Unbeknownst to Dorian, Therrus had embedded a workaround. Seemingly innocuous codes of DNA that, once activated, would create specific epigenetic proteins—silencing Dorian’s DNA via methylation. Children born of the virus would bypass muscular dystrophy, living a full life, and would never express Dorian’s traits physically—maybe eye color, but not more—therefore, silently killing Dorian’s spread.

Therrus activated his quantum spark regulator, dissolving into the present. “Hey, Dorian!”

The cyborg’s eyes flashed.

“Don’t live long, or prosper,” Therrus grinned.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Luca Nobleman is an author, surgeon, and nerd. To what nerdiness level? Pikachu? He crocheted his own once. Magic the Gathering? His wife rents a storage unit for all his cards. Star Wars action figures? His desk could maybe fit one more K2SO. But it’s okay, because his four children sure like having an extra grown kid in the house. Luca is the author and audiobook/podcast voice for the Dreaming Machines novel series.

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