Pem Redivivus

He tapped the last tiny, roughly-made gear, and felt it slide into place. The soft click heralded success. With an anticipatory hiss of breath through his teeth and a quick twist of the winding knob, he set the gears in motion, rotating smoothly in spite of their clumsily-honed cogs. Hours of filing had smoothed the sharp edges and made it possible for the mechanism to function, despite its inexpertly made parts. It was far from his best workmanship, but Pem smiled at it with a pride he hadn't felt in his earlier, better work. That timepiece was lost beyond hope, but this one…

This one he had built with his own hands under less than perfect circumstances, constantly on the look-out, hiding it when the prison guards walked by, working out new theories on how to shield it, lovingly crafting in the dark, using his sense of touch to cut and smooth the tiny bits of metal he had smuggled out of the cafeteria, found in the exercise yard, or stolen when no one was looking. Three years of his life had been spent giving it every spare moment… And now he held the completed device in his hands. It wasn't eighteen karat gold with jewel work, and the fine engraving for which he was famous; instead, it was fashioned of stainless steel and aluminum and any other bits of metal he could get his fingers on, and cut and carved with clumsy tools made from bits of his bed. But he had succeeded where they had all thought he would fail.

Pem laughed. Oh, yes, they thought they had him all locked up, had pulled all his teeth, that he was a harmless fool, shut away in a prison that could keep him. But with this new device, no prison could keep him… He could go where he pleased, and wreak his revenge.

Three years… It had taken three years to construct his path to freedom. Three years of hell in a place where time travel might as well not exist for all the taste he could get of it. No one here had any understanding of how necessary slipping in and out of time was to him; life and breath, inspiration and hope… He couldn't live without the feel of years rushing past him as he moved backwards and forwards through yesterdays and tomorrows… He needed time travel, like other people needed water. Without it, he was slowly dying here. The Time Board, led just this once by Admiral Crane – but with the full approval of his arch nemesis, Admiral Morton - had condemned him to death when they placed him here…

For three years he had been dying as he worked: A year to puzzle out the theories involved. This timepiece had to be shielded from the Time Board's notice, or they would simply confiscate it. He had to figure out how to do that, how to infuse the metal parts with his invented temporal shielding, so that he could use the device with impunity. And then he had discovered that he couldn't use it after all. The temporal shielding impeded the action of the timepiece, making it far less effective and dangerously unreliable… So back to the drawing board, more work, more formulae scribbled on his sheets, copied surreptitiously on the wall beneath his bed where the guards never looked… At last he'd arrived at a way of minimizing the displacement of energy that allowed for time travel so that the surge of power was virtually undetectable…

Then a year to beg, borrow, or steal the parts. Mostly steal them. He had had to pull out the inner workings of the box spring on his bed and make his own primitive tools… The worst had been getting the edge on the tiny little metal saw he'd made… He'd had to steal a file from the mechanics department to do that, and it had taken hours, if not days, to finally get the edge honed to the sharpness he'd needed. His tools had had to be so small that he could hardly use them, so that they could be easily hidden when the guards looked in or when the other prisoners became nosy.

And then a year to make the device, incorporating all his new design theories, and even adding some last-minute elements. He had cut a clumsy spiral design into the case of the timepiece, then honed the metal to a bright shine, so that it instantly dazzled. He had gotten the idea from one of the prisoners, who had been interred because he was a master hypnotist, who had found a way to get his subjects to do his bidding, twisting situations until they would even kill for him… Amazing, since the human mind was so incredibly stubborn. But it could be tricked; Pem had paid attention and learned from the hypnotist, and he thought he could use the timepiece to plant suggestions, make facts seem different…

It had changed his plan for revenge. At first, he'd intended to wreak havoc on that wretched submarine, maybe even blow it up, and in so doing, perhaps he would even succeed in eradicating those two unreasonable, unscrupulous officers who had put him here… Admiral Morton, who had recused himself from the hearing but still been present to give testimony – damn him, he'd always been a thorn in Pem's side… Always! But now there was Admiral Crane who had looked at Pem as if he were some sort of offensive insect and sentenced him to twenty years – twenty years! – here in the Lunar Penal Colony, where they lived under the dome and were so carefully watched… And no time travel…

How had he survived for three years without the rush that time travel gave him? Only revenge had kept him alive… And now here he was, on the cusp of putting his plans in play.

Pem smiled, looking at his reflection in the highly polished gleam of the watch case. So unassuming, an Everyman whom very few would notice. He never seemed out of place, no matter what time he was in. He wouldn't seem out of place at Fleet Headquarters a week ago. Everyone would have forgotten what poor old Pem had looked like… A few minor changes, such as the beard he'd grown, and the muscles he'd built up working on the lunar surface, and no one would have a clue who he was. He would start with driving a wedge between Admiral Morton and Admiral Crane; a wedge that would make them at the least bitter rivals, and at the most hated enemies. Oh, yes, he would pay money to see that!

And while those two were at each other's throats, they wouldn't notice him slipping back into the past, to that thrice-damned submarine and Admiral Nelson who had spoiled everything. Admirals figured over-much in this tale, and he would take care of every one of them. And by ending the submarine, he would put an end to his two nemeses… Then perhaps he would see if he couldn't get elected to the Time Board…

Mr. Augustus Pem, President of the Time Board… Yes, he liked the sound of that. He liked it very much indeed… He studied his image in the watch case: yes, he could look lordly and important if he wanted to. Taming his smile, he put on a sober face. "Good evening, sir. You have been summoned before the Time Board because…"

Yes… He could make the rules, and then enforce them. He could make sure that everybody who had ever thwarted him would pay. He could be the driving force behind making his world freer and better for himself…

But first things first. He would go to headquarters to disrupt a friendship that had put him behind bars, and then the submarine… Revenge would be very sweet, oh, very sweet indeed… Unable to continue to suppress the smile, Pem pressed his finger on the knob at the top of the timepiece and slid into the embrace of his old friend, Time…