Page 1 of Time Stops With You

One

CULLEN

The team of A-list software engineers squirm inside my computer screen. Pixelated sweat glides down pixelated faces.

“C-Cullen?” my AI technician squeaks.

“Did his video freeze?” another inquires.

Thus begins a wave of frantic head-bobbing and mouse-jangling. World-class technicians brought to their knees by, what they believe, is an internet connectivity issue.

If only it were that simple.

“I’m here,” I say quietly. After all the radiation treatments, my ability to yell is gone. But silent wrath is still wrath nonetheless.

The team swallows loud enough that the computer mikes pick up the gulp. There’s an uncomfortable beat of silence. Then the engineers speak, overlapping over each other as the lines around their videos shine neon.

“It was ninety-nine percent accurate in the projections.”

“We keep meeting the same parameter block.”

“We did all the calculations twice.”

The more I see the bright green signatures, the more my frustration grows. Do they not understand my urgency? Fate isn’t on my side. My body slowed down, and death is slowing down to keep up with me, proving how ravenous it is for my blood.

Time is an even bigger villain.

Or more accurately, it’s my scorned lover.

The more I chase it, the more it despises me.

I can’t afford to make a single wrong move, not when the days are slipping through my fingers like sand.

The ever present knot in my stomach tightens. Gritting my teeth, I move toward the monitor. The gaming chair creaks as if I’m still my original one hundred and eighty-five pounds.

“Only twice?” I repeat.

The silence is deafening.

“And only ninety-nine percent?”

No one dares to say a word. I can smell my team’s fear through the computer screen.

“It’s been eight months.Eightmonths. And we can’t get over thisonehurdle.” My eyes flash from one monitor to the next. “Why are all the projections failing?”

To my left, a video feed lights up neon.

I lift a swift hand. “Don’t answer that.”

The neon goes dead.

“Our planes are dropping out of the air.” I feel a tweak in my chest. A warning from my body that I’m speaking too loudly. Adjusting the volume, I continue while tapping my finger hard against the table. “We can’t even solve the connectivity issues between the drones and the controller. Our investors are expecting a simulation at the end of the quarter. Your excuses are meaningless.”

“If I may interject here,” Dr. Killick Young, the oldest engineer on our team, speaks hesitantly, “engineering pilot-less planes is already an enormous task. We joined this project excited for the possibilities, but the timeframe is a bit unmanageable.”

“Unmanageable? You were aware of the timeframe when you signed the contract and you didn’t seem to have a problem when your performance fee landed in your bank account.”

Dr. Young cringes.

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