“Sure,” Wayne responded.
Wayne thought he knew why she had wanted to see him. Wayne had let his grades slip a little — well, actually a lot. More than he should have. With the apprehension of graduating in a few months and the uncertainty of his future, plus the incredible workload of the past three years, Wayne simply figured that it was time to see less of the library and more of what Manhattan had to offer. After all, it was his senior year. He thought Dr. Hoffmann was disappointed in him and was going to tell him that.
The inside of Dr. Hoffmann’s laboratory was a mess. Flasks, books, soldering equipment, a rat cage, assorted power tools, and the dusty guts of a washing machine were randomly scattered about. It looked like a yard sale instead of someone’s office.
Dr. Hoffmann sat at a long table working with a metal tube of about one inch wide by ten inches long with wires sticking out of it. Wayne knocked.
“Enter,” Dr. Hoffmann called out.
“What’s up, Doc?”
“I just need another minute here,” she said still busy concentrating.
Wayne looked at the phallic shaped object in her hands and balked, “Doc… is that a…?”
“I just fixed this Geiger counter,” Dr. Hoffmann interrupted.
“A Geiger counter! Gotcha. That makes more sense,” Wayne said with a hint of embarrassment.
“What?” Dr. Hoffmann wanted to know.
“Oh, nothing.”
Dr. Hoffmann looked at her watch, “Mr. Goldberg, I requested your presence here at precisely three-thirty. You have arrived ten minutes late.”
“Sorry ‘bout that. I had to go get this part for my car and—”
Dr. Hoffmann wasn’t in the mood for any excuses. “Mr. Goldberg,” she lectured, “when I say three-thirty, I mean three-thirty. Not three-forty. Not three thirty-five. Not even three thirty-one. I need to know that you are a punctual person and that arriving late for appointments is not a habit of yours. Are you a punctual person?”
Wayne scoffed. What was the big deal? He couldn’t even remember even being late to her class.
“Yes, I’m a punctual person.”
“Good. I want to show you something.”
Wayne followed Dr. Hoffmann as she led him over to a corner of the messy lab. A dirty bed sheet covered a large square object. Dr. Hoffmann slowly removed it to reveal a washing machine, or at least the shell of one, with small circuit boards attached to the outside of the front side. There was a strange looking contraption with wires that led to a computer terminal on the shelf above it. Hanging on the wall nearby were two protective suits
“This is what I wanted to show you,” Dr. Hoffmann said proudly.
“And what a lovely washing machine it is,” Wayne retorted. “What did you do, turbocharge it?”
“What you are now viewing, Mr. Goldberg, is the world’s first working time machine.”
“TIME MACHINE!” Wayne started to laugh. “I didn’t know you had a sense of humor.”
“I do not,” Dr. Hoffmann said straight faced.
Wayne stopped laughing. He stared at his professor, searching for some sign that she was pulling a practical joke on him. Was she trying to prove that she wasn’t as straight-laced as everyone said she was?
“I have worked on this for the past eight years,” Dr. Hoffmann said. “I have spent every free moment that I had between teaching and publishing papers on this project.
“Come on, a time machine!” Wayne practically yelled at her. “That’s impossible.”
“It is not,” she counteracted.
Wayne did not want to insult her, but he felt he had to speak his mind. “I know you’re brilliant, Dr. Hoffmann. You have won a lot of awards and have published all sorts of articles in journals that nobody reads, but a time machine? That’s a little hard to swallow.”
“Time is just one plane on the three-dimensional sphere that we call Earth,” Dr. Hoffmann stated. “Now, I have devised a way to travel on that plane. Much like the way one would travel on a jet airliner.”
Wayne ran his hand through his short hair, not sure what she was really up to. One thing he knew for sure was that he had more important things to do at the moment then listen to Hoffmann blab on about the impossible. “That sounds good, but what proof do you have?”
Dr. Hoffmann picked up a newspaper that appeared to be no more than a day old. “Look at the date on this newspaper,” she instructed Wayne as she handed the newspaper to him.
“October 27th, 1922,” he read out loud. Then he viewed the headline. “CAPONE’S GANG SUSPECTED IN HIGHLAND PARK SLAYING.” Wayne put the paper down. “That’s cute. Where did you get it printed up?”
“I sent a dog that I had trained to fetch a newspaper, back to the point on the time plane October 27th, 1922,” Dr. Hoffmann said, “and that is exactly what the canine did when he arrived there. Then he was transported back to our point on the time plane, 1995.”
“You’re trying to tell me that you sent a dog back to 1922 just so it could go fetch a newspaper for you? And that you did this with this turbo-charged washing machine?” Wayne asked incredulously.
“Yes. Precisely.”
“And what does this time machine of yours run on?” Wayne asked. “Gas? Oil? Batteries?”
“A special radioactive material that the army has developed for atomic weapons that is made up primarily of Gadolinium and Iridium.”
“And where do you get this material — at the local Seven Eleven?” Wayne said sardonically.
“A colleague of mine at the defense department has been able to supply me with the minute quantity necessary to run it.”
“Look, Dr. Hoffmann, I value your scientific opinions very much, but this is really hard to accept. I mean, come on, a time machine?”
“Precisely why I have summoned you here. I want you to be the first human being that I transport back in time. That is, if you do not mind acting as a guinea pig.”
Wayne studied Dr. Hoffmann’s face hard for some sign that she was about to get to the punch line of the joke that she had been playing on him. He couldn’t detect anything. And as far as Dr. Hoffmann’s proposition was concerned, what could be the worst thing that would happen? Dr. Hoffmann would be embarrassed when nothing transpired with her “time machine”.
“Oink, oink. I’m your pig.”
“Excellent.”
Dr. Hoffmann opened the lid of the alleged time machine.
“Mister Goldberg, step-.”
“Please, Doc, call me Wayne. We might actually be making history together.”
“Okay. Wayne, please step inside here.”
Wayne stepped up unto a small stool, then into the “time machine” so that only his body from the waist up was visible. He looked around uncomfortably and hoped no one saw him.
Dr. Hoffmann started to type instructions into the computer terminal. “I have only been able to garner enough energy through the reactor to go as far back as the year 1915,” she said.
“While I’m here, I’ll take my whites washed in cold water, the colors in warm water, and go easy on the starch,” Wayne joked, “I hate that cardboard feel.”
Dr. Hoffmann busied herself by adjusting various controls. “I am sending you to 1937,” she explained. “You will be there for a few minutes. Make the best of it.” Dr. Hoffmann hesitated. “And…”
“And what?” Wayne asked.
Dr. Hoffmann looked somewhat nervous and apprehensive to Wayne, which he attributed to her about to be embarrassed by her silly experiment. “And, I should warn you,” she continued, “there is some risk involved.”
“That’s part of life,” Wayne responded. “Let’s do it.”
“Mr. Goldberg, excuse me, Wayne,” Dr. Hoffmann paused briefly, “thank you.”
Wayne closed his eyes and laughed to himself.
Dr. Hoffmann pulled up on a lever and a crackling noise rang out, much like that of dry twigs breaking. And all of a sudden, in a flash, Wayne vanished.
“I still don’t feel anything…” Wayne started to say as he opened his eyes. He gazed around, his jaw dropping open. He now appeared to be in some kind of sumptuous dining room area, like the ballroom of a swank hotel. A
