We've decided we should put our money where our mouths are, so Jesse has written a short time-travel story. We hope you enjoy it!

 

RECORDED TOMORROW PRESENTS

THE PARTY

by Jesse Ferguson

Alex notes the time and takes a champagne flute from the tray, giving the server a wink as she does. 7:46PM. The server smiles in return and Alex doesn’t mind that she's patronizing her, she's in entirely too good a mood. 

Because it’s going to work.

“Hey, Alex!” Martin, the host, waves at her as he makes his way across the room. Alex has spent six years, two months and nine days working her way up the ladder in Martin's company, getting close enough to him to earn an invitation to this party. This is where she'll make it all happen.

Right now, somewhere in Seattle, there’s another version of Alex - a younger version, still using her real name - hard at work boosting cars, breaking into houses and shitty office parks in the industrial district. In four months and twelve days, that version of her will be arrested on felony burglary charges, just nine days after she turns eighteen. Her court-appointed lawyer will be too busy with a hundred other cases to put much effort into helping a poor kid everybody knows is guilty. She'll be convicted after just three days, and sentenced to ten years in prison. She’ll never be able to vote.

“Enjoying the party?” Martin's made it over to her now. He's wearing a tan suit and a slightly worried expression. “The band just got here, they’re setting up now,” he sighs, “I should have hired a DJ...”

“Relax. I’m sure they'll be worth the wait,”  Alex says. Why not give him something to be happy about? It won't last. Alex almost feels bad about that. “And it doesn’t matter. We’re not here for the band. We’re here for you. Well, you and your new trinket."

“I can't wait for you to see it, Ms. Wells,” he says as he puts a hand on her shoulder, friendly and casual, but without coming off as creepy, like a lot of men in their fifties would. Damn it, now she does feel bad. She likes Martin, and he doesn’t really deserve what’s going to happen.

Seven months, fifteen days from now, that younger Alex-with-her-real-name will find a hidden cache in her cell. Inside, there will be a stack of newspapers and a locked box. The top newspaper will be dated a day after she finds the cache, the next one a week after that. She'll compare it to the papers delivered to the prison on those days, and they'll line up perfectly. 

On the far end of this room, there’s a locked door. Beyond that, some number of other security measures unknown to Alex--for now-- then vault with a three-thousand-year-old clay statue sealed inside it. The statue was recently excavated from Nigeria and it’s worth around sixteen million dollars. Martin acquired it through what he likes to call "back channels," which Alex assumes is richspeak for "he exploited his wealth and influence to plunder it from the culture to which it belongs." On second thought, maybe he does deserve it.

“I’m impressed you’ve been able to keep the statue secure,” she says, with just a little bit of awe in her voice. Martin may be a kind man, but also a rich man, and a little ego-stroking goes a long way. “How did you manage it? A piece this old, this rare, thieves must be lining up to take a crack at it.” 

Seven months, twenty-two days from now, after the second newspaper from her cache matches the one delivered that day, her younger self will start looking through the rest of the papers. The third one will be dated a week from today, and it’ll be folded open to a story with the headline RARE NIGERIAN STATUE STOLEN OUT OF THIN AIR. The article will be circled in felt marker, along with the words THIS WAS YOU, written in her own handwriting.

“Well, that’s the secret,” Martin’s eyes twinkle with mischief. “One of the advantages of using ‘back channels’ is that there aren’t a lot of records. So nobody knows exactly what I have, except the lovely people at this party. Most of the rea