07:00; Open’s work has progressed, into Elohimic variations on Banuch algebra & Riemannian manifolds; far beyond my acquaintance with the subject. I have never been a specialist; I prefer to kill, generally.
07:30; She seems consumed. Best make sure she eats something, sugar and protein. Write ‘Lets add us together, subtract our clothes, divide your legs, and multiply’. She smiles, proofs, & tests it immediately.
09:00; Steal a paper; Announcements for the PP trial, the Excelsoar absence, the tourists apprehended for trying to raid the Louvre last night. Did you know – Excelsoar loved the pyramid outside the Louvre?
09:30; E claims his royal lineage of sunken Ys & water powers originate from ancient Egypt. The exclamation ‘E’ is actually the ancient Red and White double Crown of Upper and Lower Egypt. Poppycock.
10:00; Henri Jambé of Canard Enchaine – ghost written while the real Henri is Chrono-Celled somewhere – calls for Excelsoar’s return amid his ‘mysterious’ absence, to avoid such rapine rages of tourists. Ha.
10:30; About to throw the thing into moving traffic, when I see a press release about Saving Grace, healer/hurter hero of the Bandeé Dessinees, coming out as a vampire – the fifth sign of the apocalypse. Sigh.
11:00; Flag down a steamcarriage to Orleans; its a two-hour trip and I am not cane-flying, or taxi-hiring. I have taxi-money, from my daylight & midnight tourist traps, but no taxi-patience for unoriginal greed.
11:05; Press of unwashed masses a trifle stifling, so, to distract myself from the smell, I take out my revolver and proceed to unload, disassemble, oil, reassemble & reload. Looking up, I have a seat to myself.
11:10; Pull my hat over my eyes; not tired, my carriage company is just fundamentally ugly. I activate what is, by definition, my first, oldest B.O.R.E. recording, to read, yet again, with the newest mind-reader.
11:15: Its a B.O.R.E. of a man I’ve never met, made before I knew how to make B.O.R.E.s. It is the reason I know how to make them now, to make that leap from Eidetic’s toy brain, to the tool I have now.
11:20; One night, in Whitby I retired, frustrated; unable to replicate exact effects of Mr. Eidetic’s mind-soup chemical. One morning later, the B.O.R.E. bulged with information, instructions of its own creation.
11:25; I read the imprint with interest – so slow in those days! – used the exact formula described, implemented the electrical impetus in the canisters the imprint suggested. It all worked perfectly, from first try.
11:30; Imprint made strange claims, some it knew I would know to be true, others not. Approximately 2 years worth of work arriving overnight; didn’t trust it an inch. Trusted it less when he claimed to be me.
11:35; Running for the first time in real time, thanks to my mind reader, this ‘other me’ details where our perception of events diverge. He refers to an event of which I have never heard, called The Time Crisis.
11:40; Some years ago, according the Gospel of this miscreant, he had retired to bed, frustrated, unable to replicate the exact effects of Mr. Eidetic’s mind-soup chemical. The next morn it was Armageddeon.
11:45; He describes Whitby that day as super-imposed strata of history. Mammoths, dinosaurs, robots, cyborgs, flooding, drought, times after a red sun and times before a moon. Even ‘day’ is lie; often dark.
11:50; ‘Von Quatloo’ diagnosed Black Death plagues, lethal influenza strains, nanomachine viruses among the serfs & silicon slaves. He ‘quarantined’ them, with his outbreak suit’s oxygen-mask/flame-thrower.
11:55; He was just terminating, with extreme prejudice and full medical benefits, the contracts of his infected household staff, when he recognised a ‘Clock Doctor’ constructed ‘Flywheel’ coming to his rescue.
12:00; Flown to The Clock Doctor’s paradox-protected palace within Big Ben, ‘Daftwager’ saw invading Viking hordes meet lost Roman legions, Spanish Armadas & Highlander regiments thrown into chaos.
12:05; Few others arrived; dying or disintegrating in the clash & crash of continuities occurring in timestorms outside – only Paradigm, Windsoar, myself, survived; those whose breeding was not left to chance.
12:10; My alternate confesses his/our only input in this cabal of chrononauts was that he/we knew this Eater of Time, Causal Continuity Chaos cause, once. At School. Ian Aeon, voted most likely to succeed.
12:15; Later MP for Dorset, Aeon had a taste for time pieces. I recall a stubby Benjamin Disraeli – after eating the Stones of Cronus, he is described as a ‘floating Portugese Man-of-War’, ‘the size of Slough’.
12:20; Despite the fact that ‘Cronus’ (father of the gods), had nothing to do with ‘Chronos’, (titan of time), Aeon had still swallowed a Moon whole, eaten America’s history, period by period, & travelled east.
12:25; Moon Phase of Luna & Overclocked of America were gone, giving the Clock Doctor a timely caution to abandon Big Ben, & absent himself to The Horologue’s GrandFather ClockTower in Orleans.
12:30; As The Clock Doctor’s Time Machine leapt the channel, London disappeared into the yellow Miasma and flying palaces of the Victorian era, the iron walls and steam carriages of the Elizabethan era …
12:35; … until there was nothing but hippos in the Thames. France was cronic chrono chaos – Aeon’s arrival, but Orleans was a port in the timestorm prepared, by the Clock Doctor’s warnings, to survive this.
12:40; France had Horologue. Switzerland had Master Adameus & the soul he kept in a steel clock. Germany had Klockwerk. Greece had the Antikytheran Orrey. Australia had Dreamtime. They survived.
12:45; Quartz in South America, Atomic Clock in Japan, Lenin’s Clockwork Khuliganies in Russia, Sampo in Finland, the Middle-Eastern Meccanism of Alchemy, Anansi’s Astrological Web in South Africa.
12:50; Two years passed, measured by pulse rate, these technical temporal fellows planning an extraplanar attack on the jellyfish-seeming fiend. They created a Chrono-Catwalk, a bridge across timestreams.
12:55; They calculated every event, ever, necessary to History’s course. Then they time-travelled, observing, causing & occassionally changing all events, major & minor, nailing a rope bridge of events with …
13:00; … until, according to my separate self, in one last cavalry charge, holding within their ranks every hero & villain, of the forgotten pasts, many presents & possible futures, when, at the very last second …
13:01; Oh, look, I’m here. Toodlepip.
13:15; My alternate self mentioned that the quiche here in Orleans was quite good. Should confirm it, just in case.
13:30; Oh my, quite delightful. Another consistency with my Other’s account of this place.
13:45; How very invidiously rude of me to ‘leave you hanging’ like that. The ‘quite good quiche’ place in Orleans is the Restauraunt Desolé.
14:00; Now cease interrupting my repast, or I’ll ‘leave you hanging’ from a light fixture.
15:00; Ah yes. All the ‘timesters’ of international consequence – Tai Ming, Jesteryear – had forged a time bridge, each rivet & beam made of an important event in history, to surmount the swollen timestreams.
15:05; Events. Origins. Endings. The discovery of BrightWave. The empowering of Heavy Beam. The victory of Quantum Apollo. The birth of Sun Boy. The revelation of Satellight. The return of Sol Invictus.
15:10; Choices. Victories. Tragedies. The bloody baptism of The Bad Man. The landing of Kid Neptune. The reign of Rein Forest. The first libation of Fratboy. The birth of Vigil. The death of Rabid Racoon.
15:15; Scientists were convinced to walk into the gamma radiation reactor, guardians persuaded to launch their youth into the stars, orphans restrained from saving their murdered parents. To save us all, now.
15:20; My alternate, in disguise, convinced Prof. Necessitus of a boat trip’s safety, cajoled Dr. Morningstar’s father to take a henchman job on Project Giant Shark, & shot former President Abraham Lincoln.
15:25; Yes, shock! Shoot Abraham Lincoln? I would have had to masquerade as an actor!! Vile!!! Also, inspired six greatest villains of the 20th century – Edsel Ford, Frederic Swarts, Thomas Midgley Jnr…
15:30; … James ‘Ned’ Doyle, Maxwell ‘Mac’ Dane, William ‘Bill’ Bernbach. Don’t know who they are? Yes, they are quite that evil!
15:35; Making assets of these atrocities, as is my wont, a numberless legion of individuals charged across the Chrono-Catwalk, forcing Ian Aeon to discharge and disgorge each and every event he had eaten.
15:40; Theodore Roosevelt, Franz Kafka and Salvador Dali to ‘my’ left, Hernan Cortés, Ernest Hemingway and Sir Stephen Hawking to my right, Chinua Achebe, Charlie Chaplin, G. K. Chesterton ahead …
15:45; Mahatma Gandhi, Martin Luther King, Rod Serling behind, the tentacle beast Ian Aeon was beaten until its stomach released the Chrono Crystals, shattering at our feet, in a blaze of temporal amber …
15:50; … instead of linear things, strict progressions of cause to effects, they resembled balls of wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey … stuff. Then, as a result of Aeon’s defeat and crossed timestreams, an instance …
15:55; … of total protonic reversal occurred, described rather like ”all life as one knows it stopping instantaneously and having every molecule in ones body explode outwards at the speed of light’. Very ouch.
16:00; One doubts ‘my’ dry rendering of these details, but before my other self can expand, the entire transmission is epilogued by the end of that timeline and the return of my personal perspective & my time.
16:10; I was left with these 5 facts, evidence of otherwise unproveable events: First, that no memory or monument to the Time Crisis had been left extant by the spells of the Amber, Sand and Green Witches.
16:20; Yes, ”no proof” proof, was less than convincing. The second proof, that I received two years advancement in BORE designs overnight, in BORE form, being neither memory or monument, was better.
16:30; The BORE, created in 2 years consultation with every great biochemist, ever, neither thinking nor thoughtless, survived as nothing else did. The third proof was Windsoar’s banal love for Susan Scorch.
16:40; Regnal-ridiculous little buffoon had revealed romance in a blaze of obscurity during the 2 years of the Time Crisis, while Orleans-bound. Fourth proof was also love – interesting, due to associated hate.
16:50; The Mighty Paradigm & The Deadly Light Shade, knowing that the Time Crisis would end in either total temporal apocalypse or chrono-cancellation success, decided to be open about their love, & …
17:00; …get naked as the plane of reality crashed. Quite admirable; they simply didn’t reckon with me, which has been a fault of many. Proof Five; Saving Grace had told of her vampire nature in Orleans also.
17:30; So I know the Time Crisis occurred – not all a strange jape. Now I know that the ClockTower TimeLock codes in my possession are accurate, my map is useful & my whiskers tremble in anticipation.
18:00; Not so much code as an algebraic equation, in which components t, u, v, x, y, z, are second, minute, hour, day, month, year. Not so much for security as so Horologue doesn’t, literally, run into himself.
18:05; Theoretically, ”security” is the fact that Horologue’s ClockTower is large, stone, and entirely invisible. BORE absorbs its invisibility projection, finding it quite surrounded in ruined aircraft & dead birds.
18:10; Open worked out the equation for 6 o’clock today, hence my hesitation in specific. If incorrect, it would not have worked … & drawn me into an incomprehensible jam vortex, hence general hesitation.
18:15; I am in & Horologue is out; usually quite careful about the birds. I mount 2nd storey stairs at a run – no defenses, but there are approximately sixty LOUD clocks on this floor, chiming the quarter hour!
18:20; Sixty clocks on this floor too, STILL CHIMING!!
18:25; Twenty-four clocks don’t sound VERY different to sixty!!!
18:30; Ah, seven clocks on the fourth floor. I rest a moment. Almost half way up.
18:35; Fifty-two clocks ARE as bad as sixty at this point!
18:40; Three-hundred and sixty-five clocks is exactly three-hundred and thirteen more drops of ear-blood than fifty-two clocks!!
18:45; THREE-HUNDRED AND SIXTY-SIX! THREE-HUNDRED AND SIXTY-SIX!! THREE-HUNDRED AND SIXTY-SIX!!! THREE-HUNDRED AND SIXTY-SIX!!! THREE-HUNDRED- …
18:50; Four clocks now …. Doctor! Victor! Frankenstein! I’m bleeding my own blood! How dare those damned clocks do so to me!
18:55; One … thousand … clocks …
19:00; Two clocks … then one clock. But a big one, atop the the tower, that chimes the hour most loudly –
19:15; … Baron! Von! Munchausen! That bell was large & possessed both an outside and an inside !!!
19:20; Admittedly, security was better than remembered. Evidently the volume & frequency of the clock chimes were much reduced in the time of my Other’s occupancy. Or, my Other is an inscrutable sadist.
19:25; In my daze I open a cabinet marked ‘earplugs’ – a rabid tom cat latches onto my face. A basic mistake. So my Other is an inscrutable sadist. Good. Final proof that ‘he’ is ‘me’, as if I needed any other.
19:30; Perfectly sensible; ‘he’ knew Horologue had defenses, but nothing me-stoppable, once past the invisible tower & the code-equation. A-just-in-case, in case anyone other than I read my Other’s BORE.
19:35; ‘He’ has proved he is me beyond a daguerrotype of a doubt. And, if we should ever meet, I will prove to he that I am me, by shoving the cylindrical canister of BORE somewhere he would quite abhor.
19:40; I wrestle the cat into convenient Paradox Box, carefully springing the poison-bearing radium just before I slam the lid shut. Then – throw the box out of the window of this, the highest room in the tower.
19:45; Paradox is this: the box either survives the fall & poison gas consumes the cat OR: it splits, releasing the cat to land on its – albeit broken – feet, the plethora of dead birds sustaining through to recovery.
19:50; Another chime like that will turn my brains to a bloody mush. I need earplugs, or my skull contents will be concussed into the consistency of pumpkin pulp, when the bell tolls out eight o’clock. Zounds!
19:55; Oh, look, there were earplugs in that cabinet after all.
20:00; Taking in my now-silent surroundings, only aware of the chimes with the vibrations of the great-clockface’s glass, I get out of the way of a life-size bronze automata pair who wheel outside, on the hour.
20:05; This is the trophy room, I assume. History Diorama: The Tyrannosaurus Rex with the wristwatch, the caveman with gold fillings, the mammoth holding the “Stop Global Warming” placard in its trunk …
20:10; Personal Portrait Gallery: cave painting slab, mounted on an easel, depicting the ClockTower. Extract of the Voynich Manuscript under glass – caption reads: ”Curious herbs promoting time-senses” …
20:15; … Horologue; resembles nothing so much as William Gladstone dressed as Ziggy Stardust. H at the Declaration of Independence – bunny ears. H at Woodstock – mugging. H on grassy knoll – red eye.
20:20; Vanquished Rogues Gallery: cowboy riding a velociraptor. Giant robot mastodon mech. Alien raygun, bearing Ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs. Blueprint of a spaceship; engines appear steam-powered …
20:25: … Mannequinn: Horologue’s greatest bete noire nemesis & apparent evil twin, from an alternate reality, Horrorlogue; resembling everything as like Charles Stewart Parnell, dressed as Freddie Mercury.
20:30: Horologue’s own equipment; The Horoscope, which sees past, present and future. The Golden Watch, which H could use to strip himself of his marvelous time powers, and release his ‘terrible burden’.
20:35; The Time Stamp, with which a letter can be sent to any when in history. The Talking Clock, with which a call can be placed to any when; attached to a customised Ratman Macrohard desktop modem.
20:40; I copy the temporal compensator & flux capacitor circuit specifications for a computer running in UnRealTime, then proceed with my real reason for this approaching-midnight break-in to the C Tower.
20:45; Mr Dipper deciphered Dr Nation’s crude contellations; as very well sketched as they were, they depict a night’s sky quite impossible to be observed from anywhere known on Earth – but not anywhen.
20:50; An ancient sky – if I find out when, Dipper will tell me where. Fire up the Horoscope. Doesn’t necessarily mean Nation is in the past … merely on an island of shifting times … of which there is only one.
20:55; Rewind my past thirty-eight days – replaying parts with Open – and follow Nation! The dirigible crash, the zombie raft, the whale explosion; as described!! Then – the purple-haunted skies of Nabilac!!!
21:00; Had never seen Nabilac before tonight, but there is a wall-wide alfresco mural bearing its resemblance painted on plaster before me. The caption ”Private Enemies Number One!” does not do it justice.
21:05; The Horoscope’s visual shatters into snow as I turn the dials to get a close-up. Horologue is prohibited from peering too close to that Rock of Ages, by Ancient Aliens, TimeKings, Future Viewers, etc.
21:10; All the same I get a current read for its place in ‘sky-time’ and jot it down for Dipper. Reset to ‘present’, for a moment real time viewing, when I see a figure point a shotgun at the back of my own head.
21:15; Wait – had it set to ten minutes in the future. Just a tick-
21:20; A figure appears, points a shotgun at where I was, and I – exiting hiding – blow its head off. The alien raygun with the pictographs – whose use I have apprised myself of in the past five minutes – works.
21:25; Head blown clean off, thank you. I wire its metal skull – faintly resembling Senator Jesse ‘The Body’ Ventura – to the Macrohard desktop and run a Google search on the specs, using the ‘History’ App.
21:30; Class 1 Determinator, from one of the Machine Planet futures. Its mission memory; sent back to kill Horologue in the past, to ‘determine’ their timeline’s reality as the permanent future. How very cliché.
21:35; About to search ‘Lord Fitzwilly Daftwager Doctor Von Quatloo the Third, Esquire’ (took time to type) on temporal internet when gear wheel buzz of automata figures behind begins – 25 minutes early!
21:40; Actually a steampunk automaton – bearing a striking resemblance to Congressman Carl Weathers – about to strike me from behind. Technical anithesis of the Determinator – raygun still stops it, though.
21:45; Its brass plate bears the legend ”BabbageBrain/TeslaTech Series 1 Alternator”. Punched paper tape – its programming – streams out from its mouth. Passes through my hands like Braille bumps of info.
21:50; “Sent from a collapsed alternate Steampunk City past to kill Horologue STOP Prevent his destruction of our past, in his future STOP Maintain Steampunk present forever, make sure it never… STOP”
21:55; Wouldn’t have heard the Alternator’s gears if I hadn’t removed earplugs; if I hadn’t received a note to that effect from the TimeStamp, 5 minutes before the Alternator arrived. Another one coming now-
22:00; -“PUT THE EARPLUGS BACK IN!!!” Gott in Himmel! Ze Bells!! Ze Bells!!! Kaiser! Wilhelm!! Saxe-Coburg!!! Das Ist Ein Automata’s Hammer Zeit –
22:15; … Otto! Von! Bismarck! Another toll like that – without my earplugs – and my entrails will become my extrails. Only survived; this time due to the ministrations of a robotic Maria Shriver … wait, what?
22:20; No, its award-winning journalist & First Lady of California Maria Shriver alright. Those cold, cold, Kennedy eyes of abyss darkness are unmistakable. Their robotic red glow only accentuates the cold.
22:25; Merely a gynoid facimile, I fear. Wishes to harvest Horologue’s DNA, giving birth to a legion of timesters in the future. Sent back ersatz Shriver; the epitome of 21st century beauty. ILL-INFORMED!
22:30; Chose California First Lady; Hollywood = hot. Apparently, ancient American rite of President & First Lady seen as popularity contest by bio-organic robots of the 30th century. WELL-INFORMED!
22:35; ‘The Incubator’, under an uncorrected misapprehension that I am Horologue, offers our offspring uncontested control over the organic-mechanic utopia of her timeline.
Well … isn’t this new & different!22:40; This situation has all the implied promise & all the consequently attached danger one wrestles with when Dame Hitler flashes her swastika-stitched stay-up stockings in one’s face – Curious little lesbian.
22:45; All resolved quite simply; I inform ‘Shriver’ that, as Horologue, I must ascertain the truth of this statement by travelling to her timeline. Thumbing the invisibility BORE into activity, I disappear. Allons-y!
22:50; Interesting – her brain is indeed sufficiently non-synthetic, organic even, to be fooled by my BORE’s projection. Still, lying; her arm did a liquid-mercury-resolve into a shotgun, stolidly aimed at my exit.
22:55; She seems to be on a power-conservative standby. No doubt she has deduced that upon arrival in her future her confederates did away with me – is merely willing wait here, forever, on the off-chance.
23:00; Her skin ripples in time with the great clock’s vibrations. Weakness? Deftly and without triggering her senses, I will construct a sonic cannon out of the surrounding time traveller accoutrements … Wait-
23:05; The Shriver simulacrum’s requires rigourous adjustment to read – sufficiently biological to be BORE’d, but frustratingly artifical on the details; even worse, upon reading, a mind of the excessively trivial.
23:10; Future society of man & machine, recognising John F Kennedy & Martin Luther King as those liberating legislation set the stage for the Robot Liberation, sent back an operative to prevent their deaths.
23:15; They survive; Kennedy’s numerous sexual scandals come to light; King’s intense religiousity divides the movement. The legislation is not passed. In desperation, a 2nd operative is sent to re-assassinate.
23:20; The 2nd operative defeats the 1st, looking the same but shooting slightly better. Still; strange bullet telemetries ensue, causing conspiracies to create a 3rd timeline, different from the first; filled with fear.
23:25; The wisest of the 3 man-machine rulers (who voted against this Betsy-Bleedingheart liberal crusade from the off) sent a 3rd operative back. Made a series of films sufficiently similar to the above event.
23:30; The similarity between the films & the Kennedy-King conspiracy theories debunked the tinfoil-skullcap crowd – the crowning achievement being the marriage of the 3rd operative into the Kennedy line.
23:35; Horologue wasn’t attempting to destroy this ‘man-chine’ timeline because of its JFK near-miss (inappropriate pun entirely intended) but because they repeated the idiotic episode with Abraham Lincoln.
23:40; Horologue is currently playing both of the Vice-President Johnsons. It suddenly becomes clear; Horologue’s security when he departs is to lower shields, & so allow his enemies to wipe each other out.
23:45; This cunning little minx, under the assumption that I was H, intended to skewer my heart, then insert an electrified apparatus into my anus, and galvanise my prostate into post-mortem ejaculation. Devil!
23:50; I believe I shall leave this little laddykiller here to … guard the ClockTower. No doubt omniscient Horologue will be able to avoid man-slaughter & man-rape in her cold, neon claws. I’m almost certain.
23:55; Leaving, I see a very rich version of myself in a multi-dimensional mirror. Before I can inspect closer, he frantically flips a observational-static switch, and disappears. Was that Shatterglass in the back?
00:00; Sensitive that ”Shriver’s” synthetic sensors might still be able to hear me in my invisibility, I use the midnight toll to exit by the door of the brass automata, descending from on high, flight BORE in hand.
00:05; The cat is alive! Until I landed on him, a mercy killing; while all of his fall-injuries were superficial, I myself would have strangled him, for the impertinence shown in scratching my face: the quicker death.
00:10; Even now the scratches heal, but I urinate, defecate and spit on the doormat and place the cat’s corpse underneath. Let it not be said that my vengeance is anything less than complete – & very noxious!