The Lost Family Robinson

By Alan Priest

Family travel is never easy, but family time travel is the worst.

It was only to last six seconds. But now, each jump is taking the Robinson family further back in time, their resources even more limited as they travel. The four Robinson brothers, Fred, the Astrophysicist, Ernie, the martyr, Jack, the joke

• Language: English
• Publisher: ACP Strategy Group
• Release date: Nov 22, 2023
• ISBN: 9798985711356

Alan Priest

ALAN PRIEST is a fan of classic adventure novels and Thought Provoking Science Fiction. After a career in High-Tech, he now spends his time writing non-dystopian stories because, while humanity might make some big mistakes in the future, they will always find a path to recovery. With degrees from Georgia Tech and Harvard Business School, Alan enjoys pretending to know something about technology, business, and interpersonal dynamics. Alan lives in Nevada.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Scusi. Scusi. Scusi.

Brother Francis squeezed between the tourists. He fended off the questions about the Italian topography frescoed along the 120-meter corridor of the Gallery of Geographical Maps, or Galleria delle carte geografiche. The crowds began to frustrate him.

Excuse me.

Hey, aren’t you American?

A father of three young children grabbed Francis’ wrist.

Yes, but—

C’mon, take a selfie with us. Look, hon, an American priest in the Vatican.

Francis stood, tapping his toe while the family of five gathered around him. The youngest, a boy, wasn’t having it.

Timmy, get over here! I mean it.

Best not to shout, said Francis.

Yes, of course. The dad hissed, Timmy! and pointed his finger next to him.

Timmy lollygagged his way over.

Timmy, God doesn’t like your attitude! said Francis. He was immediately embarrassed by his outburst and looked up at the ceiling for grace during this trying time. Timmy’s eyes widened and he ran into his father, shoving his face into his dad’s pants leg. The mother of the family turned to stare at Francis as the dad held out the phone.

Smile, everyone!

The dad brought the phone back in front of his face and took a look at the photo as Francis took off down the hallway. Well, that’s not very good, Francis heard behind him as he continued to navigate the tourists. He reached a doorway and opened it with a keycard, careful to close it behind him. After taking a flight of steps and passing through another door, Francis fast-walked down the hall of the Vatican offices that ran under the Galleria degli Arazzi, or Gallery of Tapestries. He nodded to the nuns and lay workers as he rushed by them. No one ran in the museum halls, let alone the office halls, and Francis’ walk-run raised eyebrows. Out of professional Vatican courtesy, no one said anything, but Francis heard at least one nun click her teeth as he passed.

Although the office areas were modern, Vatican City still held onto its ancient Italian culture. Rushing around the buildings or gardens simply wasn’t done, just like working after 4, or maybe 3, p.m. Working in the Vatican, whether it be cataloging the hundreds of thousands of archived documents, sending out daily inspirations via printed paper and the airwaves, or restoring centuries-old mosaics with tile fabricated on-site, it was all done carefully, methodically, and prayerfully. And definitely without rushing. Francis took a corner, saw a congregation of priests like him, and sighed.

Francis.

Benedict, Alfredo, Prakash.

Francis.

Francis.

He half bowed as he edged by them, not slowing down so as to avoid getting asked his opinion on whatever philosophical point they were discussing. Prakash even had his hand up and mouth half open when Francis turned and sped his pace back up. Francis, like his colleagues, was wearing his working grays, common to the priests assigned to the Vatican. His leather-soled shoes pinched the top of his feet as he made haste to the office of his superior.

Bishop Abbott sat behind his desk unwrapping another hard candy. He had pulled the wrapper’s twist straight when he heard Brother Francis approaching his office door. He looked at his half-full bowl of candies and thought about the decision to pop the Jolly Rancher into his mouth or set it down. A tall man at six-foot-two, he was also a heavy one at 275 pounds. Candy was his vice, and he knew it. Everyone has a vice. It’s those pretending they have no temptations that are the darkest souls.

Abbott decided to put down the candy, one because he’d already consumed a dozen today, and two, he would likely have to talk to Brother Francis about whatever urgent item he was racing to discuss. Abbott complimented himself internally for showing the discipline to put the candy down and then immediately chastised himself for his lack of humility. Ah, humanity was a challenge. Brother Francis knocked rapidly and then slowly on the door, tapping his feet as he waited for a response.

Come in.

Brother Francis opened the door, genuflected, and quickly moved to Bishop Abbott’s desk.

Francis, what brings you here in such a hurried state? Wait, before answering give me an Our Father and two Hail Marys to calm your mind. Throw in a Sign of the Cross until you feel ready to proceed.

Francis mouthed the prayers and did the Sign of the Cross silently. Still flustered, he repeated them and then did several slow, deep breaths, followed by a final Our Father.

You look better.

Francis nodded.

Now, what is it you have for me?

Your excellency.

Francis placed a flathead screw on Abbott’s desk pad. Abbott took a deep breath and said some prayers to himself. Francis had virtually run into his office to deliver him an old metal screw? Abbott popped the unwrapped candy into his mouth and sucked on it, calming him like a baby’s pacifier. Was he going to have to relieve yet another assistant? Surely Francis wasn’t going simple. It happened sometimes, even to the smartest of people, if they fell into a mind-numbing routine with no end in sight; they tended to go through the motions of their day, week, month, year without any critical thinking. Happened to his last assistant, although he was Italian, so maybe he faked it for the sake of a pension. Either way, he became useless to Abbott and had to be replaced.

Abbott leaned in on his sixty-five years of experience, learning to give others the benefit of the doubt, to wait and see what Francis, one of his brightest assistants ever, had to say about a small metal screw. Surely Francis would not have run down the halls of the Vatican Museums because he had found a random screw. It must be significant. Please, for the sake of not wanting to go through another interview process, be significant.

Abbott was one of only two bishops assigned to the Vatican from the United States. He was a Boston native, and he brought Francis with him. Aside from being an accomplished long-distance runner, Francis was also a Boston College-educated chemical engineer. This background was useful in assisting Abbott in his current role as overseer of the hidden archives. Abbott took another deep breath.

The hidden archives were not the secret archives. The secret archives, which meant private in their direct Latin translation, are not and have not ever been secret, although access has never been generally open. Since the late nineteenth century, they have been available in a limited fashion to researchers and scholars, unlike the hidden archives, which are not known to the general Vatican population, let alone the public.

I was doing my rounds, and I found this on a windowsill. In the Circular Room.

Yes? said Bishop Abbott as he examined the screw. It was worn and old. The screw, stainless steel with a bit of rust accumulating on its top, was a Phillips flathead machine screw, approximately one inch long. Looked to be from the mid-twentieth century.

The Circular Room in the Tower of the Winds? Not Castel Sant’Angelo?

The Tower. Above the Meridian Room.

Sitting on a windowsill? And it was locked before you entered?

Yes. And sealed. Although the seal did look funny. Anyway, this screw was sitting on the back window, hidden between the window jamb. I would not have seen it except the sun hit it just right to create a glare.

Anything else amiss?

Nothing. All the items appeared to be exactly in place. I went around the entire room, and nothing appeared to even have been moved.

Well, something was moved. Did you check the mechanical shelf?

Yes, everything in place.

But something could have been moved and replaced?

Yes, that’s true, but how would we know?

We’ll have to go look at it, together. A closer examination. I believe we’ve had an undocumented visitor.

Francis began breathing faster again. Abbott crunched the remains of his hard candy and swallowed it. The pace of his breathing ticked up a notch as well.

Should we check with security, review the cameras and the entry logs? Francis asked. I’m sorry for my boldness. Perhaps a rosary before we decide, to calm our minds?

Abbott stood up, still looking closely at the screw.

Yes, all of that, but later. Right now, I need to alert the Council.

PART 1

ONE

July 17, 2028

Glenbrook, Nevada

Why are you here?

Fred looked at his brother Ernie after hearing the unnecessary and accusatory statement. Then Fred shifted his weight, moving the metal box he held from his left to right side, and looked around the Robinson family lake house—a relatively simple mountain lake house that sat a quarter-mile away from America’s most famous alpine lake.

It was originally a three-room wood cabin, but more rooms, more bathrooms, storage, and a garage were added on as the Robinsons’ extended family grew. But right now, they all stood in the original family room, a great room with the original walls and doors removed. The living area flowed into the kitchen, which flowed into the dining area. Floor-to-ceiling windows looking at the back deck and the woods with Lake Tahoe just beyond, filtered views of the water through the trees. Fred’s back was to the windows and his gaze circled around the room, observing his three brothers, their three wives, and his five nieces and nephews, ranging in age from eight to twenty-one. Each of the eleven family members was staring at Fred, the adults with opinions on their faces, the children with curiosity. They were all waiting to see how he’d respond to his younger brother.

Good question. Why are any of us here? said Fred. It’s a fundamental question about life and an even more poignant question today.

No, it’s not, said Ernie. It’s about you, standing here, uninvited. Yesterday, fine. Today, not so much.

Actually, said Fred, raising his free hand, and then Judy, Ernie’s wife, interrupted.

Actually, said Judy, a tall skinny, too skinny, dirty blonde from Boston who bleached her hair constantly to avoid any dark roots showing, I invited him. We're the only family Fred's got.

Ernie knew it wasn’t up for debate when he saw his wife’s head cock slightly. But he’d try anyway.

You did? Why? said Ernie.

He’s family and this is a time to stick together, said Judy.

Except he’s the reason we’re here. The reason why Mom’s gone.

It’s been five years, added Jack, third of the Robinson brothers, also the shortest, heaviest, and only one with red hair. Hey, babe, here’s your coffee. He handed his wife, Zoey, a cup of coffee. Zoey, also a redhead, but with firecracker red hair, unlike Jack's that could almost look brown in low light.

Thanks, babe, said Zoey, as she lifted the cup to her lips she stared at Ernie and Judy over the cup. Intermarital drama was more interesting to Zoey than Fred and Ernie’s constant bickering.

Doesn’t change the fact that her condition, which killed her, was from the accident Fred caused, said Ernie, second tallest of the four Robinson brothers and also the skinniest, which was primarily from self-imposed malnourishment since his law practice prevented him from eating properly, and exercising, or so he repeated in frequent martyr-like fashion. And I’m not even going to bring up Dad.

Let’s all take a breath, said Will, the youngest Robinson brother, the tallest, best-looking, and only one with a man bun. Everyone deserves a second chance.

Not necessarily, said Ernie, because some things can’t be fixed. I agreed to be with Fred at the funeral. Not today.

Fine, be a baby, said Fred, stoking his short, speckled-gray goatee. A man of average height and build, except for the inner tube inflating around his waist, Fred was the definition of skinny fat. The intellectual who felt exercise was not only beneath him, but it got in the way of his mental pursuits. I’m only here for a moment anyway. To show you all something.

It’s that box, right? said Fritz, who was the youngest of the five cousins at the age of eight. A curious boy, he was standing next to his mom, Gina, and began walking away from her, when she pulled him back, and he groaned. Fritz was much younger than his other four cousins and always looking for a way to fit in. Fred walked over to Fritz, thankful for the distraction from Ernie and his negativity.

Yes, Fritz, this box will show you, said Fred, turning back to Ernie with an elaborate wave of his hand. It will show all of you that, in fact, you can get a second chance, you can fix everything.

Nope, said Ernie, reaching for the box, which Fred pulled away from him. Not here. No experiments, no show-and-tell.

What if it only took a second? Six seconds to be precise? said Fred.

Uncle Fred, you’re not going to be able to show us anything in six seconds, said Martha, an attractive tall skinny blonde, like her mom, who at twenty-two was sometimes mistaken for an aspiring actress, which she did nothing to dissuade. Dad, why not let him do his experiment? Six seconds and then we can all head out to the beach. I think everyone wants a break from yesterday.

Her brother Rick, and cousins Angie and Dave, nodded. They were already holding beach bags and towels.

Fred, promise no one’s going to get hurt and go ahead and do it, said Jack. Then can we all agree not to argue anymore today? Ernie, by the way, you’re not in charge. This is everyone’s house now.

The lake house, which was in the Glenbrook neighborhood of the Tahoe Basin, the oldest neighborhood around the lake, sat on the east shore of Lake Tahoe, the Nevada side. It had been in the Robinson family for almost fifty years. Originally a small cabin on the lake, bought by the brothers’ parents, it was the focal point of family summer vacations. Ernie looked around. They were getting impatient, and not with Fred.

Fine, but this isn’t a good idea. Nothing Fred does is.

Ernie, please, said Judy. You’re being mean and nasty. Leave the lawyering outside. Fred, this is safe, right?

Fred placed the tiny box in the center of the kitchen table and turned it on. A small fan began making a whirring noise, and a three-by-five-inch screen on the top of the box lit up.

Safe? Yes, no one will get hurt. In fact, you really won’t know anything happened.

After he checked the screen, Fred stood up and went outside to his car. He came back in rolling a large tank of liquid nitrogen.

What is that? shouted Ernie, pointing at the tank, looking to see if anyone else would come to their senses about this experiment. Fred rolled the tank up to the box and uncoiled an air tube that he began screwing into the side of the box.

Liquid nitrogen. For cooling.

Ridiculous, said Ernie.

Why does such a small box need to be cooled? said Jack. A mechanic by trade and passion, his job kept the weight down but not off as his passion for beer matched his passion for machines.

It’s a quantum computer, needs to be really cold. You know that old joke about the first mobile phone that needed two suitcases of batteries?

No, said Jack.

Well, it’s like that. Fred finished connecting the tank to the box and opened up the valve as it began to hiss and shoot gas into the box. Okay, everyone needs to stand in a circle around the box. Quickly now.

The Robinsons walked around the table, standing a few feet back so all of them could form a circle. Even their two dogs—Jack’s black lab, Turk, and Judy’s goldendoodle, Juno—followed everyone to the circle.

Now, stand very still, said Fred.

So weird, said Ernie. But what do you expect?

Quiet, hushed Judy.

They all stood surrounding the box as Fred bent down to begin a ten-second timer. Then he went back to his spot in the circle. The count went down to zero and everyone felt the slightest tug on the top of their heads. Fred hesitated for half a second and jumped back to check the screen of the box.

It worked!

He looked up with a huge smile.

Ha, ha, it works!

He looked down and saw the ten-second counter at four. Fred’s face crinkled. It was going to cycle again.

No one move!

Fred jumped back to his spot in the circle as the counter hit zero and everyone felt a slight tug again, incrementally stronger than before.

What was that? said Ernie.

Well, it was longer than six seconds! said Jack. He brought his coffee cup up to his mouth and spilled some on his chin and T-shirt. Weird! My coffee is full. But I know I drank half of it.

You’re still hungover, babe, said Zoey.

Fred moved back to the box, looking at the screen.

We’re okay. It’s okay. It just did two jumps. Six seconds and six minutes.

Fred turned the box off and stood up.

Congratulations, Robinsons, you are officially time travelers. Two times, I might add.

That’s not funny, said Ernie.

It’s true. Look at your watches or your tablets. Check the time, said Fred.

Did anyone check the time before you turned the box on? said Will.

Everyone shook their heads.

Okay, show’s over, said Ernie as he walked over to the box, picked it up, and threw it at Fred. Let’s go.

No, don’t! said Fred as the box stopped halfway to Fred in midair and the tube connecting the box to the gas tank went taut, pulling the box backwards and sending it straight to the ground.

Fred fell on the box, seeing the screen light up.

No, no, no, no!

Fred attempted to turn the box off. He hit the power button. He tried a hard reset by holding the power button down for five seconds, but the fan kept whirring, the countdown kept decreasing. It showed a 2.

Fred shouted, Everyone, stand still!

Some of the Robinsons were facing away, some toward the box, but all felt a tug upward, stronger than the first two combined. For a moment the twelve of them were in a dark tunnel staring at each other and then the tugging pulling them up stopped and they were back in the living room. Except it was night outside. The girls screamed; the boys shouted; all of them pointed at the window. Jack and Zoey looked at each other, their hands still holding their coffee cups, but they were empty. Will and his wife Gina walked to the windows, touching them like they were watching a movie.

What’s going on? said Will.

Fred was looking at his box.

Fred? said Will. What’s happening?

Fred looked up.

I told you, time travel. It’s six hours earlier. The jumps are in magnitudes of six.

Fritz, are you okay? said Gina. Will’s wife pulled her child close, her dark black hair falling over her face as she gave him a bear hug. Gina and Zoey were about the same height at five five, but Gina was full-figured while Zoey had a thin, used to smoke two packs a day look. Fred, fix this, Gina said with a tremble in her voice. Her Italian blood ran hot and cold, rarely warm, and right now it was bubbling up, ready to explode.

Fred had the box on the kitchen table.

Don’t touch it. I’ll be right back.

Where are you going? asked Ernie,

To get my tools.

Fred stepped outside and came right back in.

My car’s not there. It won’t be there for six more hours. What tools do we have here?

I’ll show you, said Jack, leading Fred to the garage.

The two of them returned with a tool bag and Fred carefully took one of the plates off the box. He spoke to the family as he unscrewed the plate.

All we have to do is wait. Right now, it’s 4 a.m. Six hours earlier, that’s all. Everyone stay here and we’ll get to 10 a.m. just fine.

Ernie picked up a hammer.

Great, and I’m smashing that thing.

No! Don’t! yelled Fred, pulling it toward him. You have no idea what’s in it and smashing it won’t have the effect you think.

Put the hammer down, Ernie, said Jack. You’re not even holding it right.

Ernie set the hammer down, glared at Fred, and went to the kitchen to make coffee.

But you can shut this thing down, right? said Jack, peering into the box. It was a very tight combination of circuit boards, motors, and lenses.

Of course. And when we get to 10 a.m., it will all be back to normal—experiment over, Fred said with hollow conviction.

Will walked over to the box as the cousins and wives began to move around the house, trying to figure out what they should be doing as they waited for time to catch up to them.

Let’s go outside, and let them figure this out, said