A ragged breath filled Dal's throat as he verified the formula on the monitor and the pointer finger on his right hand pulsed in a rapid twitch that he no longer noticed, as if it even now would click the button on a phantom mouse. Scarcely could he comprehend the few complex equations on the screen before him. In his utter exhaustion they were mere black symbols on a stark white background, glyphs with the potential of shattering his hopes or realizing Korin's great, and as yet unrealized vision.

"Oh, Korin," He muttered brokenly to the chilled air of the lab. "You will be so proud of me. You must be proud of me. It took five years, but I have finally finished your work." His mournful eyes came to rest on the framed portrait hanging over his desk. "You will be proud of me, won't you?"

There was no response from the representation of his young and vibrant wife. Immortalized beneath the glass she had her arms wrapped around their son Sean, that sexy little knowing smile dancing forever across her lips. The picture captured her nature perfectly, but he would have rather had her before him with a frown on her face.

Bloodshot bottle-green eyes burning with the strain of computer glare, he slowly spun his chair and stretched his tortured shoulders and back as much as the cramped desk area would allow. Before him, behind thick glass partitions, was the reality of his wife's theories: A time machine.

For nearly five weeks Dal had tested the machine repeatedly. He scarcely dared believe it worked, the very thought made his pulse thunder erratically within his head. The preliminary tests were positive: it had been distinctly odd to find the same watch he was wearing, engraving and all, in the machine before starting each transmission. Quite the paradox until he'd sent the one on his wrist away. Of course, those had been tests of only minutes in the past first with inanimate objects and eventually with a lab rat. Now was the time for the true test.

Programming for five years past, Dal glanced back at the picture with something close to terror in his eyes What if this didn't work? What if it did? How long would it take for him to see her? Was it instantaneous? Would it feel like waiting a lifetime? Would he even survive? Well, if it didn't work, that didn't much matter, did it? Dal checked the settings diligently and entered the machine. Settled into the console and punching in the complex starting sequence, he was gripped by an odd rippling. Every cell shimmied and shook as he lost touch with reality. The empty machine left behind betrayed nothing.

***

As his vision cleared he knew something was wrong. Looking through the glass, Dal's eyes were immediately drawn to his wife's work area. This could not be. She was not sitting there intently pondering her screen, hadn't been there for some time, in fact, as he could see by the darkened monitor.

His eyes drifted to the day calendar on the desk. His heart clenched. This was the date the machine had been completed, only five weeks before his final test. As he watched his past self work furiously at the computer, despair burst his heart. As his chest ceased to rise with breath, he faded back to the anchor of his own time. The wife he sought to see again in life would instead greet him in death.

***

The day after Dr. Dalir Kathal completed his final equations his body was found in his lab, inside the machine that had obsessed him since his wife's death almost five years before. The media would expound for weeks on the tragic ironically, the time machine that had obsessed the good doctor to his very grave was a limited success--it could only transport to a time where it already existed.

***

The End

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