Submitted for the May 2024 prompt: Gothic Sci-Fi

I still can't think, but I've begun to feel again, and what I feel is pain. Cold, hard stone presses mercilessly against my hip and shoulder and the unprotected bone over my right eye. I ache everywhere, but my head throbs with extraordinary intensity, making me long for a quick return to unconsciousness.

 

My damp clothes cling to me, weighing me down and sapping my strength. I clench my teeth to stop them from chattering, which impossibly elevates the pounding in my head another degree. The stench of mildew permeates the air.

 

My first thought, when my thinking returns, is that I've died and gone to the crawlspace under Hell.

 

Then I remember.

 

I'm already cold, but now I freeze, terrified of what I realize must have happened.

 

It takes a Herculean effort to roll onto my back, and the resulting surge of pain causes me to cry out. I force my eyes open, but there's not much to see: rough stone walls dimly lit by a single candle left burning near my feet. The chain that binds my ankles passes through an iron loop bolted into the floor.

 

Yes, there are still places like this in 2083, but not many. It's much more likely that this is 18th century England. Which means that following whatever went wrong, the machine did not return me home as it was supposed to.

 

"Well, well. He lives."

 

Upon hearing the voice, I clench my teeth even harder. No matter what happens from here on, I must stay quiet. I came here because of a pandemic in my time, but polluting the past with knowledge from the future could be as dangerous as any contagion.

 

I turn warily to face my jailor and find myself surprised. Instead of the medieval brute I expect, I find a finely dressed gentleman who seems entirely out of place in this dank dungeon.

 

"I wasn't sure that you would — live, that is," he continues after a moment. His English sounds very different from my own, but it's English nonetheless. "I've saved your life, it seems, and now you owe me an explanation. Do you understand me?"

 

I stare back but say nothing.

 

My captor steps closer to inspect the security of my chains, and as he does, I notice his face. The man is unwell, and I'm sure I know why. The lesions on his skin and the startling redness of his eyes leave little doubt.

 

It remains to be seen if the mystery disease of this time, which did not spread far, relates to the pandemic ravaging half the world in my own century. That's what I was sent here to find out. Both originated from the same part of England, so maybe. Time travel is still new science and has been utilized sparingly because of the dangers it poses. My being stranded here in the past — apart from the machine — is a catastrophe.

 

"I think you understand me just fine," the man says as he blots at a sore with his handkerchief. "I see it in your eyes. I have questions about the machine. About where you come from. About when you come from."

 

It's impossible not to react, and he sees it immediately.

 

"So, it's true. I knew it had to be, but still… moving through time. It's incredible. I do hope you're an Englishman. I can't imagine someone from a less civilized part of the world achieving such a wonder, no matter how distant from now."

 

"How long ago did your first symptoms appear?" I hear myself ask. I know I shouldn't, but now that I realize this is a calm, thinking man, who already understands the situation, I can't help but hope. Only he can free me, return me to the machine, and, perhaps, give me the answers I need regarding the two disease outbreaks.

 

Instead of answering straight away, he laughs, but it's a laugh devoid of humor.

 

"You know damn well when my symptoms began — when you brought this, whatever this is I've been infected with, from the future."

 

His words send my mind reeling. My arrival in this time must have coincided with the very beginning of the outbreak here. Otherwise, this man wouldn't suspect me as the source of his illness.

 

And I can't be. That's impossible. Every precaution was taken before my departure from the future. The odds of me carrying the pathogen from my time to here are almost zero. It has to be a coincidence.

 

As a scientist, I hate coincidences.

 

"Now that you're awake, I'll fetch you some food and drink," the man says. "I'll let you recover your strength and your wits for a bit, but then you will answer my questions. All of them. I'm not a cruel man, but I am desperate."

 

"And if I refuse?"

 

The man grins wickedly and says, "I doubt you'll have the strength to refuse for long. And even if you do, I'll still have my answers. I have your machine. It is beyond my understanding for now, but I'm confident I can unlock its secrets in time. I've already begun researching its heart, this strange metal that's heavier even than lead."

 

He hefts the leather satchel at his side as he says this, and then he turns and leaves. My mind is still slowed by pain, and I don't immediately understand.

 

"Wait, come back!" I scream when the truth dawns belatedly. "That's dangerous! That metal is poison. Please, listen to me!"

 

But he doesn't return. Not only have I failed to learn anything about the pandemic of my time, I've caused the sickness of the past. The radiation from the nuclear core of my machine will ravage the locals, and they'll have no understanding of why. The "outbreak" will go down in history as a mystery — the very mystery that led me to this moment.