The Unlikely Adventures of Dirk "Rock" Hardy

And, Suddenly:

2012-01-26T19:02:00.000Z

It's hard to describe what happened next, not least because I was at the time largely unaware of it.
This is not to say that it happened with any degree of subtlety; from what I have been told, there was a substantial amount of ruckus, alarm and general calamity. Rather, I was unaware for the simple reason that I was aware of very little in general.
It was a sensation not unlike passing out due to oxygen deprivation; a dizziness which encompasses the whole body, a lack of connection to one's self and the universe. A loss of consciousness in the truest sense, which leaves one unsure whether one has properly fainted and slept for hours, or whether one's mind has merely fluttered for a moment. It lasted forever and no time at all; without points of reference it is impossible to gauge a period during which one did not, as far as one is aware, exist.
Either way, one finds oneself on the floor, heartbeat pounding in the ear and vision slowly clearing as blood flows back into the sensory organs.
And, in this case, staring at a leather boot.

Exposition

2012-01-24T14:39:00.000Z

"Damn, damn, damn," swore Professor Ng. He was slouched in one of the lab's office chairs, glaring at the screen which had apparently offended his sensibilities.
"Problem?" I asked, largely out of sheer boredom.
The professor hesitated, then replied, "No offence, but I really don't think you'd understand."
"Well, I find it helps to explain a problem to someone who doesn't understand," I pointed out. "It forces you to break it down and work out what it is you're really trying to do."
There was another pause.
"What are you trying to do?" I asked.
"It's a tachyon event visualiser." The professor threw the phrase at me with an air of bored superiority, like I'd asked for a bullet and he was passing it to me down the barrel of a gun just to amuse himself.
"Oh, I hope that's what it sounds like," I replied sincerely. This clearly caught the professor somewhat off guard.
"Why, what does it sound like?" he asked.
"Well, as a lay person," I replied, "It sounds like something that would use time particles to produce an image of some event in ... the past? Well, that's what I'm hoping. You could be using some other, more technical meaning of the word 'event.' Like, how a tachyon forms, or ..."
"No, no, you're ... pretty close," Ng interjected. "I mean, that's functionally what we're doing. Tachyons aren't exactly ... but sure. Visualising past events. How did -? I mean..."
"I've watched enough Star Trek to know what a tachyon is," I explained. "And the other words ... are, well, are English."
"Hmm," grunted Ng. It was a fairly upbeat grunt. Despite himself, he seemed a little impressed - or amused at himself, for forgetting that most of his secret magic phrase was perfectly explicable.
"So, what's the problem?" I continued.
"Now, that is technical," he said, warmly. "Broadly speaking, it's a question of noise. We have superluminal particles - let's call them tachyons - arriving in our collector from all points in local space-time, pretty much constantly, with no way of filtering it down to a single moment. Look, we can even work out the points of origin for some of the particles, Harv knocked up a Feinberg interpreter," he added, waking up one of the monitors. Sure enough, one of the windows was scrolling a list of dates and places. October 9, 1322. April 7, 1804. June 23, 1243.
"It's pretty crude," Ng admitted, "But it shows the thing's working." Both of us were now idly watching the dates slide past.
January 6, 1666.
"So it's like a radio tuned into all the channels at once?" I asked.
September 14, 1586.
"...Basically," the professor agreed, hesitantly. He looked like he wanted to correct me, but was holding back out of politeness.
November 16, 1977.
"What we need is some way to ... boost," he continued, apparently forcing himself to use my analogy, "... one of the ... signals..."
December 25, 1946.
And, suddenly...

Previously...

2012-01-17T09:45:00.003Z

You are, of course, wondering how I came to be in 1946.

In fact, the mechanics are as much a mystery to me. During a period of my life which I am equally likely to describe as "freelancing" or "unemployed," I was taken into a short-term deskside support contract with a research company near Runcorn. The firm was, as I understand it, engaged in a wide variety of disciplines, none of which were ultimately my concern. My responsibilities extended no further than rolling out the latest operating system to a number of desktop units and occasionally turning a server off and on again.
It may date this tale somewhat to note that this "latest operating system" involved the number 2000.
It happened that on a particular Tuesday I and my team leader entered a particular laboratory and were met with a particular amount of hubbub. Professor Ng was shouting something incomprehensible - I actually don't know if he was using Chinese or technical terms - when he noticed us. "No," he declared, "No no, not a good time, come back later!"
"It's Tuesday," explained Leigh, my supervisor. "We're scheduled to upgrade the-"
"No, I don't care," Ng interrupted, "All of these computers are busy. It'll have to wait."
"Well," began Leigh, "How long-"
"Not sure," Ng interjected, before breaking off to issue a stream of instructions to his lab techs. Leigh shrugged to me and checked his watch.
Slowly, the hubbub became a simmer, and then a gentle calm. Ng looked greatly relieved as he dismissed his crew for a break.
"Right," said Leigh, "Let's get started, then..."
"Oh no you don't," said the Professor. "These workstations are still in use."
"Still?"
"They're crunching numbers. It's a thing. You wouldn't understand."
"Fine," decided Leigh, checking his watch again. "My colleague here will wait until they're free. Andy, I'm sorry, but I've really got to go. Can you handle...?"
"Sure," I replied. "No problem."

I'd like to say that I added, "What's the worst that could happen?" But that is most likely an embellishment on the part of my memory, as it is not the sort of thing that really happens outside the realms of fiction.

First Contact

2012-01-12T13:06:00.001Z

I first met the inimitable "Rock" Hardy in nineteen forty-six, thirty-one years before I was born.

I was, of course, aware of the man long before we met, though thankfully this has nothing to do with the awkward asynchronous interaction that we are assured could result from a journey into the past. Rather, I had read of his adventures in serialized novella form, published during the thirties and forties. As I had assumed - like so many before me - that these adventures were pure fiction, and the "based on a true story" preamble a mere affectation or narrative fancy, I was naturally startled to find myself face to face with the formidable gentleman who inspired those tales.

Almost as startled as I was to find myself in 1946 to begin with.

But I get ahead of myself.