Chronal Engine Read online

  Thor ran between the red leather armchairs to push his head forward on the desk.

  “Get that dog out of here!” their father said without looking up.

  “We were supposed to go to Threadgill’s!” Nate approached to rest a hand on the back of one of the chairs.

  “You’re already home,” their father replied, making an adjustment with the screwdriver. “Therefore, to drive into Austin would’ve been a waste. And you know better than to bring that animal in here!”

  “The regatta ended hours ago!” Nate shouted.

  At this, his father looked up at him, the loupe reflecting the lights from the Chronal Engine. “Impossible!”

  “It’s dark out! Look!” Nate pointed toward the French doors.

  His father glanced over, momentarily startled, and seemed about to say something. But then Thor plopped his head, tongue lolling out, onto a small pile of tiny spare cogs and gears. At least, Nate thought they were spare. His father recoiled and yelled, with emphasis on every word, “Get him out of here now!”

  Thor wagged his tail and barked, running toward the patio through the open doors.

  Nate’s father peered down at the pile the dog had disturbed, then looked over the edge of the desk to see where parts were now scattered on the floor.

  Nate clenched his jaw and, like Frau Lindenhofer always recommended, counted silently to ten in German before he said something regrettable. Then he shook his head and followed Thor, wanting more than anything to just get out of the house. Besides, there’d been a couple of reports recently of coyotes and Nate didn’t want to leave Thor outside alone.

  Brady caught up with him as Nate stepped onto the patio. Back in the workshop, their dad was on his hands and knees, picking up tiny pieces.

  “He always does it,” Nate said.

  That was when they heard barking from down the hill near the garage.

  “He’s got something,” Brady murmured, and raced ahead.

  The garage had been built in the 1930s and was two stories tall, with a yellow-brick face and a red tile roof. As Nate ran after his brother, he could see that the side door was open.

  Thor had already pushed his way through and disappeared into the interior. Nate flicked on the lights and hit the buttons that opened the doors to the three bays. Only two were occupied now.

  “You don’t think he caught anything, do you?” Brady asked as they entered and circled around a station wagon.

  “Oh yeah,” Nate muttered. “He brought down a caribou.” Thor was a good dog—mostly obedient and loudly aware of strange noises in the night. This had been useful when Nate was five and was scared of the bogeyman and Sasquatch. Now Thor’s barking in the middle of the night wasn’t so great. And Nate had never, ever seen him catch anything.

  The first bay in the garage held the station wagon. A blue ’75 Chevy Bel Air with the 454-cubic-inch V8 because their dad didn’t believe in four-cylinder engines. The middle bay was empty, and the third, where they could hear Thor, was occupied by Dad’s bass boat on its trailer.

  The boat was top of the line and had been used maybe once. About twenty feet long, with a row of three bucket seats in the middle, the rightmost one behind the control console and dashboard. Behind the row of seats were a raised fishing chair and the outboard motor. In front of the cockpit was a flat deck with storage compartments beneath it and another fishing chair. Stowed at the bow was a small electric trolling motor.

  Along the far wall of the garage, past the bass boat, was a tool cabinet and mini-fridge. At the wall’s base, where the floor trim was brittle with dry rot, Thor was scratching away plaster and wood lath. Nate raced over and grabbed him by the collar, pulling him back. Then he peered into the hole the dog had uncovered. A small brown and white shape sprang out and raced across the garage floor. Both Brady and Nate jumped back, and Thor lunged after it, chasing it out through an open bay door.

  “Rabbit,” Brady said. “Harmless. It’ll get away.”

  “Thor!” Nate shouted. Then he spotted something in the hole. He pulled away a bit more of the wood and plaster to reveal an object nestled in the back.

  It was a dusty brass and glass sphere. Nate swore in disbelief. This time in German, which Frau Lindenhofer had also taught him how to do.

  “It’s a Recall Device,” Brady said, leaning in.

  “I know.” Nate reached in, pulled it out through the hole, and stood, blowing away dust.

  Brady turned away, sneezing. “How long do you think it’s been in there?”

  “A while.” Though the cloud was dissipating, the glass and brass ball was still coated with a layer of grime.

  “Dad is going to freak out,” Brady said.

  “If we tell him,” Nate replied, only half serious, though still angry about this afternoon.

  Nate licked his thumb and rubbed at the top of the Device to clean it off.

  “No, don’t!”

  Nate felt a click as something shifted. There was a brief moment of nothing and then a flash of light.

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  About the Author

  GREG LEITICH SMITH lives in Austin, Texas, with his wife, author Cynthia Leitich Smith, and four cats. He is the author of Ninjas, Piranhas, and Galileo and its companion book, Tofu and T. rex. He and his wife coauthored the picture book Santa Knows, illustrated by Steve Bjorkman.

  Greg has always been fascinated by dinosaurs and time travel. In addition to a degree in law from the University of Michigan, he holds degrees in electrical engineering from the University of Illinois and the University of Texas. Visit him at www.gregleitichsmith.com.