“…And there it was. Right in front of me. Stuck in the hull of the ‘station. I’d never seen anything like it. Sure, we were always digging bits of crap out but this thing was perfectly round. A perfect crystal globe. So, I did what anyone would’ve done. I dug it out and stuck it in my pocket,” said Frankie, meeting the gaze of all the lawyers in the swanky office.
“Shift done, I go back to my bunk and start looking this thing over. Nothing. Just a smooth crystal globe. ‘This has gotta be worth something,’ I think. Who wouldn’t? Ten hours on the garb-shift and desperate to get off it.”
One of the lawyers, the one who looked like he was in charge, leaned back in his swish high-backed leather chair. “Mr Frankson, could we get on with this please? You may have all the time in the ‘verse but our time is extremely limited so… well, can I be frank?” He continued without waiting for an answer, “We simply need to get this thing done straight away if the presentation is going to hit deadline.”
“Okay, Mr Lawyer Person. Can I be frank?” said Frankie, leaning back mockingly, “If you don’t get the history lesson, you don’t get no presentation. I need to tell this so as someone knows. You recording this by the way?”
Mr Lawyer Person looked at the man standing to his right. The man nodded slightly. “Yes, Mr Frankson, this is being recorded,” he said.
“Good,” said Frankie, sarcastically, “I’d hate for this to be wasted. Do you mind if I continue?”

•

Frankie Frankson lay on his bunk. In front of him was a small crystal globe. About ten centimetres in diametre. He simply stared at it. Never blinking.
This was the sixth night in a row that he’d done this. He’d not eaten, not slept; he’d not even gone drinking. All he’d done was go to work and then come back and look at the globe. He’d had no choice. It was almost as if the globe was making him look into it. Like some sort of drug-crazed fortune-teller, his eyes so wide as he glared deep into its heart. Waiting for something to happen. Nothing did until the twelfth night.
Almost by accident Frankie became aware that all the people in the dorm seemed to be fading slightly. They were still there but insubstantial, like they were blurred and in slow motion. Eventually they became almost transparent. Blurred and almost transparent. Frankie got scared.

•

“So there I was. Shittin’ meself. Everyone gone all funny. Well eventually I looked at them prop’ly. I dunno, it was weird. I tried touching one of the lads as he passed the bunk but my hand went straight through him. I was getting real worried by now. You would though, wouldn’t you? World gone strange, not knowing if it was gonna stay like that.” Frankie looked around at the faces of the lawyers expecting agreement, but finding only vague disinterest, he shrugged and continued speaking.
“So I decides to go for a little walk round the ‘station. Was the weirdest thing I’ve ever done in my life. You get used to it pretty quick though. I didn’t really do anything – I just had a wander around. Truth be told I was still scared stiff. I trotted ‘round for a five or ten minutes then I went back to the bunk. The scariest part was the sound, a kind of a slowed down drawl of nothing. If nothing ever had a sound – this was it.” Frankie looked around the room again, the lawyers looked a tad more interested than before but he could see he was not exactly dancing the polka while wearing a tutu, as far these guys were concerned.
He continued anyway, “I glared at the globe for ages and the people were still the same, all blurry. Then just as I was tipping over, really starting to lose it, I grabbed the globe – more in frustration than anything – and the world pulled back to how it should’ve be. It felt like it sped up, got real loud all of a sudden and then snapped back to normal. I didn’t care by that point, I just lay down and went to sleep ‘cos I was so tired. That’s one thing about using the globe – it really takes it out of you.”

•

A panicking Frankie ran over to the nearest terminal and logged on, checking he was down for the shift he thought he was. The terminal confirmed it. He was late. It shouldn’t even be possible. The timer was supposed to wake him. The timer linked direct to CenCore. It was supposed to wake him at the same time every morning, without fail. Frankie was a picture of panic. He looked wildly around for someone who could help him but they’d already gone to shift. The hangar was empty. His shoulders slumped and he looked down at the timer on his wrist.

•

“So, I did what anyone does in that situation,” said Frankie, leaning forward, “I decided to go back to bed but, for some reason, I happened to look at my timer. And guess what?” He gestured at Mr Lawyer Person, obviously expecting an answer.
The lawyer shrugged and said, “What?”
“It was wrong,” said Frankie gleefully, “It was five minutes fast.”
“It isn’t possible for it to be wrong,” said the lawyer.
“Well, it was,” Frankie stood up. “Five minutes fast. I don’t know how or why, but it was. Took me near on an hour to set the bloody thing back too. Not made to go back you see, your average wrist timer. An antique wall timer, now they…”
“Mr Frankson,” interrupted Mr Lawyer Person heavily, “Could we please move this along?”
Frankie sighed a frustrated sigh and said, “Okay, have it your way. If you’re not interested in how I managed to end up with this stuff then I’m quite happy to skip the nuts and bolts and just get to the meat of it. You’re missing quite a tale.”
“I think we’ll manage to survive. Now, Mr Frankson, please ‘get to the meat of it’, as you so charmingly put it,” said Mr Lawyer Person, putting his feet up on the desk.
“Okay, so what I finally figured out was this… I was going five minutes into the future and eventually I figured out I could transport myself too. Imagine it, anywhere I wanted, five minutes ahead of everyone else. Took me a couple of weeks to twig how to do it. But I did. Once I had it, I didn’t have a clue what to do with it. You wouldn’t though, wouldn’t you? And then it hits me. Pictures. Now most people would’ve thought of money but not me. Paintings were what I wanted. And all using this strange little globe”

•

Frankie Frankson stood in a long, dark corridor. Alarms were screaming all around him. Not that they seemed to concern him. On either side of him were various paintings of quality. A Monet here, a Picasso there. Was that a Dali? All of them looked very old and very expensive.
There, at the end on the far wall, was the biggest prize. The one he’d earmarked to be his first one. The Mona Lisa. True, it was a tad corny but it was the one he wanted. If he was going to cock this up he might as well do it in the biggest way possible, for the biggest possible prize.

He walked over to the painting and pulled it off the wall. Another alarm added its shrill wail to the already quite intolerable din. Frankie held the painting at arm’s length, smiled at it and then both he and the Mona Lisa disappeared into nothingness.
Exactly five minutes later, Eduardo Bombino, the security guard on duty at the Tate Lunar that night was suddenly assailed by every alarm in the museum going off simultaneously and the horror of DaVinci’s three thousand year old masterpiece suddenly vanishing on his watch. Needless to say, Mr Bombino had some very stern, and painful, questions to answer the next day.

•

“It was easy as pie. I just went in there and took what I wanted, they never even knew the stuff was gone until five minutes after I was. I did it loads; I got so many pictures I didn’t even have time to really look at them all. I coulda took money and bought them, I suppose but I just liked going to all the galleries. Y’know what I mean?” Once again Frankie looked for agreement from the round of blank faces, but on finding only thinly disguised disgust, he swallowed and continued, “So, I puts them all in a big room that I rented – I did take some money. I mean, who wouldn’t? We’re all human. And I’d spend hours just looking. Staring at a brushstroke, a hair stuck in the paint. It was… I dunno, it gave me some peace. The life I’d lead, I felt like I deserved some peace.”

Mr Lawyer Person stood up and leaned forward, his hands planted on his expensive desk, “Mr Frankson,” he said, “over the course of twenty years, you have stolen every, and when I say every I mean every, major work of art still in existence. Some over five thousand years old. You have kept them at a secret location five minutes in the future, where only you have looked at them. Am I correct?”
Frankie blushed slightly and nodded. Mr Lawyer Person continued, “And even now, they remain hidden. Can I ask what made you come forward? What happened?”
Every face in the room turned to Frankie, now they were interested.

•

Wandering around his gallery, Frankie found himself standing in front of one picture. It often happened that he would fixate on one of them for days on end. Last time it was a drawing of a smiling mouse. This time it was a picture of a man, crudely – but skilfully – painted. He was standing on what looked like a pier. A blood red sky swirled menacingly above his head. He had his hands up to his mouth and he was screaming. It looked like the scream was tearing his soul loose. Two figures lurked in the background, unaware of the man’s horror. His isolation. His loneliness.

•

Frankie looked Mr Lawyer Person in the face and said, “I just figured it was time to give them back. Share them. My mother always told me to share.”
“A noble sentiment, Mr Frankson, a noble sentiment indeed,” said Mr Lawyer Person, walking over to Frankie. He put his hand on Frankie’s shoulder and gently said, “I think it’s time to bring them back.”
Frankie gulped and then nodded. He stood up and reached into his pocket. He brought out a small round crystal globe and looked into it. He vanished.
Two seconds later Frankie reappeared holding a golden-framed picture.
“I figured this one should be first,” he said, placing the Mona Lisa on Mr Lawyer Person’s desk.

•

Frankie faced the large pile of paintings he’d stacked up against the wall earlier. He felt incredibly sad. Like he was losing everything. Of course, he knew he could do it all again. Keep the globe and rebuild the collection. They’d never be able to catch him. Well, not unless someone invented a time machine.
He stared at the next picture to go back. Pointillism. Seurat. Bathers at Asniere. Absolutely beautiful. A painting of a sunny day and sailing boats, a painting of a time long gone, a time that had been obliterated by fools and their money. Now they only had these bloody ‘stations spinning limply around broken planets and processed food in bags.
Frankie sighed, picked up the painting of the bathers and vanished. Almost instantly, he reappeared empty handed, picked up the next picture and then vanished again. He did this over and over and over again. Until only one picture remained.

•

Mr Lawyer Person was ready for his big moment. He’d masterminded the return of over six thousand works of art thought forever lost. Civilisation had regained part of its heritage. And he was about to take credit for it. Frankson was about to be arrested. Put away for a long time. Not part of the deal, but only fair. Perhaps he could even manage to get the globe for himself. Build a collection of his own.

All they were waiting for was Frankson to return with the last picture then they’d go before the cameras and the presentation would begin. The ceremonial handing over of Munch’s The Scream to the President. Mr Lawyer Person went over to the mirror opposite his desk and straightened his, already very straight, tie. He was about to be famous. And rich.

•

As he stood in front of the last painting, Frankie felt only relief. It had been quite a lot of years since he’d had that feeling. It was all finally about to be over. The responsibility – gone. The worry – a thing of the past. The relentless need to collect one more picture. All gone.
He looked at painting in front of him. The Scream. The painting that had made him want to give them all back. He decided it was awful. It gave him the creeps.He took out the globe, smiled sadly at it. It looked weird. A small milky cataract swirled in its centre. Then, quite suddenly and very loudly it cracked in half. Cleanly and precisely in half. Frankie dropped the two halves and looked into the blank eyes of the man who stood screaming on a pier thousands of years ago. The globe hit the ground and time stopped. Frankie couldn’t move. A feeling of panic swelled up inside of him and burst like a balloon in his head. He knew he was stuck. Forever alone. Five minutes away from everything and everyone. Silently, somewhere deep inside, Frankie Frankson began to scream.

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