Time Travel Omnibus, page 1146
It’s a last ditch effort to be remembered forever.
Caleb, given his training and skill, really should have been able to do a better job.
I waited until he’d bled out, then dragged his corpse down into the fuel depot. I hid his body in the heart of it, erasing all traces of the deed. I’d not remembered any signs from before, after all. Then I blew the depot up as I had before. It eased stresses on the timeline, making it easier to fix.
It also allowed me to capture the excess energy for myself.
Caleb’s attempt to fix himself, coupled with similar attempts by the other Wrenns I’d killed up close, clued me in on finding my nemesis. To reach Jupiter’s sanctuary, each had taken a unique path, one completely idiosyncratic, yet not without points of similarity.
He forced them all to navigate through moments of personal mortification and failure, belittling them one more time before they arrived to bask in his glory. He hadn’t fixed his Sanctuary through actions or results, but through emotions. To reach him, they each had to seek moments of shame and weakness. No one was going to casually stumble into his sanctum, and few were the dedicated hunters who would want to go down that path.
I pushed into time-out and forward a century or two. I didn’t need to replace my body, so I settled for Medbots repairing the cuts, salving the wounds and pumping me full of a pharmaceutical cocktail which had me feeling nigh unto invulnerable.
And when I’d come down from that, I moved into time-out again. I pushed deep. Caleb’s shame at having failed to get me was quickly overwriting his previous mortification. Jupiter’s combination was, in essence, erasing itself. Most fixers don’t rely solely on emotion because it is so highly subjective and hard to remember. Though reluctant to do it, I had to admit I’d underestimated his genius.
And, for a Marlowe, that was almost shameful enough a thought to get me to Jupiter’s sanctum. Of course, pride at my realizing that immediately erased that path. So I forced myself on, embracing regrets and humiliations. I sought that one moment which, if I could, I would change, then wallowed in pity at my inability to do so. For a heartbeat I felt my father once again dying in my arms, then I used it to tear through into Jupiter’s private elsewhen.
I appeared in a locus of incalculable opulence. Mosaics from buildings long lost to fire, flood or flowing desert sands themselves became pieces of a larger mosaic. Close by, dark wooden walls that extended high into vaulted ceilings were hung with paintings and portraits by great masters and even better artists long unremembered. Lines of shelves like spokes on a wheel bowed beneath the weight of scrolls, codices and books. Between them, display cases held everything from articulated skeletons to silken robes and bright armor. Chests stacked at the base of the walls had burst open beneath the crushing weight of those chests piled above them, spilling gold and jewels in a conspicuous display of wealth.
I found myself speechless. I had traveled through the centuries. I had witnessed many marvels. I’d seen Emperors buried in elaborate ceremonies. I’d watched kings spend fortunes to celebrate a birthday; and dictators spend even more to celebrate themselves. Again and again I’d seen spectacles which the participants were certain exceeded anything that had gone before and would never be surpassed.
And yet all those were as nothing before this display.
It could have taken an eyeblink or a century for me to pass through to the center. In that place time was irrelevant. More important was my inability to comprehend the enormity of what I was seeing. I could not fix it because it was truly beyond my understanding.
Here and there I recognized things. Amidst the glittering splendor sat a flat, square cardboard box. Within it lay a plastic reel of brown tape, holding the missing minutes of a Nixonian White House conversation. Further on the Shroud of Turin—not the medieval copy, but the original—had been draped over the chest containing the Plantagenet crown jewels. A codex copy of the Secret Gospel of Mark nestled within the shadow of a lost Roman Legion’s golden eagle, and beyond it Excalibur had been racked with the original Bowie knife.
All of these things—missing things, things snatched out of time at critical split-seconds—created a portrait of chaotic excess. Wrenn’s fledglings had stolen them all. They’d brought them as tribute to their absentee father. With pleasure he would welcome them, then set his brood new tasks, greater tasks. He’d whisper to each that they would be his heir if they could do just one more thing.
And I was living proof they had failed. So many Wrenns. So much waste.
I found the old man at the center. Not much taller than me, we had the same build. His hair had become white, with dark locks at the temples. He wore no beard and chose to dress formally, in dark velvets with gold buttons—properly Victorian. It suited him but was, of course, only an affectation. He would have been more suited to a toga, watching Caleb fight in an arena.
“Is it done, then?”
“Almost.”
At the sound of my voice he looked up. I don’t know what I expected. Maybe I wanted the blood to drain from his face. Surely his eyes could have widened in shock. Instead, all I got was a grin, a grandfather’s grin as he watched an infant grandson toddle toward him.
“Alec Marlowe, as I live and breathe.” He straightened up from the oaken table, an aged map rolled out on it. “Sooner than I expected, but not unexpected.”
I drew my pistol and pointed it at him unwavering. “You have many sins to answer for.”
“Yes. Your father’s death. And your grandmother’s suicide. I accept responsibility for them. Thus your presence should worry me.” He shrugged. “But I know your secret. You can’t kill me. You see, I am your . . .”
“. . . grandfather, I know.”
He blinked. “You know?”
“Have done since my father died. My grandfather told me.”
“He knew? Elias knew?” Jupiter frowned. “That’s not possible. I fixed her life.”
“You did fix it. But only her life.”
When Jupiter’s plan to unite the Wrenns and Marlowes through marriage fell through, he chose to avenge himself through my father’s mother. Josephine had been an intensely religious woman who attended Catholic Mass on a regular basis. The vehemence of her belief had provided a fix on her which Jupiter used to find her in spite of all the precautions my grandfather had taken to keep her safe.
On their honeymoon, which they’d enjoyed in a 1970s motel at Niagara Falls, Jupiter had stolen her from her marriage bed for a split second while my grandfather was off brushing his teeth. Jupiter whisked her away to a Roman villa during the time of the Great Fire. He made himself up to be an Incubus and told her it was Hell. He raped her repeatedly and returned her to the motel, laying with her for just a second or two, relishing the thrill of deceiving my grandfather.
Josephine bore Elias a son, Thomas. Try as she might, however, she could not shake the shame she felt. Being raped by a demon consumed her soul. Confession, prayer, counseling, even visiting saints and being exorcised brought her no relief. In her great despair, she tried to kill my father, since he was Satan’s child.
When she failed, she killed herself.
I thumbed the pistol’s hammer back. “You missed the fact that the owner of that motel had hidden video cameras in the rooms. He had cartons of tapes in a storage locker which he rented under an assumed name. When he died, the contents were sold at auction. The tapes of your visit entered the paranormal underground as proof that demons exist.”
Jupiter laughed and clapped his hands. “Bravo. So both your father and grandfather knew. Elias never came after me since to kill me could conceivably kill his son. And Thomas never killed me because then he would die. The paradox would cause us both to be resurrected. We’d replay that tawdry scenario out over and over in a recursive hell.”
I nodded. “Most likely.”
“I assure you, Alec, we are in a when before your father was conceived.”
“I have no doubt.”
“Then you see how it is.” Jupiter opened his arms wide. “Embrace your true heritage. You are the union of the Wrenns and Marlowes. You are my dream come true. Everything here can be yours. Anything you want can be yours.”
“What I want is you, dead.”
He fixed me with a reproving stare. “Don’t be petulant, my boy. You can kill me. You’ll likely even enjoy it the first dozen times. But, ultimately, you’ll find it boring. A complete waste of your obvious talent.”
“Might look that way, but not true.” I smiled, my finger tightening on the trigger. “You see, my father knew he was your son. He had himself fixed, and my mother liked to sleep around.”
LOVE IN THE TIME OF DUST AND VENOM
Sharon Joss
Using his walker to brace himself, Keiko watched her ancient grandfather stoop beside the packed dirt path and tug at a weed. Nearby, sprinklers sang shoop-shoop-shoop in the stillness, sending cascades of water across the wide expanse of lawns. She saw his eyes twinkle as he slapped the roots against the side of his worn black trousers. The scent of moist earth joined the fragrance of lavender and eucalyptus in the quiet July morning. The old man stood and slowly put the dandelion in his pocket. He knew she didn’t approve, but this had become their little ritual.
When he first came to live with them, he spoke rarely, and then only Japanese; a language she struggled to recall from childhood. She found him to be a man of expression, rather than words. The first time she brought him to the LA County Arboretum he spoke to her of how much he missed his wife and home. Now they came every Tuesday morning, after she dropped the boys off at school. There was no sense of time or country here. They’d come to think of the botanical gardens as their special place.
He toddled over to their favorite bench; the rough wooden one beneath the purple jacaranda tree with a good view of the Queen Anne Cottage. Then, as the bees hummed around them, he took her hand as he often did, and her 97-year-old grandfather began to tell her about lightpulse technology.
Now that they were here, sitting in this dreary yellow reception lobby of Time Horizons Incorporated, Keiko realized she was going to have to face the fact that she was, essentially, sending her grandfather to his death. She was certainOjiisan didn’t think so. His enthusiasm for the idea of traveling into the future had put the whole family in an uproar for weeks.
She glanced at her grandfather, sitting so proudly beside her. From his shiny black patent-leather shoes to the brand new Sears suit, to the top of his freshly shaved head, he was nearly glowing with anticipation. He’d even gotten her twelve-year-old to shine up his walker with Windex.
Keiko put her hand on top of the gnarled fist. His tissue-thin skin was cool; too cool.
“Are you warm enough, Sofu?”
He merely nodded, his bright eyes glued to the red numbers of the digital display mounted on the wall across the room. The aroma of new carpet seemed to suck all the oxygen right out of the air. Muzak played softly in the background. While they’d waited, she’d counted twenty-one orange plastic chairs in the waiting area, yet there were only four other people in the room. All were younger. Much younger.
“Now serving number forty-six.” The disembodied digital voice echoed across the agnostic waiting room.
Her heart skipped a beat. They would be the first. Keiko helped her grandfather to his feet. “That’s us,Ojiisan.” The frail old man was wide-eyed and eager, but even with his walker cane, he needed help getting up off the orange plastic, and he was heavier than he looked.
Once he was on his feet, he patted his jacket pockets carefully.
“I have it right here, Sofu.” She pinned a wilted Sacred Lily leaf to his lapel.Rhodea Japonica was Japan’s most revered native plant. She’d had to comb nearly every florist shop and plant nursery in Santa Monica before she found a place that carried them. She’d been tempted to simply snip ahosta leaf from the botanical garden, but that would not have been respectful.
Following two steps behind, Keiko watched her grandfather shuffle toward the attendant, who held the door open for them.
“My name is Brad,” the young technician told them. He motioned them into an interview room containing modern, Scandinavian-style metal furniture. Russet shag carpeting and more of the orange plastic chairs provided the only color in the white room. After they were seated, Brad glanced at his clipboard and made a face. “I’m afraid I’m not very good with Japanese names. Is it Tadeo Yakashita?”
“Hai,” her grandfather nodded.
“My grandfather does not speak English well,” Keiko explained. “I am here to translate for him, if that’s okay.” Grandfather was worried they would reject him because of his age, but she was more concerned they would not take him seriously without her there to speak for him.
“It’s not a problem.”
He opened the folder on his desk and Keiko saw he had some of Sufo’s medical records. Pages and pages of expert opinions; but in the end, they all said the same thing. Six months, no more.
“I understand, based on the statements made by his doctors, his prognosis is terminal, and aggressive treatment is contra-indicated because of your grandfather’s great age and the advanced state of his disease.”
Keiko nodded. “Yes.”
“I must tell you, most of our clients come here looking for a cure, but that’s not what it says here on the application. Could you please explain why your grandfather wants to go into the future?” Brad pointed to the small camera located near the ceiling. “And please be aware, this conversation is being recorded.”
Keiko took a deep breath. Her grandfather’s future depended on how she answered this question. If she was not able to explain his reasons, his spirit would never be able to rest. The weight of Sofu’s soul felt heavy on her shoulders.
“My grandfather lived his whole life in the village of Okuma, Japan. So did his grandfather, and all his forefathers going back, well, forever. When the Fukushima Daiichi disaster occurred in 2011, the village of Okuma was within the red zone. My husband and I went over to Japan after the tragedy and brought him back with us, but he wants to die in the land of his ancestors. He believes that if he dies here, he will wander forever as a ghost, and never find peace.”
“Wouldn’t it be easier to send him into the past?”
Keiko smoothed down her skirt. The small white room seemed to shrink with every word she spoke. She struggled to keep the tremor out of her voice. “My father and grandmother also lived in Okuma at the time of the disaster. They were both killed in the tsunami. My grandfather wants to share his eternity with the spirit of his beloved wife and son most of all.”
Sofu nodded once, for emphasis.
“I see.” Brad made several notes in the file. “Are you willing to let him go? This is just a Beta test. The lightpulse jump might not be able to bring him back if there’s a problem.”
She reached for her grandfather’s gnarled hand, asking the silent question with her eyes. He gave a determined nod and thumped his cane on the floor.
“Hai!”
“He understands the risk. He says he wants to go. I respect his decision.”
Brad excused himself, and left the interview room, taking the file with him.
They did not have long to wait. When Brad returned, he was smiling. “Your grandfather’s situation is out of the ordinary for us, but our legal department has given us the go ahead,” he said. “You’re in.”
The lightpulse lab looked a bit like the pictures she’d seen on television of NASA control rooms. One entire wall was filled with monitors and graphs and satellite photos. A low white platform about six feet across rose from the center of the room, flanked on two sides by white-coated technicians seated at several workstations. The air conditioning chilled the white room uncomfortably. Someone had hung a child’s spaceship in front of the air vent, and the toy twirled gently in the draft. If there was ever a place less like the arboretum, this must surely be it.
She could not understand the lack of fear in Sofu’s face. She had never seen him so excited.
As soon as the navigation engineer arrived, everything seemed to happen at once. A nurse checkedOjiisan’s vital signs, while a doctor peered into his eyes and ears, and double-checked his reflexes. There were waivers to sign and coordinates to triangulate and calculate. But soon, too soon, it was time to say goodbye.
Her concern had been building from the moment they’d arrived, but now, more than anything, Keiko didn’t want him to go. She held her hand to her mouth to keep herself from saying anything. This was what he wanted, and how could she be so selfish as to deny him his peace of mind? But the pain in her heart was nothing compared to the twinkle of joy she beheld in her Sofu’s eyes.
The navigator, Dr. Orlov, explained what would happen.
“We’ve set the coordinates so that he will materialize on the street in front of his home one hundred years from today. We know from current satellite photos that the rubble has been cleared, so we can be fairly certain that he’s not going to end up inside a wall somewhere.”
Two technicians helped her grandfather into the powder blue travel vest. It was made of a lightweight, netted material with large zippered pockets; some obviously empty, others bulging with equipment. It hung long on Sofu; halfway past his knees. When they handed him the control device, Keiko translated Dr. Orlov’s explanation of how it worked.
“The green button will initiate the lightpulse jump into the future; the blue button will return you back to this time and place. The vest automatically records all the environmental measurements of that place and time. One hundred years in the future, there will be radiation but it won’t be strong enough to bother you.”
The old man clutched the controller to his chest and nodded fiercely. “Hai!”
“And one more thing. For legal reasons, no one can push the green button for you. If you wish to go to the future, you will have to push the green button yourself. If you decide to stay, remove the vest, press the red button, then zip the controller into the right front pocket. In 60 seconds, the vest will return without you. Do you understand,Ojiisan?”
