Read Online Asimov's Science Fiction - June 2014 by Penny Publications - Free Book Online
Authors: Penny Publications
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business hours?"
Taylor took a deep breath. "Well, yeah. But you know how you can be in a really crappy relationship, and after the fact all the excuses and lame subterfuge look really obvious, but when you're in the middle of it, all you think is 'I guess he just likes to take showers in the middle of the day'?"
"Yeah."
"Well, that's sorta how this is."
"Is?
"
Taylor looked away, blushing. "A crappy relationship is better than no relationship. Besides, if I quit, I'm locked out, and can't hope to get shit back on track."
"What's that mean?"
"After a few years me and Deke started to worry that the FBI was bad with math, because no matter when we went back to, the Holocaust was always
worse.
Like, according to the model, it should have been the same, because we were going back to our timeline—the 'primary timeline'—and making branches from there. And it wasn't just that it was different: every time we looked it up while on a mission, it was
always
at least a little worse than the last time we checked; never the same, and never less bad."
"It metastasized through the timelines?" I asked, and he winked at me heartbreakingly.
"They'd call it the 'multi-verse,' but yeah, something like that. Maybe it was what we did in Tennessee, or maybe it was all the Hitler stuff, but I'm pretty sure Deke and I sort of..." he slurped his Irish coffee. "Um... destroyed the integrity of space-time. Or something." He finished his mug.
"Oooh-kay." I sipped my own coffee. It was cold. "So what are you trying to accomplish now?"
"Well, in general, I'd like for someone to kill me—the young me, the me that keeps hopping through portals—and stop adding fuel to the fire."
My heart jumped and the taste of pennies flooded my mouth. For just a second, I wished I had Buffalo Bill's zip gun in
my
boot.
"I can see that you're not cool with this," Taylor said cautiously, raising both hands. "But listen, you sorta have this enormous karmic debt situation to work out with the Universe: your Twinkie shenanigans are gonna mostly be the end of humanity—and not the easy way." He leaned in, and I could smell the bourbon on his breath over the smell of coffee, and that over the smell of standard-issue stale old-man breath. He didn't
look
that old, but his breath smelled
ancient.
"Do you know the difference between Neanderthals and Cro-Magnon man?" he asked.
I thought Neanderthals
were
Cro-Magnon man, and said so.
"Me too. Until you guys killed off all the Neanderthals with Twinkies and Ding-Dongs. 'Cause, it turned out, the Neanderthals were different. And they interbred. And whatever it was that was cooperative and peace-loving in humanity? Those were Neanderthal genes."
My gut sank. Old Taylor reached out and took my hand—not in a coming-on-toyou way, but like a big brother would at your mom's funeral.
"You guys aren't going to 'sustainably cull the herd,' " he said gently, "and you aren't mercifully banking the fire before it races out of control. You're consigning humanity to perpetual war and famine and brutality. I'm, like, 90 percent sure that my timeline—the Primary Hitler timeline—is the one that you guys strip of its Neanderthal genes. We create war, and war creates Hitler, and then me and Deke go back in time and traumatize Baby Hitlers in all sorts of timelines, making more Holo causts. Just a shot in the dark: What do you call the war that the Holocaust was part of?"
"The World War," I croaked.
"Yup." He gave my hand a brief squeeze, then let it go so he could move his cup to the edge of the table, ready for a refill. "They always do. Listen, I've spent
a lot
of time dicking around with the past, and let me tell you: Whatever you do with that fucking portal isn't going to make the world a better place, it's just gonna make it awful in new and unbelievable ways."
This so successfully summarized my personal life to date that I almost bawled. Look at "Buffalo Bill." Before he met me, he was just "Will," and he'd never even
Taylor took a deep breath. "Well, yeah. But you know how you can be in a really crappy relationship, and after the fact all the excuses and lame subterfuge look really obvious, but when you're in the middle of it, all you think is 'I guess he just likes to take showers in the middle of the day'?"
"Yeah."
"Well, that's sorta how this is."
"Is?
"
Taylor looked away, blushing. "A crappy relationship is better than no relationship. Besides, if I quit, I'm locked out, and can't hope to get shit back on track."
"What's that mean?"
"After a few years me and Deke started to worry that the FBI was bad with math, because no matter when we went back to, the Holocaust was always
worse.
Like, according to the model, it should have been the same, because we were going back to our timeline—the 'primary timeline'—and making branches from there. And it wasn't just that it was different: every time we looked it up while on a mission, it was
always
at least a little worse than the last time we checked; never the same, and never less bad."
"It metastasized through the timelines?" I asked, and he winked at me heartbreakingly.
"They'd call it the 'multi-verse,' but yeah, something like that. Maybe it was what we did in Tennessee, or maybe it was all the Hitler stuff, but I'm pretty sure Deke and I sort of..." he slurped his Irish coffee. "Um... destroyed the integrity of space-time. Or something." He finished his mug.
"Oooh-kay." I sipped my own coffee. It was cold. "So what are you trying to accomplish now?"
"Well, in general, I'd like for someone to kill me—the young me, the me that keeps hopping through portals—and stop adding fuel to the fire."
My heart jumped and the taste of pennies flooded my mouth. For just a second, I wished I had Buffalo Bill's zip gun in
my
boot.
"I can see that you're not cool with this," Taylor said cautiously, raising both hands. "But listen, you sorta have this enormous karmic debt situation to work out with the Universe: your Twinkie shenanigans are gonna mostly be the end of humanity—and not the easy way." He leaned in, and I could smell the bourbon on his breath over the smell of coffee, and that over the smell of standard-issue stale old-man breath. He didn't
look
that old, but his breath smelled
ancient.
"Do you know the difference between Neanderthals and Cro-Magnon man?" he asked.
I thought Neanderthals
were
Cro-Magnon man, and said so.
"Me too. Until you guys killed off all the Neanderthals with Twinkies and Ding-Dongs. 'Cause, it turned out, the Neanderthals were different. And they interbred. And whatever it was that was cooperative and peace-loving in humanity? Those were Neanderthal genes."
My gut sank. Old Taylor reached out and took my hand—not in a coming-on-toyou way, but like a big brother would at your mom's funeral.
"You guys aren't going to 'sustainably cull the herd,' " he said gently, "and you aren't mercifully banking the fire before it races out of control. You're consigning humanity to perpetual war and famine and brutality. I'm, like, 90 percent sure that my timeline—the Primary Hitler timeline—is the one that you guys strip of its Neanderthal genes. We create war, and war creates Hitler, and then me and Deke go back in time and traumatize Baby Hitlers in all sorts of timelines, making more Holo causts. Just a shot in the dark: What do you call the war that the Holocaust was part of?"
"The World War," I croaked.
"Yup." He gave my hand a brief squeeze, then let it go so he could move his cup to the edge of the table, ready for a refill. "They always do. Listen, I've spent
a lot
of time dicking around with the past, and let me tell you: Whatever you do with that fucking portal isn't going to make the world a better place, it's just gonna make it awful in new and unbelievable ways."
This so successfully summarized my personal life to date that I almost bawled. Look at "Buffalo Bill." Before he met me, he was just "Will," and he'd never even
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