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Authors: Chris Dietzel
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stories,” Anderson said. “I hope you never have to shoot your bow at another person. Imagine if someone from another tribe killed you just for fun,” he said, remembering what it was like seeing the Tyranny’s men shoot people in the street just because they could. “I’ve seen it and I hope you never have to know what it’s like. Death is not that pretty. It is not as simple as them living one moment and then dying the next. They struggle to breathe. They beg to continue living. They cry. They call out in hopes of seeing their families one last time.”
The boy’s head lowered so Anderson couldn’t see him, but even without being able to see the tears welling up, Anderson could tell the child was crying from the way he sniffled while his shoulders shook.
He continued, though, even as the boy cried. He kept on because he had wanted to prevent the Tyranny by changing the Theta Timeline and instead he was here. He kept on because he would never see Debbie or Carter again and it was for nothing. But most of all, he kept on because maybe, just maybe, if he convinced this one boy just how horrible war was, the boy might convince his friends of the same thing. One by one, people around the world might slowly realize that wars were avoidable and that with each bomb dropped and each city ruined, with each poor man dying in the blasts, gasping their final breaths under the remains of decimated buildings, rich men became a little richer.
“I have seen more battles and more killing than you could ever imagine. It is almost never necessary. When battles are fought, they are fought because rich men, who do not go into battle themselves, make a profit produced by war. They send other men on their behalf by making death and dying sound glorious. There is no glory in killing a man because it satisfies someone else’s greed. There is no glory in dying just because a powerful man says that doing so will earn you honor.”
The boy continued to cry until Anderson patted him on the shoulder and told him to get running along. When he was alone again, he thought of all the men he had known who had been shipped off by the Tyranny to die on the other side of the world. And for what? So someone who made millions of dollars off of each bomb could lean back in his chair and look at his bank account? So a corporation could control a slightly larger percent of the world’s oil supply? It was madness. But then, everything the Tyranny did was madness.
It was a shame time travel was a one-way journey. Already, he wished he could return so he could see his wife and son again. But now he wished he could return with all the rubies he had seen so he could buy the leaders away from their rich lords. He would promise each leader a hundred pounds’ worth of rubies—more wealth than they could imagine—just as long as they stopped passing laws that benefited a few at the expense of the many. He was sitting on a treasure that could make that very thing happen, but there was no way to use it.
“Life has a funny sense of humor,” he said.
In response, a crow gave a caw-caw and flew away.
He had been sent too far back in time to stop any of the events he and the other Thinkers had targeted, and they had all agreed to limit themselves to only those events. All of the time travelers had heard stories of men who had gone back too far in time and taken extreme and unorthodox measures.
He knew better than to attempt the same thing, knew he should be content with living out his remaining years in peace and quiet. And yet all he could think of were his wife and son living under the Tyranny’s rule. Each time he told one of the Mi’kmaqs about the dangers of leaders who cared about staying in power more than doing what was best for the people, he felt like a failure rather than a teacher trying to instill values in future generations. Any time he thought of the red cave, sparkling with possibility, he imagined all the political influence those
The boy’s head lowered so Anderson couldn’t see him, but even without being able to see the tears welling up, Anderson could tell the child was crying from the way he sniffled while his shoulders shook.
He continued, though, even as the boy cried. He kept on because he had wanted to prevent the Tyranny by changing the Theta Timeline and instead he was here. He kept on because he would never see Debbie or Carter again and it was for nothing. But most of all, he kept on because maybe, just maybe, if he convinced this one boy just how horrible war was, the boy might convince his friends of the same thing. One by one, people around the world might slowly realize that wars were avoidable and that with each bomb dropped and each city ruined, with each poor man dying in the blasts, gasping their final breaths under the remains of decimated buildings, rich men became a little richer.
“I have seen more battles and more killing than you could ever imagine. It is almost never necessary. When battles are fought, they are fought because rich men, who do not go into battle themselves, make a profit produced by war. They send other men on their behalf by making death and dying sound glorious. There is no glory in killing a man because it satisfies someone else’s greed. There is no glory in dying just because a powerful man says that doing so will earn you honor.”
The boy continued to cry until Anderson patted him on the shoulder and told him to get running along. When he was alone again, he thought of all the men he had known who had been shipped off by the Tyranny to die on the other side of the world. And for what? So someone who made millions of dollars off of each bomb could lean back in his chair and look at his bank account? So a corporation could control a slightly larger percent of the world’s oil supply? It was madness. But then, everything the Tyranny did was madness.
It was a shame time travel was a one-way journey. Already, he wished he could return so he could see his wife and son again. But now he wished he could return with all the rubies he had seen so he could buy the leaders away from their rich lords. He would promise each leader a hundred pounds’ worth of rubies—more wealth than they could imagine—just as long as they stopped passing laws that benefited a few at the expense of the many. He was sitting on a treasure that could make that very thing happen, but there was no way to use it.
“Life has a funny sense of humor,” he said.
In response, a crow gave a caw-caw and flew away.
He had been sent too far back in time to stop any of the events he and the other Thinkers had targeted, and they had all agreed to limit themselves to only those events. All of the time travelers had heard stories of men who had gone back too far in time and taken extreme and unorthodox measures.
He knew better than to attempt the same thing, knew he should be content with living out his remaining years in peace and quiet. And yet all he could think of were his wife and son living under the Tyranny’s rule. Each time he told one of the Mi’kmaqs about the dangers of leaders who cared about staying in power more than doing what was best for the people, he felt like a failure rather than a teacher trying to instill values in future generations. Any time he thought of the red cave, sparkling with possibility, he imagined all the political influence those
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