Prologue (16 page)

Amanda nodded slowly. “And since there are an infinite number of wormholes-”

“Virtually infinite,” Paul corrected.

“Virtually infinite, whatever that means, you just identify the one you want and get on.”

”Exactly.”

“Why didn’t the canister come back then?”

Lewis spoke up. “I selected a wormhole whose contrapositive had not yet occurred. Otherwise we never would have known if the canister had gone anywhere since the departure and arrival times are identical.”

“Ah, I see. So you just have to go someplace, do whatever, and return to that same spot in time for the return trip.”

“There is some window of allowance, but yes,” Lewis explained.

Amanda shook her head. “So you’ll pop down the rabbit hole and boom,
Alice
lands in Wonderland.”

“Boom,” Paul repeated.

“Have you done it yet? I mean, with people?” Amanda asked.

“No, not yet,” Paul answered. “But it’s still just a matter of time.”

“Cute joke,” Amanda retorted.

“Sorry,” Paul apologized.

“I liked it,” Amanda said, studying the Roadrunner.
“So, why me?”

“Will you help us?” Paul asked.

“Need a flesh and bones guinea pig to send back first?” Amanda asked.

“No, Amanda, we’d never test on a person what we weren’t absolutely sure–”

“Paul, lighten up, it was a joke. Seriously, what do you need me for? I don’t know anything about time travel. How can I help?”

“We need you to pinpoint the time and location for us,” Lewis said.

“What do you mean ‘pinpoint?” she asked cautiously.

“When should we go back?” Lewis continued. “Identify a nerve point, a crucial step that we can undo. We’re not going back with an army; it’s me and Paul. We need to draw up the mission before we go back, freelancing won’t work.”

“What mission?” she asked warily.

Lewis looked at Paul before turning back to Amanda.

“Your mission,” Lewis said, “should you decide to accept it, is to go back to a point in time in the old United States and change something that will prevent the demise of the U.S. of A.”

There were several moments of silence before anyone spoke. Finally Amanda asked deliberately, “That’s it? That’s all you want to do? You’re not talking science
here,
you’re talking history, changing fucking history.”

“Yeah, well, Paul and I feel that ‘fucking history’ as you call it hasn’t been so great for the good guys and if there were a different one we might all be better off. So that’s what Paul and I want to do.”

“You and Paul?
Oh, I don’t even get the fun part?” Amanda asked.

“Well, uh, certainly if you’d like,” Paul said, cutting a glance at Lewis who shrugged and drank some beer. “I mean we didn’t assume you’d want to, it’s pretty risky–”

“No riskier than asking me to join you.”

Paul stopped with a slightly panicked look on his face. Amanda burst out laughing.

“Paul, you really can’t see a joke when it hits you in the face, can you?” Amanda asked. “Of course I’ll do whatever I can to help you guys.”

Paul let out a sigh. “I really didn’t know what you were going to say.”

“So, you were taking a chance?” Amanda asked.

He nodded. “Lewis and I talked about whether we should include you.”

“I can be trusted. Even if it does mean that when I come back I will no longer be qualified to teach.”

Lewis glanced at her face as she spoke. Amanda hadn’t looked at either of them when she had answered. He turned back to the carburetor.

Paul studied Amanda who sat quietly on the grimy work stool.

“Is there a problem?” Paul asked.

“Not a problem,” she began. “I’m just not sure…”

“About what?”
Lewis interjected sharply, looking up from the carburetor.

“When you sent that canister back.
It went back a little over one year in time. So when you went to pick it up under the bridge it had been there one year, correct?”

“Yeah,” Lewis answered warily.

“So,” she continued. “Since it had been there one year what would have happened if you had gone to the bridge the day before you sent it back? Would the canister have been there?”

Paul and Lewis looked at each other.

“Go ahead,” Lewis said, nodding at Paul.

“It’s called the Temporal Paradox,” Paul explained, turning to Amanda. “No, it would not have been there the day before. It was only there for one year previous
after
we sent it back–
after
we changed history.”

“But then this is what I don’t get,” Amanda said. “We have a year that we all experienced with no canister under the bridge. Had we gone there, there would have been no canister. And now you tell me there was a year in which it
was
there. Which year is real?
The year with the canister or the year with no canister?”

“Both,” Paul continued. “There was a reality in which there was no canister and one where there was a canister. This gets into the theory of infinite realities that David talked about.”

“Infinite realities?
What the hell does that mean?” Amanda demanded.

“What it means is that in an infinite universe there may be an infinite number of realities,” Paul explained. “In an infinite universe there are realities for everything having happened. Right now we can safely say that for one whole year one chrome canister was under that bridge. That is a reality. Now let’s suppose that tonight we send another canister back. We would then create a reality, a universe if you
will,
where there were two canisters under that bridge for a whole year. Then we could send a third. Given enough time Lewis and I could create an infinite number of realities where everything has happened. David theorized that time travel might simply be lateral movement to any one of an infinite number of parallel planes discovered by the travelers.”

Paul paused to allow this to sink in.

“So,” Amanda said slowly, “what you are saying is that there is a world, a universe, where Lee won at
Gettysburg
and where Hitler got nuclear weapons?”

Paul nodded. “That is one theory.”

“Which means,” Lewis continued, “that time travel may just be lineal movement between what are essentially parallel realities. All of this effort may just end us up in a world in which Lee loses at
Gettysburg
but there may also be worlds in which he wins and The South wins.”

“Sounds discouraging,” Amanda concluded.

“But that’s just a theory,” Paul added hurriedly. “It may be nothing more than that.
David speculation.
I know what has happened in our world and the question for us now is do we want to try and change it?”

Amanda shrugged. “Like you said, recent history hasn’t been too good.”

Chapter 10

Natasha sat in her
Dorchester
apartment with her laptop open. The feed from CA was a bit disjointed. She tried to review the film from Monday. She zoomed in on the piece of paper but couldn’t read the address. It was too late now to put a trace on Amanda or Paul’s car. She had no interest in staking out a bowling alley, but she needed something to send back to Yeltsengrad.

The phone rang. Without looking Natasha picked it up. “Hello Igor.”

“Comrade Nikitin. How is life in the wonderful free world?”

“Wonderful. I haven’t been shot or mugged in this neighborhood yet. My collection of malt liquor and chemical wine bottles is improving.”

“The natives are getting restless,”
Rostov
said. “We appreciate hearing all about the dashing British junior professors you date, of course, but if you could throw a little more meat in the stew that would be greatly appreciated.”

“Igor, I’m sending reports. I’m not holding anything back, honest. I need to cultivate Nigel as a source.”

“He obviously likes you. He agreed to hire you. Not that he would have had much choice. But, we didn’t put you in
Boston
to send back wallpaper.”

“I’m trying. Just a little more time,” she said.

Rostov
sighed. “Would it be enough of an inducement to dangle the
Charles River
apartment in front of you in exchange for useful information?”

“Oh no, you’re serious about upgrading to the
Charles River
apartment?”

“It’s on the first floor of Ginter’s building. You two’d be neighbors.”

“Beats this dump.
But what is the, ah...cost?”

“Now, Comrade Nikitin, you sound ungrateful for the arrangements. There you are, living in what they claim is the most charming city in
North America
, and you’re witching about what part of town you live in.”

“Igor, the windows in the car were broken again last week.”

“So don’t keep anything sensitive in the car overnight. I’d think that much’d be obvious.”