Second Paradigm (27 page)

Twenty-five short years later the cell opened and a young man, in the beginning of his prime, stepped out. He blinked and looked around. When he spoke for the first time, laughter was rich in his voice, “Son of a bitch. It worked.” He smiled and went to go get dressed.

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Prologue

Dust settled around the two combatants as they paused. Out of breath, they eyed each other, both knowing that they had finally met an equal. Temporal combat was never easy. Even for someone in peak physical shape, it was far more rigorous than any other martial art. Both of these men were considered the best of their respective times, and had pushed beyond their limits facing off with each other.

The older man spoke first. “I cannot allow you to steal from this tomb, thief of time.”

The younger gave a cocky grin. “I’ll say. But have you ever stopped and thought about what happens to the artifacts I steal?”

The two reengaged in combat and it was a beautiful dance of timing. Both of their bodies blurred and replicated. First four, then six, then ten of them fought. Each one altered history and created minor paradoxes as they jumped in time, deflecting the blows hammering on the earlier incarnations of themselves.

An ancient voice spoke from the crypt in the center of the underground tomb and both men stopped, frozen in their tracks. The voice was ancient, weighted down with the knowledge of the ages.

My name is Zr’van. I am as a god, for I have seen through the ages, and I am the guardian of those ages. I have a task for each of you. You two men, from the far future, whom I would call friends to this god …

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Epilogue II

Chris stood up. The screaming crowd around him was frozen in silence with the rest of time. The gun was gone from his hand. Somehow he had been pushed aside. When it came down to the moment of truth, he had faltered. But somehow he had survived. The world stopped spinning around him and knowledge crashed into him.

The Time Sphere was wrong. Or, if not wrong, it was not right. His memory returned to him and with it came the understanding of that which he had lost. History took two completely different paths to the same mountain peak. One branch worked through nineteen ninety-seven, the other through nineteen ninety-nine. And he understood how the same set of actions could cause two separate chains of effects. But, ultimately, one must dominate the other. A choice had to be made in order for these realities to be synchronized, and until this moment in time there had been no one to make that choice. Which was less improbable? Reflections were the key …

He looked one way and saw a reflection. One Nost lay dead in the crowd; the other, the man on trial, sagged, injured but alive, on the stairs. That reflection had no reflections itself.

He looked another way and saw both Nosts dead, bullets having torn apart each of their brains. That reflection imploded on itself.

Another reflection spun before him, one where he walked away from the crowd, his self-proclaimed job done. The past self was dead, history continued. But that reflection curved in on itself. That was the old Origin, the useless one. That way formed nothing but a never-ending loop.

And then Christopher Nost saw one final reflection. In it, Garret appeared, moving so fast it was beyond the ability of a normal human to perceive him. In this reflection, he pushed Chris down, sparing both lives from the choice of history.

Garret picked up the gun that Chris had held. He saved them from the bullet that spoke to their deaths. And in this reflection, Garret walked back to the future, content, if not happy.

Chris understood the nature of the reflections before him. Each had happened, and each would. But all it would take was a single step into one of them to guide all of humanity forward. For time, and its guardians, do nothing but offer choices. Humanity must make the choice. And realizing this, he made a choice born of compassion and love.

He stepped forward, into a future where a husband and wife could have a day together after being apart for ten years. Into a future where humanity could recover from its self-destructive hatred into a society that cared for itself. Ultimately, balanced on a coin’s edge, he chose a future in which the people sacrificed for him could live. Choosing his steps to guide humanity through the reflections of time, he stepped into his body, sidestepping James Garret, and walked away into the future.

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About the Author

Peter J. Wacks was born in California sometime during 1976. He has always been amazed and fascinated by both writing and the world in general. Throughout the course of his life, he has hitchhiked across the States and backpacked across Europe on the Eurail. Peter writes a lot, and will continue to do so till the day he dies. Possibly beyond. Peter has acted, designed games, written novels and other spec fiction, and was nominated for a Bram Stoker Award for his first graphic novel Behind These Eyes (co-written with Guy Anthony De Marco). Currently, he is the managing editor of Kevin J. Anderson & Rebecca Moesta’s WordFire Press.

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