"So how do you claim to know me?"
"As I said... we're friends."
"I don't have any scientist friends. I'm pretty sure I'd know if I did." Tom felt bad when Ballo flinched. "Unless you count my Uncle Frank. He said he'd been abducted by aliens and given special mind powers. Don't suppose that really counts."
"I never met him."
"So how did we meet?"
"At a party. Your sister's thirty-fifth birthday. I was a friend of a friend, invited along to make up numbers."
Tom wondered if he'd been drunk at the time; a family party made that a distinct possibility. "So we met at Theresa's?"
"Sarah's." Ballo looked away.
"I don't have a sister called Sarah."
"You did." Ballo turned back to the controls, taking over as the auto-drive system cut out. He drove down an exit ramp with a large sign announcing they were entering the Tren-Hump Institute for Advanced Physics.
"It used to be the Kirschner Institute," Ballo muttered.
They hurried inside. Tom wasn't sure what to expect; there were no giant machines covered with flickering lights or banks of dancing laser beams, just a series of very drab, gray offices. Ballo ushered Tom through a door and locked it behind them.
Tom drew back. "Wait a sec... I'd prefer you left that-"
Ballo thrust the key into Tom's hand, his hands lingering against Tom's briefly before pulling back. "Don't worry. You're safe."
Tom looked around; the office walls were bare except for several framed awards with Ballo's name on them. A large desk containing a very ordinary looking computer sat at one end, but at the far end of the lab was a bench overflowing with a hotchpotch of unusual instruments. He walked towards them. They were the only thing he'd seen so far that piqued his interest and that he might identify as "research tools."
"Don't!" Ballo leapt towards Tom.
"I wasn't going to touch them."
"The equipment?" Ballo took a deep breath. "Oh, that doesn't matter. The shield only extends a few meters. If you'd stepped outside it you'd have been gone."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"The shield protects us from time shifts." Ballo pulled a small box out of his pocket and held it up; it glowed blue at both ends. "But it was designed to go around instruments, not people."
"You're not making any sense."
Ballo half fell into the worn leather chair beside the desk. He massaged his temples with his fingers, stroking up into his gray speckled hair. "You've heard of ChronSkeetas?"
"No..."
There was a picture frame on Ballo's desk which he hastily pushed inside a drawer. Then he rolled his head from side to side, easing the tension in his shoulders. "Maybe they're called something else for you. Small devices that go back in time to take pictures. They look like insects and weigh about the same."
"You mean Time-Bugs like historians use? Why didn't you say that? They're fun. I've got a few videos of myself when I was a toddler bumping into all kinds of things."
"Yes, I've seen them."
It seemed as if Ballo had been about to say more then stopped himself and Tom frowned. The videos weren't the kind of thing shared with just anyone. "So what about the Time-Bugs?"
"They're destroying civilization."
Tom guffawed. "Okay, okay. I may not be a scientist, but I'm not stupid either." He was about to walk away, but hesitated when he remembered Ballo's earlier comments about the size of the shield. "Those things are harmless."
"That's what the manufacturers claimed: they're small, harmless, and very limited. That doesn't make it true."
Tom felt stupid for listening and checked his watch. "They can't change anything. They record video and stuff and come back."
Ballo stood up and clasped his hands behind his back. "The energy requirements limit time-jumps to approximately seventy-five years. When they run out of power the devices snap back to the time of launch with their images stored."
"Right, so how can that hurt anything?" Tom was getting annoyed. Ballo sounded like some crackpot scientist from a 3V show. He checked his watch again. "Are you done?"
"This isn't my field, you understand. This is a theory I've constructed over the last few weeks."
"Weeks?"
"That's when I switched this on." Ballo pointed to the blue-glowing box on his desk. "Before that I was as ignorant as everyone else. Let me show you."
Ballo switched on the 3V at the far side of the room. It lit up, but the image was distorted. Everything had a curious ghosting effect that made the people look unreal and the sound was just a garbled mess, so confused that Tom couldn't pick out a single word. Ballo switched channels repeatedly; each one was the same.
"Okay, your 3V is broken. Time I was leaving." He moved towards the door.
"How do you explain what you saw on the way over?"
Tom hesitated. He'd definitely seen some strange things outside and his own experiences were disconcerting by any standards. Even as he tried to remember the earlier part of the morning he felt his thoughts become ragged. "Maybe your cockamamie shield distorts things. How would I know?"
"How about this?" Ballo typed something on his computer and turned the screen around so Tom could see it. Do you recognize that?"
"It's the City website." Tom scanned the screen. "Who's Mayor Starck?"
"I have no idea. It was Keenan the last I knew."
"That's a fake. Carlew won by a landslide. Everyone knows that."
"It's not fake—the timeline has been altered. If we moved the shield generator away from the computer it would change and someone else would be elected. Maybe the person you remember, or mine."
"I never heard so much garbage in my life. I'm leaving." Tom moved towards the door.
"Wait! What do you do? Your occupation?"
The answer should have come easily, but somehow Tom found himself confused. "I'm an... engineer." The word trailed away even as he said it.
"In my reality you were a journalist."
"That's as crazy as everything else you've said. I can't spell and I don't even type very well."
Ballo tapped on the computer again. A page appeared from the Tribune with Tom's picture next to the headline.
"The Realities Of Production For Use - Tom Sheetman."
"That could be faked too. This is nuts. If Time-Bugs were dangerous they'd be banned. And if they were being used to change time like you say, the Government would step in and do something—change it back the way it was."
"How would they know? From what I can see, no one exposed to the changes notices. They'd need a shield like this one and I created it for my research; it's the only one."
Tom felt his palms moisten and his armpits getting sticky. The pale blue walls momentarily imploded. He swallowed hard, fighting off the claustrophobic sensation and sat heavily in a chair across from Ballo. This crazy scientist seemed to have an answer for everything. "But t's a time jump generator and a camera, that's it..."
Ballo steepled his fingers. "It was hard to pin down because of the constant changes, but someone reverse-engineered them and published the plans on the Net."
"ChronSkeetas, or Time-Bugs, are usually simple, as you said. All they have is a body to provide limited movement, a tiny camera and enough memory to hold a couple of minutes of reasonable quality 3V."
"Right, that's what I thought." Tom's jaw tightened; he still wasn't convinced.
"But the plans have spawned different variants. And at least one of them has switched things around. The 'Skeeta doesn't record; it projects."
"Projects what?"
"Images, 3V, documents. Whatever's in its memory."
Tom rubbed his chin. Ballo was just too quick for him to catch out. "Why would anyone do that?"
"Think about it. How many mistakes have you made in your life that you wish you could undo? How often would a little bit of advance knowledge have changed things for the better? A Skeeta could easily hold enough sporting results that you could bec
ome a multi-millionaire by betting on them. Or stock movements, company acquisitions... Or how about simply avoiding a bad relationship before it begins? Or perhaps you don't like who was elected..."
"But?"
"Anything can be changed and is. How much does a ChronSkeeta... a Time-Bug cost?"
"I don't know. Sixty, maybe seventy bucks?"
"I remember them closer to a hundred, but the point is that price is no barrier. Who wouldn't scrape or steal that kind of money to turn their life around?"
The door opened and a mirror image of Ballo walked in.
"What the hell?" Tom looked from one man to the other. They were identical.
"Ahhh the star-crossed lovers. I'm glad I caught you both." The second Ballo sauntered closer and jerked his thumb at Tom. "Did you tell him yet?"
"Tell me what? Are you two twins?" Tom stood and backed away; this was getting crazier by the minute.
"Tom, remember the shield," the first Ballo cautioned, then turned to the second. "How did you get here?"
"The same as you, of course." Ballo Two held up a metal box identical to the one on the desk. "Did you think you'd be the only version of you to come up with this?"
Ballo One scooped up the shield from his desk. The dark skin on his fingers whitened as he held it tight. "I suppose that makes sense and explains how you have a duplicate UNICA door-key."
"I'm nothing like you though. You're full of romantic crap. I mean really, you want to save the world and your boyfriend? I'm much more practical." Ballo Two wandered across the office, surrounded by an iridescent soap-bubble of light, and looked at the lab equipment. "I have to say, it is kind of creepy how much this looks like my lab."
Ballo Two bent low over the equipment. "Interesting. You put a feedback loop in the quantum stream. I thought of that, but didn't think it would work. Anyway, that's not why I'm here."
Ballo One sneered. "Let me see if I can guess. You represent certain nameless parties who are making a lot of money from the current situation and want it to continue." He spat out the words.
Ballo Two laughed. "You're almost as smart as I am, but not smart enough."
"And how are you going to stop me?"
Ballo Two reached into his pocket and pulled out a pistol. "Like I said, I'm very practical."
Tom's hand flashed out and grabbed Ballo Two's wrist, slapping it against the hard edge of the steel desk. The gun skittered to the floor and Ballo One picked it up, using two fingers as if it were something dirty.
Tom locked his arms around Ballo Two and looked across at Ballo One. "Two years of self-defense classes. Never thought I'd need to use it."
Ballo Two snarled, staring at the gun in his duplicate's hand. "Are you going to use that on me? Tenford isn't going to be happy about this and killing me won't stop him."
Ballo One came around the desk and pulled the shield generator out of Ballo Two's pocket, brandishing it in front of his twin. "This is all we need."
"Wait! No, you can't!" Ballo Two wrenched against Tom's grip, nearly breaking the hold. "Shoot me, but don't do that."
"Push him over there, Tom." Ballo One pointed to the doorway with the pistol. "We don't need to hurt him."
Tom twisted Ballo Two around and pushed him away. Ballo Two staggered forward. As he approached the door he seemed to blur, becoming increasingly shadowy until he simply vanished.
"Where'd he go?"
"It's impossible to say. Back into the random froth of time-based probabilities."
"Is what he said true?" Tom frowned. "You and me were..."
Ballo shrugged. "It doesn't matter. Not anymore. That was a completely different timeline."
"But that's why you err... rescued me?"
"I hoped I'd find the Tom I knew, or at least one who recognized me."
Tom felt awkward and almost wished Ballo hadn't saved him. He felt nauseous again, but in a much different way to how he'd felt just before meeting Ballo. How could that be? He'd never felt even the slightest urge that way. Hell he was married, or was he? The confusion from earlier seemed to encircle him again momentarily and he swallowed hard; how could anyone possibly think about such things rationally. "You must have cared a lot about him... me...."
Ballo shuffled the papers on his desk. "We need to get on; we don't have a lot of time."
"That sounds like a contradiction in the circumstances."
Ballo held up the metal box. "The power cells are nearly dead."
"Can't you change them?"
"Then the power would be interrupted and this bubble of reality will vanish along with both of us."
"This might have more power." Tom held up the second generator, then whistled. "But then your timeline would end—you wouldn't exist anymore. Not this version of you anyway."
"Yes, the temporal bubble inside will be different."
Tom thought about it. "The world might be a better one than yours was."
"It's something I've considered." Ballo turned and took a step away. "I've no idea if my time represents the 'real' version or not. It's not important anymore. The world I knew is gone regardless."
"From what you've said it sounds like the pieces may get jumbled, but things are largely the same overall—same people, same places. Is that so bad?"
"I had an intuition, a hunch." Ballo looked sheepish. "I don't know what exactly. Some research suggests the brain has a quantum component, which may explain consciousness. If time shifts happen at a quantum level, then they could impact the brain."
Tom laughed. "Did we communicate any better when I knew you? I swear I've no idea what you're talking about."
"Sorry. You've said similar things to me before. If the shifts in the time-line are affecting the brain, then I wondered if there'd be any visible signs." Ballo tapped something into the computer.
Tom looked at the search results. They discussed unusual cases of mental problems occurring randomly, often in people with no previous history of such issues. "The shifts...?"
Ballo nodded. "The data isn't certain, but it looks like frequent time-shifts are increasing levels of schizophrenia and other psychotic disorders."
Tom leaned closer to read the descriptions. "This is your version of reality though. Couldn't it be different in others?"
"When I leave the computer it 'updates' with the new reality. I see the same type of results each time. The rapid shifts are affecting quantum brain processes, slowly destroying normal functioning. From what I can tell, it's getting worse."
"Is there anything you... we can do?"
"I'm going to change time."
Tom snorted. "Isn't that what started all this?"
"I know it's counter-intuitive, but it's the only solution I can think of; as long as the shifts continue it's hopeless. Willard Kinker invented the ChronSkeeta. I've managed to pinpoint when he first tested it. If I send back the shield to envelop that event, I think the temporal displacement will be contained and will resonate inside the shield—destroying everything inside."
"And Kinker?"
Ballo looked away. "He'd be caught inside the resonance."
"You mean killed?"
"Actually I've no real idea of what would happen. I don't think he'd die as such, but the event itself would implode in a temporal collapse. His existence, along with the ChronSkeetas, would vanish into a sea of improbabilities."
"That's pretty callous." Tom wondered how anyone could talk so casually about ending someone's existence. "The end justifies the means?"
"What else would you have me do?"
Tom rubbed his eyebrows with his thumbs. His head was throbbing and filled with flashes of strange memories—his wedding and honeymoon, his work as a journalist, but somehow none of it seemed to belong to him. How could he and Ballo have ever got together? They were so different.
Tom felt Ballo's hand on his shoulder and for a moment it was comforting. Then he twisted away. "How would you do it? Send the shield back?"
"According to my calculations it will take at le
ast thirty 'Skeetas. If they're attached to the shield generator, temporal inertia should drag it along with them."
"Should?"
"Yes, should. As I said, this isn't my field. It's an educated guess." Ballo snapped the words through tightened lips.
"Don't get angry with me. You brought me into this."
"Sorry. It's been stressful..." Ballo massaged the bridge of his nose. "Especially not being able to talk to anyone."
Tom felt a stirring of sympathy on hearing Ballo's voice crack. It spoke of hours struggling with the problem and how to solve it. He wondered how anyone would stay sane. Imagine knowing the world around you was changing minute by minute and your own existence was no longer real. "Do you have enough Time-Bugs? Sorry, ChronSkeetas..."
"I've got two." Ballo's skin darkened at the admission. "I can get more from the stores. They're not hard to pick up."
Tom scowled. "I guess that'll work if we have time. How long will the shield last?"
Ballo sighed. His breathing seemed easier just knowing that Tom accepted what he was saying. "I don't know for sure. I never did any power drain tests. I think we should have a few hours."
"Let's hope that's enough."
Ballo moved around the desk and stopped, his shoulders falling. "You don't have to do this."
"What else is there?"
"You could step outside the shield."
Tom hesitated. "Where would I end up? I wouldn't go back to where I was, would I?"
"You'd go back into the quantum froth of space-time, like the other version of me."
Tom wondered how it would be: a new life, a new Tom, new everything. "What the hell... the Twisters are on a losing streak anyway. Call me selfish, but I kind of like the person I am."
Ballo nodded and they moved towards the door in unison. As he opened it a soldier strode towards them, surrounded by a shimmering soap-bubble. Ballo pulled Tom back behind the door, locking it again.
Tom's face was pale. "He had a gun."
"It looked like it. We need to-"
The door burst open. The soldier sprang through and raised a boxy rifle, aiming it directly at Ballo. His finger was already squeezing the trigger.
Tom stepped in front of Ballo as the gun went off and a bright flash surrounded him. He leapt backward with a yelp. The smoldering remains of the shield generator he'd been holding crashed to the floor where it hissed and sparked.
Dead Reckoning and Other Stories Page 15
