And how could he stand seeing his old pals again at the Marine Corps Recruit Depot in San Diego, knowing which ones wouldn’t be coming home? Could he even consider replaying that part of his past when a larger responsibility now rested on his shoulders? He had wondered about that before, but it had all been sort of abstract, not real. Now it was as real as the past that had become his only present.
“Somebody’s deep in thought,” Jim’s mother observed. “Dinner’s ready. I made that frankfurter casserole you like.”
Jim sat down at the dinner table, grinning at the once-loved and now almost forgotten meal. But his smile faded as he thought about what was likely in that food. No. Not too much yet. Most of the stuff that leaches into the human food supply, or is deliberately introduced into it because it’s thought harmless or even beneficial, comes later. Betty still has time to change things.
He had been ninety-one years old when the project contacted him. Unlike the newest generations, plagued by a host of ailments, there was nothing physical specifically wrong with Jim, just a very tired body, so that he faced each day knowing that it might be the last, and accepted that reality with weary resignation. He had already felt like a time traveler then, one who had jumped forward to a period when no one remembered the things that had been important when he had been young, and were now concerned with things he had never imagined as a young adult. But they had told him this was important, that he could make a difference, because almost eighty years ago he had gone to the same school as a girl who had become a highly respected geneticist and now needed help.
Jim looked at his mother again, fighting down a sense of disbelief. Alive. Healthy. Astounding things that he had taken for granted the first time he had been fifteen. She had died from cancer in 1984. Cancer later discovered to be triggered by some of the chemicals, plastics, and industrial byproducts that by the mid-twenty-first century were overwhelming humanity with its own toxins. Aggravating the assault on mankind were bacteria and viruses that had developed immunity to every countermeasure due to clumsy overuse of those countermeasures. By the time humanity figured out what its own creations and leavings were doing to it, it seemed to be too late to do anything about it.
Except that another discovery offered a way that might provide a head start on solutions, and maybe a way to limit the damage that would be done. The first attempt had simply vanished in time, and now he had to find out why and help Betty change history in small ways that might over time add up to very big differences.
***
The next day, Jim stood in science class, staring at the silvery globules of mercury that the teacher had doled out to the students. This was one of the classes he shared with Betty, who sat at the other side of the room and was almost cringing away from her sample of mercury. The other kids were laughing and playing with the stuff, dipping pennies into it to see the copper acquire a silvery coating, and breaking it into little globules which would roll around and merge back into big globules. Tom Farand had stuck his finger into his mercury and was waving around a silver-coated digit.
“Make sure you wash your hands before you stick that finger in your mouth, Mr. Farand,” the science teacher instructed in a severe tone.
Betty shook her head like someone emerging from shock and her hand rocketed into the air. “Sir, isn’t mercury an extremely toxic substance?”
“Toxic?” The science teacher nodded judiciously. “It can be poisonous if ingested, yes.”
“What about inhaling fumes? Or absorption through the skin? Couldn’t even a tiny amount of mercury cause serious neurological problems?”
The other students were watching Betty now, some nudging each other and laughing, while she reddened slightly in embarrassment.
Jim raised his hand. “I’ve heard the same thing, sir. Mercury is incredibly neuropathic and ingesting even small quantities leads to sensory impairment.”
“Dictionary Jones and his big words,” someone whispered.
The teacher frowned. “I’m not aware of that, Mr. Jones. Or what you say, Miss Knox. If there are scientific studies that support what you say, and you want some extra credit, why don’t you two produce a paper on the topic?”
By now most of the class had stopped laughing and were looking down at their globules of mercury with worried expressions.
Betty swung by him as they left class. “Thank you. It was so nice not to be the sole voice of sanity. One small step at a time. We get people thinking about this a few years earlier and let the results snowball. I hope.”
“Do those studies exist yet?” Jim asked.
“I don’t know. That area wasn’t supposed to be my priority. I did memorize some of the places and people who are working on things like that right now. But a big part of the problem is that existing means can’t detect extremely low levels or the impact they’re having. What’s your specialty, Jim?”
Here it came. “I don’t really have one. No advanced degrees at all. I did a lot of stuff and have a decent general background in science and technology, but my primary qualification for being chosen for this was because I went to school here at the same time you did and I was still alive.”
“Oh.” But instead of getting arrogant or dismissive, as so many of the highly-degreed had reacted to such news, Betty smiled at him. “Some of the dumbest people I ever met had the most advanced degrees. See you after school.”
He watched her leave, smiling to himself, until a hand hit his shoulder hard enough to make him stumble. “When did you two fall in love, Dictionary?” Tom Farand asked, while several other boys laughed.
“We were talking about working together,” Jim said.
“Working? Nobody works with girls.”
“Why not?”
The question seemed to stagger Farand for a moment. “Because they’re girls!”
The sort of attitude that Betty had blown up about yesterday. Jim had vaguely remembered the ways women had been put down when he was young, but things had changed so much by 2040 that the reality of it had dimmed considerably. Now here it was, full strength, and he could only imagine how hard it must have been for Betty to suddenly be living with that again. The least he could do was stand up for her, but Jim’s young hormones provided words before his older self could censor them. “Wow,” he said to Farand. “That is so dumb. The mercury must already be affecting your brain.”
Farand’s face reddened. “Watch your mouth, Dictionary.” His right arm shot out to stiff-arm Jim’s shoulder.
Jim’s left arm came up and easily parried the blow in a move he had learned years from now, leaving Farand and the other nearby students gaping at him. “Sorry,” Jim said. “I shouldn’t have put you down like that. But you shouldn’t put down girls, either. And don’t try to hit me again.” Jim turned and walked off toward his next class, realizing belatedly that he had just done something out of keeping with being fifteen.
As he left school that afternoon he saw Betty among a group of girls, most of them talking a mile a minute. Noticing him, Betty left the group, while the gaggle of girls pointed at Jim and emitted a gust of giggles. “God help me,” Betty whispered to Jim as they started walking. “They were talking about who the cutest Beatle was. I thought I was going to go insane.”
“I always liked Paul,” Jim commented, “though not in the same way the girls did.”
“Paul was great. I told them John was a jerk and they were all ‘no’ and—” Betty slapped her forehead. “Stop talking about it.”
“In a couple of years you can argue with them about who’s the cutest Monkey.”
“Mickey,” Betty replied immediately, then slapped her forehead once more. “I haven’t forgotten anything, but my feelings are turning fifteen again. I have one of those portable record players and I spent a while last night listening to 45s on it. Why do I have a 45 of Lesley Gore singing ‘It’s My Party’? Why did I listen to it?”
“You could get a copy of ‘You Don’t Own Me,’” Jim suggested.
&nbs
p; “Did that come out in ’64? Talk about anachronisms! I need to find that record.” She bit her lip. “Are you starting to get a good appreciation for the challenges we’re facing? Memories are one thing, reality is another.”
“Yeah. But because of that stupid civil defense drill we did today, I did think of something else that might help.”
Betty gasped out a sad laugh. “Crouching under our desks as protection against nuclear weapons. How could anyone seriously believe that hiding under a spindly school desk would protect against a nuclear shock wave?”
“Duck and cover,” Jim recited. “Yeah. Ridiculous. But I was thinking how that changed, how people came to realize that nukes were more than just bigger bombs. People wrote books and made movies about nuclear weapons destroying everything and it changed how people thought about the weapons. Remember On the Beach?” “Where everybody dies from radiation? That movie gave me nightmares.”
“That’s the point!” Jim said. “Within a few years everybody is going to start getting nervous about radiation and mutants. I told you about my game. Well, I looked at what I’d done, and it’s really a mess, because I didn’t know how to design a game like that when I was fifteen. I can do it right now, though. I could redo Dungeons and Dragons or something, but I won’t, because somebody else came up with that, and I’m not going to steal their ideas even if they haven’t had them yet.”
“Really?” Betty gave him a sidelong look. “Technically you can’t steal something that someone else hasn’t even created yet.”
“See, that’s why I didn’t become a lawyer,” Jim said. “I don’t care about technicalities like that. It would be wrong. But, I can make a game about what’s choking humanity to death in 2040.”
“Jim, you can’t demonize technology. Some of the project’s opponents accused us of wanting to do that, but that was never the intent. We need technology. It caused the problems but it also holds the solutions.”
“I know! I need to build a game where the enemies are produced not by paranormal evil, but by high-tech byproducts. And you win by fighting, but part of the treasure is learning new stuff that you can use to help others and counteract the environmental toxins that make things dangerous for you, and if you’re not careful your own weapons create more problems.”
Betty smiled widely at him. “That’s brilliant. As well as ethical. You can guard me and help our mission. I can still focus primarily on advancing genetics research while both of us try to change attitudes about toxins and byproducts. All right. This afternoon we check on Paul and Charlie, who will probably love your idea. I asked around about how to make long distance calls, and I brought some money.”
Betty stopped at a pay phone booth, holding up a quarter. “We were all supposed to operate independently and not even try to check on each other for about six months, to allow us time to get settled in our young selves again. Paul and Charlie are two guys I know enough about to locate. I’ll call them and see if they’re still okay, and you can warn them.”
“Aren’t we going to need a lot more money than that?” Jim asked, eyeing the phone booth. When had those disappeared? How long after that had it been before pay phones themselves disappeared entirely?
She reached over and tapped his forehead with the coin. “A quarter is real money in 1964. See? It’s actually made from silver. Unfortunately, I don’t have a lot of quarters, but it should be enough.”
Leaving the folding door to the phone booth open and lifting the handset, Betty rattled the cradle a few times, then waited. “Operator? I need to call someone in Stockton. Paul Davidson. He lives on Broward Street. Right.” She waited, rolling her eyes. “Stone age technology,” she mouthed at Jim.
He leaned close to whisper. “Won’t the operator be able to listen in?”
“I’ll be careful,” Betty whispered back, her free hand covering the lower part of the handset. “But we don’t have any choice, Einstein. I can’t find out his phone number without an operator and in 1964 some places still can’t handle direct dialing of long-distance calls. What?” she said into the phone. “Yes. Please... put me through.”
Feeding a quarter into the phone, Betty waited. “Mrs. Davidson? I’m a pen pal of Paul’s and I—”
Jim tensed at the way Betty’s voice cut off.
“He is?” she finally said. “When? I’m so— No. If I do, I will. I’m so sorry. Did he seem okay before—? Thank you. Good-bye.” Betty hung up the phone, then took a deep breath and looked at Jim. “Paul disappeared a week and a half ago. No signs of problems. He just wasn’t in bed one morning.”
“Try calling the other guy.”
But Charlie Bennet had vanished three days ago. He had left school but not made it home. All his desperate mother could tell Betty was that Charlie had been oddly attentive to her and happy in the days before he disappeared.
Jim looked both ways down the street, trying to appear casual as he searched for anyone watching them. “They’ll be labeled runaways. Maybe an article in the local paper. A file at the local police department. Maybe an alert to different departments. Easy enough to make a few things like that go away before records were digitized.”
“What really happened to them?” Betty asked, wiping away tears.
“We know they never showed up again. Do the math.”
“Damn. Damn it to hell. Maybe there is a time patrol. A time patrol that works like the Gestapo.”
“I don’t care if it’s a damned killer cyborg. No one’s getting you, Dr. Knox.”
“Call me Betty, you idiot.” She grasped his arm tightly. “Was anyone sent back at the same time as you to watch Paul and Charlie?”
“They didn’t tell me,” Jim said. “With the first wave disappearing and all, there was a lot of concern about security with the second wave. There was also some talk I overheard about funds being really limited this time. I don’t know how many there were, or who they were going to watch. And the aiming process must be more imprecise than we realized. I was supposed to get here within a day of your arrival, and I was two weeks off. There’s no telling when any others arrived.”
Betty ran her free hand through her hair, keeping a firm grip on Jim with the other. “It’s real. I kept hoping there was some overreaction, that nothing had really gone wrong. Maybe... maybe Paul and Charlie had some warning. Maybe they went underground to avoid some danger.”
“Betty, there’s no trace in 2040 of any activity by them after this. Why wouldn’t they have used the code words you guys were told to employ in public communications if anything went wrong?”
“I don’t know. I’m glad you’re here, Jim. What if they went crazy? Forgot who they were and fled their own homes because of some instability caused by a trip this far back?”
“That hasn’t happened to you,” Jim pointed out.
“Not yet.”
One week had gone by, then another. Jim and Betty, lowering the pitch of their voices and using different pay phones, made calls to the police departments and hospitals around the areas where Paul and Charlie had lived, trying to find out any more information. But as the days passed with no signs of the boys, the police began responding with the word “runaway” and none of the hospitals reported having anyone matching the boys’ descriptions.
Jim and Betty fell into a pattern. They walked to school each day, and then he walked her home in the afternoon, or to the library. One of the hardest things to adjust to had been the inability to have research databases at their fingertips. Instead, Jim and Betty relearned the arts of looking up books in file catalogues and finding items in heavy encyclopedias. They also spent a good part of the weekends together. When not working at drafting her letters, they took breaks by working on his game rules.
Betty occasionally spoke openly of wanting Jim around in case she became mentally unstable, “though my teenage mood swings might make it hard to spot for a while.”
Despite Betty’s protests, Jim also made a habit of sneaking out of his room every night. “I have
to watch your house, and I have to watch for anyone else watching your house,” he explained.
“What if you’re caught, Jim?” Betty asked.
“They don’t have stalkers in 1964. They have love-struck teens. I’m varying the times I sneak away from home, and varying how long I stay out watching your place. That increases my chances of spotting anyone hanging around your home and limits the chances of my being caught.”
“I still feel guilty knowing you’re doing that.” Betty was taking a break as she massaged a hand cramped from manual note-taking. “It’s bad enough that you have to spend so much time with me during the days.”
“It’s not a hardship,” Jim replied. “I kind of like it.”
She smiled. “Then why haven’t you tried to kiss me?”
“Because I don’t trust myself. To stop at just kissing, I mean. I can’t believe how hormone-addled I am sometimes.”
“Tell me about it.” Betty sighed. “You’re right. We know too much about that, about how good it would feel, and our older selves might not have enough control to keep us from going too far. Especially since you’re probably the only boy in our school who knows how to get a girl’s bra off. If we got caught, there’d be hell to pay and you’d never be allowed within a half kilometer of me again.”
“So instead we’re being the models of well-behaved youth, circa 1964.”
“That is so weird, isn’t it?” She picked up her pen. “Back to work, Mr. Jones.”
“Why haven’t I seen Bill around?” his mother asked at dinner.
“Bill?” One of Jim’s closest friends when he was fifteen. They had talked at school in the last few weeks, but that was it. “I guess he’s been busy.”
“He’s been busy?” Mary said. “Maybe you’ve been busy spending every minute with Betty Knox. They’re always together,” Jim’s little sister continued dramatically. “Every minute of every day. Everybody’s talking about it.”
Analog Science Fiction and Fact 03/01/11 Page 6
