Analog SFF, November 2006

by Dell Magazine Authors

  "It just goes to show that you can't choose your killer any more than you can choose your family. Hell, they're lined up around the block to kill you. In fact, even if you stop her, that just means someone else with every bit as much reason to hate you will take you out next week or next month. And then I'll have this same case dumped in my lap again. Maybe it's just not worth the effort to stop your killer."

  "Quit calling her my killer,” said Draconis irritably. “She's my would-be killer, and she's about to become a piece of dead meat. Now, how does this work? You called it prevenge, so I assume I get to take my own pre-revenge and kill the bitch myself. Self-defense. You're just an interested bystander?"

  "That's correct."

  "So give me a gun. Or do I have to take care of that myself?"

  "I have a gun for you—when the time comes. I've tried to prevent this three times, and it keeps happening. So no matter what I do, it looks like someone's going to get killed here tonight."

  "You afraid I'll shoot you too?” Draconis seemed amused.

  "I wouldn't put it past you,” admitted Kyle.

  "Why would I do something like that?"

  Because it's your nature. Aloud, he said, “I'm a witness, and who's going to believe a story about a guardian angel from the future?"

  "Then we sit and wait,” said Draconis. “Just stay close enough that you can pass me the gun when the time comes."

  Kyle pulled a leather chair next to the desk, sat down, and stared at the door. Right on schedule, Bertha Gilligan entered the room behind her pushcart. She seemed surprised to see two men confronting her.

  "Hello, Bertha,” said Kyle.

  "You know my name?"

  "I know a lot more than that. I know what you plan to do, and it's my job to stop you from killing him. Scum like Draconis isn't worth one second of prison time."

  "I don't care about what happens afterward.” Her face reflected her hatred. “You don't know what he did to my husband and my little girl."

  "I know."

  Startled, Bertha reached into the bucket and pulled out her gun. “You think my Naomi is the only person he ever murdered or had killed? You think my Eddie is the only man he ever hounded to the grave?"

  "I know they're not."

  "Stop talking and give me the goddamned gun!” yelled Draconis.

  "Then why do you want to save him?” she asked.

  "I'm not saving him, Bertha,” said Kyle gently. “I'm saving you. You've suffered enough."

  You were wrong, Harvey. The world's not black and white. It's twenty-three shades of gray. In fact, you were wrong about a lot of things. Sometimes it's an insult to the murderer to feel sympathy for his victim.

  "My suffering doesn't matter,” said Bertha. “He's got to die.” She swung her gun, aiming at Draconis.

  "He will,” promised Kyle.

  "How?"

  "Like this.” Kyle pulled his pistol and fired point-blank at Draconis's head.

  "Jesus!” Bertha stared in rapt fascination as the man fell to the floor in the identical position that Kyle had initially seen him. “Jesus!"

  "Get out of here, Bertha. He's dead. You have a life to live."

  "Not much of one,” she answered bitterly.

  "If you don't make the most of it, then even in death he's won. Are you going to let a scumbag like that beat you even after he's been shot and killed?"

  "Who are you?” she asked suddenly.

  "I'm the man who just gave you back the rest of your life. Don't make an Indian giver out of me. Go home and think about it. Security will be here any moment, and the cops won't be far behind."

  "What about you?” she asked.

  "I'll be fine. Now leave!"

  She stared at him, then pushed her cart into the hallway and over to the elevator.

  Kyle left the gun behind, covered with his own clear fingerprints (which, thanks to Harvey Bloom and a few simple jaunts back in time, were not in any database). That way, nobody would accuse Bertha, and of course Bechtold's alibi would hold up. When he heard the footsteps of a security guard running down the hall, he pulled out his temporal transformer, went forward to his own time, and walked out of the empty office.

  Now he was a murderer. Even if the case baffled the cops, the Knights Temporal would solve it easily enough. Would Harvey Bloom order his termination? He couldn't imagine any circumstance under which Bloom wouldn't order his death.

  But Bloom had a problem. Every Knight Temporal was a moralist, just as he was. Kyle wouldn't make any effort to hide from them. He'd simply explain the situation, the events that led to his action, and bet his life that they would understand. Situational ethics? Some of the Knights, he was sure, would volunteer to stay in the past and protect him from more of Bloom's operatives.

  And then he was going to present Bloom with the same moral conundrum he himself had just faced ... because even if one did manage to kill him, wouldn't Bloom's own rules allow him to take his own prevenge?

  The thought brought an amused smile to his face.

  Copyright © 2006 Mike Resnick & Kevin J. Anderson

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Man, Descendant by Carl Frederick

  All lives have dark moments, but some go deeper and last longer than others—a lot longer

  Only the engines matter. I'm never unaware of them. When they throb, I throb. When they complain, I worry, and when they're happy, droning like locusts on a summer afternoon, I feel content."

  Conrad hit the “End Log Entry” button and a synthesized voice said, “Time stamp:

  Explorer Clock: 12 February 2048—09:04. Capsule Clock, 12 February 2048—08:59.” The computer monitor echoed it in text.

  Yes, he had reason to be obsessed with the engines. This wasn't an everyday space jaunt where if the engines falter, you simply drift along until you fix them. These engines held his tiny craft motionless against the gravity of a 0.4-solar-mass black hole. Engine failure meant oblivion.

  A chime rang over the thrum of the engines—mail call. Conrad returned his attention to the monitor and triggered the incoming message. He smiled, seeing the familiar faces of the Titan expedition crew—his expedition until a few months ago when he'd agreed to be pulled away to join his brother for the relativity experiment. But hearing the animated commentary from his former crewmates and seeing the great frozen vistas of Titan framed by the majesty of Saturn and its rings, he questioned his choice—his lonely choice.

  * * * *

  The Librarian-scientist moved softly through the gallery, then stopped to experience the sculpture, “Galaxies in Collision.” It was glorious: the lines, planes, the brilliant interplay between the angles of electric and magnetic fields. As he moved around the work, the field lines subtly changed, electric and magnetic in harmony. At other times the clash of the undulating fields, the angles between electric and magnetic, was staggering. Brilliant.

  It was good being of the world again: signaling with others, going to museums, experiencing life. He'd been closeted away too long at the university, working on his translation.

  The Librarian moved to the next exhibit, the alien sculpture—more than a sculpture. The electromagnetic interactions were primitive, yet strong and vibrant. The compact form spoke of a wondrous yet inaccessible culture. Concentrating on the piece, The Librarian quivered with regret. He did not see the Keeper approach.

  "Is it really you?” signaled the Third Keeper of the Art. “Haven't seen you for many lesser-years. Does this mean your translation is finally done?"

  "Yes,” signaled the Librarian, radiating an aura of modesty.

  "Splendid. I'd love to scan it. Could you show it to me—now?"

  The Librarian understood that the request, although polite, was more in the nature of a command. One did not deny the Third Keeper.

  "Yes, of course. Come."

  They glided from the museum, then skimmed across the university to the Librarian's lab.

  The Librarian took up the ancient artifact and
patted it. Long ago he had been given the task of translating this most personal relic from the deserted ship. Carefully, he opened the cover of the alien document, immersing himself in its power, feeling the familiar link with the unknown creature that had written it.

  The Third Keeper of the Art emitted a quivering field pulse.

  "Oh, I'm sorry,” signaled the Librarian. “After all this time, I'm afraid I've become obsessed with the alien craft."

  "Did the alien's document tell how it happened to come to our world?"

  "Only hints.” The Librarian-Scientist reached for the translation cylinder and presented it to the Keeper. “The rendering may not be good but I hope it is at least coherent."

  The Keeper assumed the static resting posture, popped the cylinder, and began scanning.

  * * * *

  Entry 34

  Explorer Clock: 14 April 2048—09:00

  Capsule Clock: 13 April 2048—18:10

  This journal is for you, Jennifer. I hope you'll want to read it when you're old enough to appreciate your father's line of work.

  It's been three months since the launch. I spent the last two of them alone in this little probe ship that they call the Time Capsule, and the first month on board the mother ship with the others, including Mark, my twin brother.

  NASA conceived the mission only two years ago—just after a compact black hole was discovered about a light-month from the Sun. It's hard to understand why it wasn't discovered earlier. But it is perpendicular to the plane of the solar system so its perturbation on the planets is slight.

  NASA wanted a closer look and, with the new Richardson Field Effect engines, a spacecraft could get there in five or six weeks, and the Richardson Field would also protect the ship's crew from black hole tidal effects. The relativity experiment was a bonus.

  We're attempting to verify Einstein's prediction that time runs more slowly near a black hole. I'm in the Time Capsule up close to the hole and Mark is farther away in the mother ship, the Gravity Explorer. Where I am now, it's a one-percent effect. But the plan calls for taking the Capsule in to the five-percent depth. So, after three months, I'll be about five days younger than Mark. They say they can measure that.

  There's a clock here on the Capsule that lets me measure how my brother and I drift apart in age. It has two displays. One shows my local time and the other the time on the Explorer. It works by measuring the gravitational shift of the interstellar hydrogen-alpha line. (Forgive me, Jennifer. We astrophysicists talk like this.)

  It's clear that the Time Capsule was a rush job, cobbled together from other craft. I smile whenever I think of the escape pods. Yes, pods. There are two of them, and that is quite silly considering this is a one-man mission.

  I've got to admit, though, that the experiment itself is a little silly. They could have used an atomic clock or even a couple of dogs. But NASA funding these days is as much a function of the Public Relations Office as the Science Assessment Group.

  Karen and Jennifer: I love you and miss you terribly. Exploring is a disease, but this mission is my cure. I'm sure of it.

  * * * *

  "This is remarkable,” signaled the Keeper. “Your annotations: are you comfortable with them?"

  The Librarian exuded polite humor. “You mean the units of time?"

  "Yes, actually."

  "The spacecraft had a module, almost a handbook, for learning their language. And there was information on atomic spectra, and also basic properties of electromagnetic radiation—very fundamental data. But with them, we could convert their units to ours."

  "Odd that the properties were recorded,” signaled the Keeper, low, more to himself than to the Librarian. “One would expect any intelligent creature to know them almost from birth.” He returned to the scan.

  * * * *

  Entry 39

  Explorer Clock: 21 April 2048—09:01

  Capsule Clock: 20 April 2048—16:31

  I just received a video transmission from Karen and Jennifer. I miss them terribly. Jennifer is about to start school and is bubbly with enthusiasm. Karen is suffering from empty nest syndrome.

  It's maddening to get a transmission every day, and know that it was broadcast a month ago. Holding a conversation where it takes a couple of months for a simple exchange is hard. The speed of light is such a nuisance.

  I'm lucky Mark is nearby on the Explorer. I need the conversation—and the companionship.

  * * * *

  Entry 46

  Explorer Clock: 28 April 2048—09:00

  Capsule Clock: 27 April 2048—14:50

  NASA has found a way for me to kill time. They're relaying TV programs to me via the Explorer. Watching them with my feet up on the console, I can almost forget where I am. Not that I want to, for space is beautiful.

  I'm looking out my top viewport now, and I'm overwhelmed. The Gravity Explorer gleams white in the black of space. It is magnificent in its complexity. The antenna array, every conduit, every viewport, the docking bay, the engines: beauty. It looks like a painting. Against the unnaturally bright, point-sharp stars, it doesn't seem real. I've gazed at the sky almost every night since I was a kid. Stars should twinkle. In space they don't.

  Only the slow movement of the Explorer against the field of stars lets me know that I'm not frozen in time.

  * * * *

  "He has a sense of aesthetics,” signaled the Keeper. “So like us, he is."

  "I was sure of that,” the Librarian responded, “when I first saw the sculpture in the museum—"

  "Yes. Quite right."

  "But then I discovered that the sculpture was not intended as such."

  "Oh?"

  "It's in the translation, Keeper."

  "Ah. Then, I'll continue scanning."

  The Librarian emitted a soft aura of art appreciation. “But, despite misunderstanding the sculpture, I do agree; the alien appreciated art."

  * * * *

  Entry 51

  Explorer Clock: 03 May 2048—09:02

  Capsule Clock: 02 May 2048—13:42

  My chess game is improving. Mark and I are pretty evenly matched, and we play for several hours each day. It helps fight the isolation and tedium. Despite the beauty visible through the viewport, it's hard to avoid boredom. I even find myself watching the relayed sitcoms.

  I'm glad I have a good astronomical telescope on board. When I'm not making scientific measurements, I keep the scope trained on the Gravity Explorer. Just seeing its huge antennas aimed toward Earth makes me feel closer to home.

  * * * *

  "I wonder what a sitcom is,” signaled the Keeper.

  "Not a clue. Something to do with aesthetics, I imagine. He also uses the notation ‘TV’ for it."

  "Many of the entries are missing."

  "He explains that in the journal,” signaled the Librarian. “A failure of his technology."

  "A pity. Completeness would be useful in a document this important to our cultural unity."

  "Cultural unity?” The Librarian loosed a flash of surprise.

  The Keeper emitted an avuncular aura. “You do know the Theon Council wanted to have the spacecraft destroyed?"

  "But why?"

  "Who can tell with Theons? They called it an abomination.” The Keeper flashed tolerant humor. “I went over their heads to the Union of the People. I argued—successfully, I'm proud to say—that the destruction of the craft would be a desecration of art."

  The Keeper radiated a blocking field, a discouragement to communication. Then he signaled, “But let me return to scanning your amazing translation."

  * * * *

  Entry 54

  Explorer Clock: 06 May 2048—10:40

  Capsule Clock: 05 May 2048—14:36

  The Explorer team has authorized me to take the Capsule to the five-percent time-dilation depth. I'm a little worried about the engines. Mark says I'm paranoid. I told him I'd like to be around to see my daughter grow up, and he just laughed.

  I'm moving the Cap
sule deeper. The engines sound fine.

  * * * *

  Entry 55

  Explorer Clock: 07 May 2048—09:04

  Capsule Clock: 06 May 2048—11:21

  The Earth clock is moving faster than it should be. I've radioed to Mark, and they confirmed it. There has been an error—not a serious one. I've dropped to about the twelve-percent dilation effect.

  I asked if I should move the ship back out a little. They calculated and said no. Either I use the engines to come all the way out, or stay where I am. Coming out a little and stopping would take too much power. Until they figure out exactly what happened, they'd rather I didn't touch anything.

  So for the moment, I'll stay put and keep watch on the engines. They seem happy—purring like kittens. They get their fuel from matter falling into the black hole, and since the Time Capsule is a little deeper now, the matter density is higher. So the engines have less trouble sucking in fuel.

  I'm almost three days younger than Mark now; he has taken to calling me “Kid Brother.” Funny guy.

  Time is running noticeably slower for me than for Mark. I notice he seems to be talking faster, and his voice is higher. To him, I must seem lethargic. I find I try to compensate by speaking rapidly and raising the pitch of my voice. Transmissions from Earth are also affected, of course, but the Gravity Explorer has signal processing equipment. They slow the transmissions down for me. I'm still able to watch the relayed TV programs without them looking like old silent films.

  * * * *

  Entry 62

  Explorer Clock: 14 May 2048—11:20

  Capsule Clock: 13 May 2048—01:00

  I'm beginning to think of Mark as my superior. That's ridiculous. I guess it's because I'm so dependent on him now; he's my conduit to home. And he seems to be smarter than I am. When we play chess, he makes his moves more quickly and he thinks faster, reacts faster. I understand that this is just because of the time-dilation effect, and he's really no more agile than I am. But I can't help it. It feels as if he's smarter and faster.

  * * * *

  Entry 63

  Explorer Clock: 14 May 2048—14:19

  Capsule Clock: 13 May 2048—03:18

  What I've worried about has happened. The engines were getting too rich a matter influx and sputtered out. Luckily, I was able to spot the problem and cut down the flow. It only took seconds but even so, the Time Capsule sank down to about the 100-percent time dilation level.