Incarnations of Immortality

by Anthony, Piers

  "You're right; it's fixed at death," Gawain agreed. "Or at least the initial setting is fixed; those who go to Hell will eventually win their way to Heaven, but they have a few centuries or millennia of misery before they expiate their sins sufficiently. A dead man has only a millionth of the leverage a live man has; that's why it's so much better to set your course correctly in life. But ghosts are borderline cases, as are the Incarnations. They aren't yet completely committed to Heaven or Hell, you see. If they interfere with the affairs of the living, they must answer for it, and the charge goes on their account. That was the risk I took, trying to arrange for my heir. Most people won't risk it, which is why there are so few real ghosts around, but I'm a fool for lineage. So now I'd better undo the damage I've done to your life, or it's Hell for me, literally."

  At last Norton grasped the nature of the ghost's concern. "I'm sorry if you are doomed to Hell, but the damage is done. If I could rejoin Orlene—I mean, if I could get to know her before any of this happened, I surely would. But that's impossible."

  "No, no, it's not!" Gawain said eagerly. "There is a way! I knew you'd be interested. I talked to Clotho about it, and she agreed to arrange it—if you wanted."

  "Arrange what?"

  Now the ghost was diffident. "Well, I assumed you'd like to travel back to see Oriene, before I married her. Of course, there is a small complication—"

  "I don't trust your small complications!"

  "But it's an opportunity that comes only once in a lifetime! What future on Earth have you got, anyway?"

  "Not much," Norton admitted. "That's why I'm touring Mars."

  "I mean, as a living man?"

  Norton halted abruptly, stirring up a swirl of red dust. It settled about his boots more slowly than he was used to, because of the reduced Martian gravity. That dust could really be something in the storm season! "My life will end?"

  "Well, not exactly," Gawain said, shuffling his feet without raising any dust.

  "Maybe you'd better tell me just precisely exactly what the hell you have in mind, to save your soul from Hell."

  "Nice phrasing, that," the ghost said uncomfortably. "You see, I discovered there is one person, one entity, who can travel back in time, and he's just about to vacate his office. So if you get there before then, you can assume it. You're a good man; Clotho says you qualify and she should know."

  "Who is this Clotho you keep mentioning?"

  "Oh, didn't I tell you? She's another aspect of Fate. There are three, you see; she's the spinner. So if you take that job, you'll have the power to travel in time and you can do anything you want, any time you want. You can go meet Oriene when she's a child or when she's seventeen. Maybe you can spare her the whole problem that caused her death and live with her the rest of her life. It's all right with me; I've got Lila now and a son in the making."

  "You're talking paradox! It's impossible to change the past!"

  "Not for this office. This is the one person who is immune from paradox, because he controls time."

  "What's this about an office?"

  "The office of Chronos. The Incarnation of Time."

  "The Incarnation of—you mean, like Thanatos?"

  "Exactly. In fact, Thanatos was the one who suggested it. He talked with you, remember. He likes you. He recommended you for the position, and the Green Mother endorsed it—I tell you, Norton, it's yours if you want it. You can be the new Chronos!"

  Norton was stunned. "What—what happened to the old Chronos?"

  "Nothing bad. He's getting born, or maybe conceived—I'm not sure when it counts—so he has to step down. He'll go to Heaven; his account is in good order."

  "Getting born? But his whole life should be ahead of him!"

  "No, it's behind him."

  "I don't—"

  "Well, that's the complication. You see, Chronos lives backward. He has to, to know when everything has happened—I mean, when it will happen. That's his job—to time things. So when you assume the office, you'll proceed backward in time, until the date of your birth or whatever; then you'll have to step down, because you won't exist any more. But since you're close to forty, you have about as much life behind you as ahead of you; you'll come out even that way. Time is no office for a young man! And you'll be able to be with Oriene again! Just think of that!"

  "My head is spinning! There are so many questions—"

  "Well, come and take a look! If you change your mind, you don't have to take the Hourglass."

  "The Hourglass?"

  "The symbol of Chronos' power. When you take that, you assume the office, till birth do you part. But we must hurry; we have a long way to go, and I promised Clotho you'd be there today."

  "Today! But I need time to think! A decision like this—I never even heard of the office of Chronos before! I—"

  "You can think on the way. Come on—summon a dunescooter; it will take too long by foot."

  Bemused, Norton obeyed. He spoke into his suit radio, and in a moment the scooter was on the way to his coordinates.

  While they waited for it, Norton pondered his decision.

  To live backward—to see Orlene again, alive and happy—yet he knew it would be impossible to interact with her, for that would change history. If he went to her before she married Gawain, so that she never became the ghostbride, then Gawain would not summon Norton to sire the heir, so Norton would never meet her and love her—paradox. It just made no sense! It was impossible. Obviously he would not be able to interact with her, but only to watch her invisibly, the way Gawain had; Norton would be no more than a ghost to her. And yet even that was tempting, as the only way he could see her at all.

  They reached the nearest transport station, then mattermitted to Mars City and from there to Earth. Gawain faded into invisibility during this part of the journey, because not everyone understood about ghosts, especially customs inspectors. But he faded back in when they were alone, continuing to direct Norton to the correct address. This, as it turned out, was in a rundown section of a declining city. There were no pleasant levels here, no wilderness park topping; just a single level of decrepit pavement and foam-concrete apartment buildings. It was the kind of place a stranger was apt to get mugged.

  Sure enough, a group of young toughs spotted him and spread out to cut him off. Norton was weaponless; he had, after all, been exploring Mars until recently, and it would have been pointless to carry Gawain's enchanted sword there.

  "Don't worry about it," Gawain said. "I'll see you through safely."

  "But you can't touch anyone!" Norton muttered. Gawain smiled. Suddenly he was in the uniform of a riot cop, cattleprod at the ready. "Set me up," he murmured.

  Norton caught on. "Hey, sir," he said loudly to his companion. "This ain't a bust; we're just checking for draft dodgers."

  Gawain waved the prod. "Anybody I catch is a dodger. I guarantee it. I never missed a quota yet. A few pricks on max with this and he'll confess. 'Specially if I ram it up the—here, I'll prove it! Wanna make book on whether I can net one within one minute?" He veered to head toward the biggest of the approaching toughs. "Hey, you—c'mere! Got something to show you." He gestured with the prod, smirking.

  The tough slipped between two buildings and vanished. The others faded back warily.

  Gawain brought a phantom radio to his face. "Hey, Snorkel—spread the net; we've got some live meat here!"

  Suddenly the street was empty. Norton smiled; the ghost did have his uses.

  They came to a halt in a rubble-strewn vacant lot. Norton was surprised, because space was precious. Gawain looked at his watch, and that, too, surprised Norton; how could a ghost have a functioning timepiece? "Fifteen minutes to spare; he'll be along soon."

  "Chronos?"

  "Sure. He has chosen this treasured spot to pass on the Hourglass."

  "You mean this is where he was born, so this is where—?"

  "Oh, no, of course he wasn't born here! That address is far away."

  "But you said he liv
ed backward, so—"

  "He does—and you will too. But it's not a literal retracing of his life. That would be pointless."

  "I think it's impossible! The paradox involved—"

  "I told you—Incarnations are exempt from paradox. His life proceeds forward, for him; it just seems backward to us."

  "I'm not sure I like this at all! It doesn't make sense!"

  Gawain's mien became serious. "Believe me, it does make sense; you just have to learn to appreciate the manner it makes sense. Now Fate has gone to some trouble to set up this excellent deal for you. Note that no one else is here to take the Hourglass. The chance of a lifetime is being handed to you on a platter—all because the Incarnations are sorry about that little mistake with the baby. They help one another out in cases like that, you see. You would be ungracious indeed to turn it down at this late hour."

  "But I never asked for it!" Norton protested. "I'm not sure I could handle it! I know nothing about time! All this is so—I mean, why here?"

  "Because this is where they erected a fine monument to Chronos, savior of the world, or something like that. It's a very significant spot for him. For the office."

  Norton looked around. "What monument, where? I think we have the wrong address."

  "In the future, of course," Gawain explained patiently. "He comes from the future, remember. This whole region will be renovated and formed into a splendid park, dominated by the monument. People will throng to visit it. Naturally he feels close to this spot."

  Norton was becoming increasingly nervous. "Why isn't he here, then? There can't be more than ten minutes left."

  "He's approaching from the other direction. You'll see him only at the moment of the transfer of the Hourglass."

  "From the future?" Norton asked, his brain seeming to heat with the effort of digesting this concept.

  "All you have to do is take the Hourglass when you see it," Gawain said. "It will appear right here." He showed where someone had marked a crude X on the packed ground. "You'll have to handle it yourself after that, because we'll be going in different directions."

  "Different directions?" Norton felt like an idiot, unable to organize his thoughts, let alone his attitude.

  "I'll continue forward," the ghost explained. "You'll be going back. You'll be doing your own thing. Actually, I'll probably just relax and go to Heaven, catching it while I qualify so I don't have the chance to mess up again. It doesn't make any difference; you won't see me."

  The ghost's balance would be shifted to positive by this good deed, Norton remembered. Assuming it was a good deed. Well, if it wasn't, Gawain would pay the price! The ghost would not have another chance, for Norton would be committed.

  Assuming he took the Hourglass. He hadn't decided yet whether to do that. He didn't like to be jammed into something like this, especially when there were so many imponderables.

  "Oh, but you have to," Gawain said, guessing his thought. "Believe me, Norton, this is the job for you! Gaea says you're perfect for it, and Clotho says they need a man like you to—" He broke off.

  "To what?" Norton asked with abrupt suspicion.

  "Look out—it's time!" Gawain was peering at the region above the X. "I guess this is farewell, friend. May your past be happy!"

  Norton looked. There was nothing over the X. "It's not time. There's a minute to go."

  "Your watch could be off."

  "Quit avoiding the subject. Why do the Incarnations want me as Chronos?"

  "Well, I'm not really in a position to know, being only a ghost—"

  Norton turned and started to walk away.

  "Okay, I'll tell you!" Gawain screamed. "It's Satan, the Incarnation of Evil! He's up to something—"

  "I'll go to Hell?"

  "No, not you! He can't touch you without your permission—or your acquiescence, anyway. He'll send all humanity to Hell, somehow, if he isn't stopped."

  "How can I stop Satan? I'm only one man—"

  "There it is!" Gawain cried.

  This time he was correct. A tall, white-caped figure had appeared at the marked spot, bearing a bright Hourglass. So it was true! Chronos had arrived from the future. And his office was there for the taking.

  The Hourglass shone like the Grail, its brightness inherent and marvelous. A thin thread of silvery sand fell from its upper segment to its lower. The upper chamber was virtually empty; in fact, in a few seconds the flow would stop, the measure completed. That process had a mesmerizing effect; there was a transcendent significance to the termination of that flow.

  Norton's mind was a whirl of speculations and doubts—but though he had come to no decision, his body acted. He stepped forward, reached up, and grasped the shining Hourglass.

  The figure of Chronos faded out in the fashion it had faded in. The white robe seemed to detach itself from that fading figure and cross over to Norton as he took the Hourglass. He found himself standing on the X spot, the robe coalescing about him, sinking into his body, permeating him and giving him an odd sensation of timelessness and power. Now he held the symbol of his new office—but he did not know what to do. The universe seemed frozen.

  A faint whisper came to him: "Over... over!" Without thinking it out, Norton turned over the Hourglass, just as the last sand passed through the central aperture.

  The new upper chamber, almost full of sand, began to spill into the nether one. The first sand touched the bottom—

  And the universe changed.

  Chapter 5 - LACHESIS

  It took Norton a moment to figure out the nature of the change, for it was subtle, but he did know it was horrendously significant. He remained in the vacant lot, and the other two figures remained also, and the wind still blew the flag at the top of a nearby building. All ordinary things.

  Yet the two figures did not seem to be looking at him, but rather through him. He glanced down at himself and found himself solid, though surrounded by the diaphanous white robe, which seemed to be more mist than material. What was the matter with those people?

  Then he realized one aspect of what bothered him: one figure was Gawain the Ghost—but who was the other? A man in a Martian hiking costume—

  Himself! Standing and watching—what?

  "Hi!" he said, somewhat tremulously, but the figures did not respond.

  It was coming clear. This was himself—as he had been a minute ago, waiting for Chronos to appear. Himself—moving backward in time. Evidently the former Norton, oriented toward the future, could not perceive the present Norton, oriented toward the past.

  And that flag on the building—Norton could feel the wind and knew in which direction it was blowing. But the flag was extending in the opposite direction. Either the wind at the top of the building differed from the wind below—or the flag was blowing into the wind.

  Norton fished in his pocket for a fragment of paper. He held it up to the wind. It tugged directly into the wind—the opposite of what it should have done. He let it go—and it fluttered windward like a salmon forging upstream. Strange!

  He stretched his arm so that his wrist slid out from the sleeve of his new white cloak and he looked at his watch.

  It was running backward.

  So it was true! Chronos lived backward. The course of his life was opposite to that of the rest of the universe. The flag tugged into the wind because he was perceiving it backward. He felt the wind going back toward its source—but that did not change its actual effect.

  He could not communicate with his former self, because he was now in a different frame. People were geared to perceive things of their own frame; they simply could not relate to something outside it. He himself had not seen what there was there to see, standing on the spot marked X: himself as Chronos. So now he knew how it was. In fact, he reminded himself, that was no stranger out there; it was Norton-normal. He had followed normal time until he took the Hourglass and turned it over to start the sand of his term of office. Now he followed the new time. He could relate to the rest of the world, perceivin
g it clearly, because he understood it. His new life continued forward—in reverse.

  But what was he supposed to do now? Surely there was more to this job than merely existing!

  His eye fell on the ring Orlene had given him. Maybe this could help. "Sning, are you still functioning?"

  Squeeze.

  "That's a relief! Do you know anything about this time reversal effect?"

  Squeeze. Excellent. Now all he needed to do was figure out the right questions. Sning's presence was an enormous comfort to him at the moment! "Is it true that I am living backward, so am seeing the world like a holoshow played in reverse?"

  Squeeze.

  "But how can I relate to normal people, then?"

  Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

  Of course; he had phrased his question improperly. "Can I relate to normals?"

  Squeeze.

  "Is there something I can do to effect this interaction? So they can relate to me, too? So they can see me?"

  Squeeze.

  "Does it have anything to do with the Hourglass?"

  Squeeze!

  So the Hourglass was important; that was hardly a surprise! Norton contemplated the instrument. The thin line of sand was still gently glowing, off-white in color, a steady thread connecting top and bottom.

  Very well. This flow measured time, and it was evident that, though the instrument was called an Hourglass, it actually measured his full career. He had about thirty-nine years ahead of him—behind him—until the date of his birth, when presumably the sand would run out and he would have to pass the thing on to someone who had lived before him. That much he understood and accepted now, albeit grudgingly.

  But obviously there was more to this office than merely living backward. Surely Chronos had a job to do—and surely, then, Chronos had to relate to the real world. The Hourglass enabled him to do that—if he only could figure out how.

  He studied the instrument. There were no visible controls on it. He turned it over—and suffered an abrupt wrenching of his being. Hastily he turned it back, and normality was restored. What had happened?

  In a moment he worked it out; if the Hourglass measured his life, reversing the instrument would reverse his life. He would be undoing what he had just been doing; he would be returning to the moment of his assumption of the office, a few minutes hence. The wrenching was because living backward biologically was not normal; his blood would be reversing its flow, and his digestion—just so. He would lose his free will, unraveling the just-made skein—and to what point? To renege on the commitment he had made when he took the Hourglass? That was not his way! So he would not do that again! He could continue his natural course, though that was now opposite to that of the rest of the universe. He would see this office through—whatever that might mean.