"What the hell are you doing in my apartment?” Janine said.
"Shit!” Martin jumped.
"What did you do?” Chambers said as she dashed to the equipment bag.
Janine backed up toward the wall, stumbling on a stack of neglected textbooks. “How did you get in here?"
"Nothing,” Martin told Chambers. “It just went dead."
"Hit it again.” Chambers dug around in the bag, pushing frantically through masses of wire tangled in the legs of collapsible tripods.
"It's not working,” Martin said. “We need the backup Pauser!” He noticed Janine edging toward the door, and yelled “Hey, stop!” Janine threw a bottle of fluorescent orange nail polish at his head. “Ow, watch it!"
Chambers grabbed the first thing she found in the bag and held it like a gun.
"Freeze!” She pointed an odd-looking wrench at Janine.
Janine stopped and put her hands out in front of her.
Martin rubbed his head. “That wasn't very nice."
"What're you doing in my apartment?"
"Look, we're not gonna hurt you,” Chambers said, flustered. “This is a simple salvage job. Just stay calm and we'll be out of your way soon."
"Salvage? What do you mean, salvage?"
"Time salvage,” Martin said.
Janine stared at him. “You're nuts."
"Yep, he's nuts, I'm nuts, and we'll be out of here in just a minute. Why don't you have a seat while you're waiting?"
Janine walked slowly to the couch and sat down. “What's that stuff in the briefcase?"
"Time."
"Martin..."
"You're stealing my time?"
"Not stealing, recycling. You were wasting it."
"Less talk, Martin."
"How do you know what I do with my time?"
"It's a matter of public record,” he said, looking down at the log. 22:03:29 to 22:14:12, paints toenails. 22:14:13 to—"
"This is your idea of less talk?"
"—22:20:07, stares into space. There's been a lot of this kind of thing since you dropped out of dental school. 22:20:08, encounters C & M Time Salvage.” He looked up at Chambers. “Oh, crap. We're in her timeline."
Chambers went pale. “This is bad."
"Very bad."
"We're gonna have to fix this,” Chambers said.
Martin didn't seem to hear her. “So very bad..."
Chambers snapped her fingers under Martin's nose. “Hey. Hey. We're problem solving now."
"Right, problem solving. What do we do?"
Janine piped up, nervous. “Look, I won't tell anyone you were here. Really."
"The Godfather,” Chambers said.
"Isn't that a little drastic?” Martin said.
"He can get someone to clean up this mess. We've got to ask him for a favor."
"Don't kill me!"
"What?” Chambers and Martin both looked at Janine.
"Don't kill me, I won't tell anyone, I swear."
"Kill you?” Chambers said. “We're not gonna kill you. That would only make it worse."
Martin turned to Chambers. “What are we gonna do with her?"
"Well, we can't just leave her running around in an altered timeline, can we?"
* * * *
"This is your, uh, time machine?” Janine asked.
"Yeah,” Chambers said, brandishing the wrench. “What's your point?"
"Nothing, it's nice."
"Thanks. Have a seat.” Chambers gestured to a ratty plaid couch equipped with seatbelts. Janine picked up the balled sock and held it tentatively until Chambers grabbed it from her and tossed it to the back of the ship. “Stay put,” she said before joining Martin at the consoles. “Are we set?"
"Just about.” Martin gave Chambers a small piece of bright pink paper. She put it in her mouth and Martin did the same with his own tab. He brought another piece over to Janine. “Here, put this on your tongue."
Janine crossed her arms. “Oh, no way. I am not dropping acid with you people. This situation is weird enough as it is."
"You know about zeta-aminobutyric acid?"
"See—already totally weird."
"So you don't know about it ... and I probably shouldn't have mentioned it."
Chambers walked over to the couch. “Mentioned what?"
"ZABA."
"Oh, no, that's perfectly fine—of course you shouldn't have! Just give her the damn tab."
"She doesn't want to take it."
Chambers looked down at Janine. “Does she want her hypothalamus to explode?"
"Oh, come on—you don't have to scare her.” Martin sat down on the couch next to Janine. “It doesn't explode. It just swells up a little. And then it shrivels. So you really ought to take the tab."
"Tell me what it does."
Chambers sighed. “Okay. Have you ever had jet lag?” Janine nodded. “Then you know how it messes with your body clock. Time travel is worse. It turns your body clock into a smoking pile of gears and springs and really worrying boing sounds. And since your body clock also controls digestion and body temperature and hormones and a bunch of other things your time is still only guessing at—"
"So the chemicals in the tab protect the body clock?"
"Usually."
"Chambers."
"Always,” she said. “Really. Take it and you'll be fine."
Janine took the tab from Martin. She gave it a dubious look before putting it on her tongue.
"It actually tastes pretty good."
"That's the glutamate,” Martin said.
"Are you sure? It tastes more like fairy dust. And I think I'm detecting a hint of magic bean."
"Nope,” Martin said, “just glutamate.” He went to his seat at the ship's console and called back to Janine, “You might want to buckle up ... this can be a little bumpy."
* * * *
Chambers stood next to Janine in the ship's tiny bathroom, impatient but doing her best to sound otherwise. “Feeling better?"
"A little. Did we really just jump around in time?"
"If I say ‘yes,’ are you going to throw up again?"
"Probably not."
"Then yes."
"You know I'd really like to go home now."
"I know,” Chambers said. “We're working on that."
Martin joined them, gesturing toward the front of the ship with a small wet/dry vac. “I think we're just about back to normal up there."
"Sorry about your couch,” Janine said.
"Eh,” Martin stowed the vac. “It's seen worse."
Chambers handed him the wrench. “Can you take care of the hookups? We should recharge and I want to start looking for the Godfather."
"Okay,” he said, and turned to Janine. “You should probably come with me. A little walk will do you good."
Martin led the way to the back of the ship while Janine fished a large pack of bubble gum out of her pocket. She popped two pieces into her mouth and offered him the pack.
"Bananaberry Punch,” he said. “And you think we ingest weird chemicals."
Janine grabbed her gum back. “They were out of Wacky Watermelon,” she said, “and anyway it's better than Time Travel Barf."
"If you say so.” Martin opened the dock panel and plugged in atmosphere and power, then tightened the fittings with the wrench.
"Hey,” Janine said, “that's not a gun."
"Yes it is."
"No it isn't. It's a wrench."
"In the future all appliances are combined,” he said as he programmed the atmosphere. “This is a wrench/gun/spatula.” He closed the dock panel.
Janine snapped her gum. “Bullsh—” She stopped suddenly and wrinkled her nose. “Is it supposed to smell like matches in here?"
"Oh, not again,” Chambers hollered from the main cabin.
"Sorry sorry sorry...” Martin called out to her.
"One of these days you'll kill us all,” Chambers shouted.
Martin opened the dock panel and changed h
is atmosphere selection from SO2 to O2. “In my defense,” he said to Janine, “the oxides are awfully close together."
* * * *
"C & M Time Salvage, you're next. Where and when?"
"Earth,” Martin said. “37.8501 North, 15.283—"
Gnor appeared in the monitor and pushed the operator out of the way at the same time Chambers pushed Janine out of comm view. She held her back with one hand and signaled unnecessarily for quiet—Janine was too busy staring at Gnor to make a peep.
"And when do you think you're going?"
"We have time to collect, Gnor,” Chambers said. “Maybe you wouldn't mind letting that nice operator back into his chair so we can get going."
"Yeah, about that. I don't trust you deadbeat Snippers to come up with the time yourselves, so I've got an assignment for you."
"We don't need an assignment, we've got—"
"Those pathetic public domain logs? You get, what, maybe twelve consecutive hours, tops?"
"That's enough."
"Not when you owe me, it isn't."
"We're not collecting illegal time."
"This isn't illegal. The client's Russian. I've arranged for him to buy back his own wasted time. Minus 30 percent, of course. Twenty-five for me, five for you."
"Oh, no way,” Chambers said.
"You got my five hundred hours?"
"No."
"Then you're going to Moscow. 1847. I'm sending you the details now. Collect all the waste until the client leaves town in 1849, then snap up to 1868 and deliver his cut. He'll be expecting you."
"Gnor—"
"You got any extra Splicers on board?"
"Yeah, a couple,” Martin said.
"Good. He's gonna need one. And you're gonna have to show him how to use it."
"Sounds like a lot of trouble for 5 percent,” Chambers said.
"Yeah, it does, doesn't it?” Gnor reached over the operator and hit the launch button. “Do svedanya, losers."
* * * *
"February 5, 1847.28,” Martin said. “3:40 pm. local time. Adjusting the offset to zero and ... here we are."
He opened the door, revealing a swirling gray landscape.
"I thought you adjusted the offset,” Chambers said.
"I did."
"Then what's with the gray void?"
Janine peered out. “Isn't that a courtyard?"
The muffled sound of a carriage on cobblestones drifted through the fog.
"Hello, Moscow,” Martin said as they left the ship.
"Don't touch anything,” Chambers warned Janine.
"Are you sure we shouldn't have left her in the ship?” Martin said as he set up the Pauser at the doorway.
"You want her touching stuff in there?"
"Good point."
* * * *
Chambers entered the drawing room and found a frozen young man, clean-shaven and with short hair revealing nearly perpendicular ears.
Martin shook his head. “He's trying so hard to be dashing."
"And failing miserably,” Chambers said.
Janine snapped her gum. “So who is this guy?"
"Leo Tolstoy,” Martin said.
"The guy who wrote all those big fat books?"
"The guy who will write all those big fat books,” Chambers said. “For the next few years all he'll do is gamble and screw. And he's only good at one of ‘em."
Janine raised an eyebrow. “Should I ask?"
Chambers calibrated the line and pointed at the mass of tangled limbs in the bedroom.
"Wow,” Janine said.
"September 22, 1868.28,” Martin announced. “7:51 am local time."
They stepped out into the courtyard and Martin tapped on the door. A man in a peasant shirt opened it, his dark beard not yet parted in the middle but beginning to show signs of gray.
"Growing his hair long enough to hide his ears was a good move,” Janine said.
"Thank you. My wife suggested it,” Tolstoy said in lightly accented English.
Janine blushed. “Uh, sorry, I didn't know you spoke English."
"I speak many languages.” Tolstoy opened the door wider. “Please, come in. I've been expecting you."
They followed Tolstoy to his study and Chambers put the briefcase on his desk. She popped the case open. Tolstoy stood entranced over the bright mass of threads.
"That is my dissolute youth?” He only glanced up to catch Martin's nod, quickly returning his gaze to his luminous time.
"It's more beautiful than I remembered.” He moved his hand toward the glow, then drew back. “Can I touch it?"
"Not without these.” Martin took a pair of gloves and a small black box from the duffel bag and gave the gloves to Tolstoy. “And not just any gloves—these. Otherwise the time will dissipate.” He held up the box. “This is a Splicer. When you want to use the time, put it in here. Close the box, press in the latch. Anyone within twenty feet will experience the extra time. When you pop the latch open, or when you run out of spare time, you'll be kicked back into your usual timeline at the point you left."
Martin demonstrated, then watched while Tolstoy did it himself.
"You've got it?"
"Yes, thank you."
Martin reached back into the bag and brought out a dull silver canister. “Keep the time sealed in here.” He started moving time from the briefcase to the canister. When 70 percent of it was in the canister, he screwed on the lid and handed it to Tolstoy, who looked wistfully at the briefcase as Chambers closed it.
"Enjoy your time,” she said, heading for the door.
Tolstoy nodded and shifted his attention to the canister.
"It's a shame,” Martin said as he and Janine followed Chambers. “He'd do more with it than Gnor would. Gnor's just gonna sell it to Barbara Cartland."
"It's a shame we're only getting 5 percent,” Chambers said, stopping short when she found a large, scarred, dark-suited man and two of his associates standing in front of their ship.
"You delivered Tolstoy's time?"
"Yes."
"Good. Lev should have his time. And you kept some for yourselves?"
Janine whispered to Martin, “That's not a wrench in his hand, is it?"
"No,” he said, “that's not a wrench."
"The cut is for the bastard who sent us,” Chambers said.
"Ah. You are flunkies."
Chambers sighed. “Flunkies, yes."
"Then I won't kill you.” He held his hand out for the briefcase. Chambers gave it to him.
"Tell your bastard the Russians are ours,” he said. His associates stepped aside and waited, hands on their weapons, until Chambers, Martin, and Janine were on the ship.
* * * *
Chambers punched the comm button. Martin winced.
"You're back,” Gnor said. “Where's my time?"
"With a gigantic scarred-up blaster-toting Russian."
"Orkhan's Tartar. Nice guy, if you don't piss him off. I'm surprised you didn't piss him off."
Chambers fumed. “You knew this guy had a lid on Moscow and you sent us there to collect anyway?"
"I didn't think he'd bother with the nineteenth century, what with all the salvage in the twentieth."
"You son of a—"
"You still owe me time."
"No, you owe us for the Splicer we left with Tolstoy."
"We'll call it interest on your debt. But I do feel bad about this little misunderstanding, so I'm gonna extend your credit for another Rail run. You can pick the destination, but you're leaving today. Don't come back without my hours."
* * * *
"Here we are,” Martin said. “June 24, 1892.00, 3:17 pm local time. Taormina, Sicily.” He followed Chambers and Janine out of the ship and down a steep path that overlooked the ruins of an ancient amphitheatre. “When the Godfather said he was moving back to the Old Country, he really meant it."
* * * *
The old man known as the Godfather Paradox settled himself in his leather desk ch
air with a sigh. The band was still playing a tarantella, the wedding guests still dancing and laughing outside. “Tom,” he said, turning to his assistant, “is it just me, or does this day keep getting longer?"
"It's a long day, Godfather."
"Who's next?"
"A couple of low-level salvagers need a reset in 1983."
"And you're moving them to the front of the line because...?"
"Janine Costa is with them."
"Ah. Send them in."
Chambers and Martin entered the dark-paneled room, Janine hesitating behind them.
"You have a problem,” the Godfather said.
"Yes, sir,” Chambers said.
"And so you come to me."
"Yes, sir."
"No one ever comes just to say ‘Hi.’”
"Well, sir, we'd be happy to drop in—"
"Not you,” the Godfather Paradox rumbled. “You annoy me. Salvagers who don't check their equipment annoy me."
Chambers’ attempt at apology was silenced by the look in the Godfather's eyes. “Nevertheless,” he said, “the timeline must be preserved. This I will do for you."
"Thank you, Godfather."
The old man peered at Janine. “Janine Costa,” he said. “I know you. You're a clever girl."
"Her?” Chambers said, immediately regretting it.
"Don't be fooled by the legwarmers,” the Godfather said. “And don't interrupt.” He waved Janine forward, and she reluctantly stepped out from behind Chambers and Martin. “So,” he said, “you didn't like dental school."
"How did you know—"
"You quit. You must not have liked it. An old man doesn't have to be a personified abstraction of chronological deviance to figure that out.” The Godfather leaned back in his chair. “So, no teeth. That's fine. It takes someone special to spend all day every day looking at teeth. You're not that kind of special. So be it. The question before us, then, is: what kind of special are you?"
"I don't know..."
"A girl your age, so much life ahead of you ... there must be something you want to do."
Janine was so nervous she couldn't even stammer.
The Godfather smiled, just a little. “Those science courses you've already taken don't have to add up to teeth, you know. There are more interesting body parts. Knees ... lungs ... brains..."
"I don't understand..."
He waved his hand dismissively. “Eh, you'll have time to figure it out."
The Godfather turned his attention to Martin and Chambers. “Go back to the day. Ten minutes before you made your mess. Take this girl home and everything will be as it should be."
Asimov's SF, October-November 2009 Page 8
