Rayguns Over Texas

by Michael Moorcock

  “You have Water in that briefcase?” he asked, fear and adrenaline finally stripping away his manners. He’d been waiting for the man to volunteer the information, but he wasn’t much for conversation unless you prodded him a bit.

  “Yes, but it won’t grant you immortality. It’s been converted into a Water Uranium suspension with a--“

  “I don’t care to be immortal,” said Hiram, guiding the groaning old truck around a corner. “I just thought maybe you could use it against them.” He motioned behind him with his thumb, and the Packards seemed to sense it. They revved their engines and pulled close again.

  “The suspension in this case has only one possible use.”

  “Well, it was worth a shot. They’re supposed to have them airplanes can fly back in time. Wish they’d fly back to when these yay-hoos didn’t know where we were.”

  “You may get your wish.”

  “What’s that?”

  “If we get to Texas alive, I’m going to turn all of this back. The whole war. Everything. What do you think of that?”

  Hiram would have thought any other man in the world was crazy, but he knew Albert was serious. Reading about the Eighth Air Force’s Rewind Missions in the magazines was one thing; best as he could understand, those time reversals were localized occurrences. They wouldn’t affect anything more than a mile or so from the aircraft. But it sounded like Einstein was talking about something more dramatic, and that scared the hell out of him.

  “How do you intend to do that?”

  Einstein studied him with that famous face, the one he’d recognized immediately, even without the wild hair and mustache. His eyes were wet with sadness or fear, and he held onto his briefcase with both hands like a child with his blanket.

  “Hiram, you’re risking your life to get me to Texas, so perhaps you should know what you’re risking it for. The Texans are going to build a bomb.”

  Hiram nearly swerved off the road. “What kind of bomb? If you mean to build another of them atomic bombs, then maybe I will just pull over and let you walk.”

  Einstein shook his head. “No, not one of those. Never one of those. It’s more of a time bomb, though that’s not exactly what the Texans are expecting. I’ve been sending them the plans, sneaking out bits of information at a time. I simply want to make amends for my part in the atrocity that is Hiroshima. The Texans, they want to free the magic so that everyone in the world has an equal share, but that would only exacerbate the problem. We don’t need more people making weapons, we need less.”

  “So why are you helping them if you don’t see eye to eye?”

  “They are manufacturing the bomb to my specifications. I could never have built such a thing under the King’s thumb.” Einstein patted the briefcase. “Once I put this inside it, the device will be functional. But that’s where our paths diverge, hmm? These Texans, they chase one goal, and I chase another. Let them believe that this Bluebonnet Betty of theirs will free the magic. I know what it will really do. It will turn back this world, all of it. Not too far, mind you. Violating history is not something to be taken lightly. But if time were to reverse to a point before I joined my efforts to the Americans, I am confident they could not discover magical fission without my assistance.”

  “That’s all well and good,” said Hiram, “but who’s to say you don’t just join up with old Georgie again? If time goes backwards, you ain’t gonna remember none of this.”

  “That is where science and alchemy must bow to faith. When time reverses, I believe nothing will be exactly the same. I must hope this new version of me will be less prideful. Perhaps he will see the dangers inherent in such unchecked power. And if he does not, then I hope he has the opportunity to do all of this over again.”

  Hiram’s head was hurting as badly as his back, and he wished to hell those boys chasing them would give them some room to breathe. His mind reeled at the thought of years of history being wiped away. When had Einstein come to America? He couldn’t remember exactly, but it was when he was a kid. Life hadn’t been wonderful, and he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to live it all again. But putting the alchemist out now would be the same as sentencing him to life in prison. And though Einstein’s plans weren’t comforting, they were far less worrisome than what business the King would put him to if they drug him back to the Compound.

  “My life hasn’t been much to write home about,” said Hiram. “I don’t think I’d care to go through it all again. Besides, I’m starting to get a little success. A little money. There’s a feller out in Nashville told me I got a million dollar voice. I might be somebody famous one day, like you. I hate to turn back now.”

  “You are right. Things will not necessarily follow the same path. But perhaps you could have a better childhood this time. And if you are the musician you claim, then I expect you will be so again. Admittedly our experimentation has been limited, but certain aspects of people’s nature do not change. If there is music in your soul, it will remain there.”

  Hiram drank the last of the whiskey in his flask and fished in his pockets, once again, for pills he knew weren’t there. They’d been gone before he left Alabama. He clenched his jaws together, waiting for the worst of the pain to pass, and he wondered what he’d done to be born with a bent-to-hell spine.

  “How far are you planning to turn back time?”

  “As little as possible,” said Einstein. “I came here in the thirties. Some time before that.”

  “How about nineteen twenty-three?”

  “Why would you suggest that year?”

  “It’s the year I was born. In September. I ain’t in the best of shape, in case you ain’t noticed. There’s plenty of reasons for that, but mostly it’s cause of my back. I was born with something wrong. It’s all bent up and causes hellacious pain more often than not. I throw back some whiskey and pills, and it don’t make everything better, but it helps a little. If you were to go back before I was born, is there a chance I might come out right? I mean, be born without this problem?”

  “There is certainly a chance, though there is an equal chance you will retain your affliction.”

  Hiram nodded. “I don’t care for the idea of messing with time. But if you got to do it, you go back that far at least, would you?”

  “I think nineteen twenty three would be an ideal year,” said Einstein. “Life was fine then.”

  Lights flooded the highway ahead, and for a second, Hiram thought the sun had risen early. Then he realized he’d reached the border, and the Texans were bathing them in floodlights. Armed soldiers stood atop several guard towers, and three tanks, emblazoned with the Lone Star insignia, idled alongside the highway ahead, guns directed straight at them. A contingent of U.S. border guards manned their own towers, rifles pointed at the sky. The way west was unobstructed, but the road back in from Texas was gated and heavily guarded. The men on the towers watched the cars approach with casual interest. They apparently hadn’t gotten word that the great fugitive Einstein was headed their way. Another man, wearing the same stiff blue uniform, peeked out of a booth and waved at Hiram so he might slow his approach.

  No doubt sensing time had run out to capture their escaped alchemist, one of the Packards rammed into Hiram’s back bumper. Metal screamed and the truck shuddered, but he kept it riding the center stripe. They slammed into him again, and then fell behind as Hiram pulled within firing distance of the soldiers. The Packards braked, and Hiram shot across the Texas border with a whoop of triumph, the loose bumper clattering against his back tire and the engine whining from the strain of the chase. Once he’d passed, the tanks pulled into the road, and the soldiers hurried to drop a striped crossbar over the highway, shutting off entry through the Texas half of the emigration station. The U.S. border control agents finally realized that something was amiss, but they had no intention of testing their rifles against the Texas tank
s.

  Whoever was in charge over here had known they were coming, and Hiram was damn thankful. He doubted his old truck would have held out much longer.

  He eased it to a stop, removed his shaky hands from the wheel, and wiped them on his pants. Blood thundered in his head, and he wore a wild grin. He hadn’t realized how worked up he’d become. The engine ticked, and Einstein breathed heavily. Hiram started to laugh.

  “Welcome to Texas, Mr. Einstein.”

  The Vice President

  Vice President Ferguson stood in the far corner of the hanger, watching as Einstein and the crew of engineers he’d been assigned put the finishing touches on Bluebonnet Betty. Men pulled and tugged at a proliferation of levers and dials sprouting from the bomb’s surface, a process that was, according to the alchemist, just as vital to the bomb’s proper function as the Water they’d already inserted into the fission chamber. Unable to contain her excitement, Ma crossed the hanger, her footsteps echoing off concrete and steel, and she took up a supervisory position just off Einstein’s left shoulder.

  “You’re sure everything is in order?”

  Einstein sighed. “Your engineers have done a fine job. I’ve told you, this bomb will function as planned. What more do you want from me?”

  “The United States won’t sit around waiting for us to move. I’d be shocked if they haven’t already sent a squad of their Special Forces freaks across the border to track you down and bring you back.”

  She thought she saw Einstein shudder at the prospect and suppressed a smile. She didn’t care for the man, but he was a necessary evil. Wasn’t he responsible for elevating King George to an even greater threat than he already was? It had been a coup to win the traitor to their side, but that didn’t mean she trusted him.

  “They will come or they won’t,” said Einstein. “Either way, this device must be properly calibrated. Else this entire endeavor has been a waste of effort.”

  “Then please finish.”

  “Another few minutes should suffice. Just have your men ready to leave.”

  She’d already seen to that. The B-29 waited outside the hanger, belly open to receive its payload. A squadron of P-51 Mustangs, ironically purchased from an American defense contractor, were ready for escort duty. Their pilots smoked cigarettes and traded nervous jokes. The Pool was in Virginia, and there was a lot of airspace between there and Texas. But the United States would never expect such a sudden attack, even in the wake of Einstein’s defection. It was entirely out of the Republic’s character, and that would be their chief advantage.

  Flying low to the ground would hopefully allow them to avoid radar, and if civilians spotted them, they’d likely be mistaken for American aircraft. If the military got wind of them, then their only shot was for the Mustangs to keep the enemy at bay long enough for the bomber to release its payload over the Immortality Compound. When Betty blew, all bets would be off. Einstein said it would release whatever power was binding the magic in place, and nobody knew what would happen then.

  Whatever it was, it would be preferable to that miserable man in Washington holding all the cards. Ma only wished she could see his sallow face when he learned that somebody had pissed in his sandbox.

  “When this is done, I’d like to keep you in our employ,” she said. Einstein pushed a confused looking young engineer out of the way and turned three of the knobs a fraction of a turn. “We’ll need you to help us harness all of that free magic roaming the countryside.”

  Einstein turned a tired scowl her way. His frustration and impatience was etched into every wrinkle on his face. The man didn’t even have the decency to hide his dislike of her.

  “I thought you Texans wanted to liberate the magic, not usher it into another prison cell.”

  “We do want to liberate it, but only to make it available for everyone. Do you expect us to gain access to the magic and then turn our noses up when it comes our way? Oh, Houston’s a little idealistic, I’ll grant you. He likes to think sending all of this magic into the world will empower mankind and help it all come together. But I don’t think he has a real understanding of human nature.

  “It puts everyone on equal footing, that’s for sure. That’s the goal. Take away America’s advantage. But once it’s a free-for-all, you can damn well bet I’m going to put Texas in a position to succeed. If I did any less, I wouldn’t be worthy of office.”

  Einstein studied her for several uncomfortable seconds. He scratched his stubbly head and leaned against Betty’s side, as if the air around him was too heavy for a man of his age. He licked at parched lips, then turned away from her and tapped a fingernail against one of the device’s gauges. “This isn’t exactly right. Look, you need to dial it in to thirty. No, move please, and I’ll show you.”

  Einstein did not speak to her again until the B-29, with Betty in its bomb bay, lifted off with its compliment of fighter planes. They stood together on the insufferably hot tarmac amid a host of ground crew and government officials. Grim-faced General Eaker barked commands. Einstein’s inscrutable gaze followed the planes until they were nothing more than tiny, black blotches against the darkening skies. His eyes were red and wet, and he looked as if he’d aged ten years in the last twenty-four hours.

  “If you’ll kindly excuse me, I think I’ll retire to my quarters,” said Einstein, never taking his eyes off the horizon. “I think I’ve had quite enough of this world.”

  The Scientist

  Albert slid beneath the blankets and closed his eyes for the last time. He relished the cool feel of the pillow against his cheek and the clean smell of bleach on the sheets. He tried to take it all in, to hold it to him somehow. These were likely his last hours, and though he was too tired to spend them doing anything else, he wanted, at the very least, for his last sensations on earth to be pleasant.

  He would not die, not technically. But he would be gone. All of them would. Possibly far enough gone that they’d never exist again.

  The Vice President’s intentions had shaken him to the core, and he cursed his own naiveté. He wasn’t playing on the level with the Texans, so why had he expected them to be any less duplicitous? They didn’t want the magic free at all. They wanted it for themselves. The moment she’d spoken, a host of alternate futures had exploded into life in his mind, and none of them were any better than the one he planned to eradicate. As long as that sort of power existed, there would be someone willing to exploit it.

  It wasn’t the Pool’s fault. It was his. By itself, the Pool was nothing more than a wonderful gift from Creation. But with tampering, his and others, it had become something it shouldn’t have.

  In those last moments, in the choking heat of that hanger, Albert had performed a few small changes to Betty’s calibration. A few degrees here, a pressure adjustment there. Now all of his mistakes could be erased.

  Betty would still be his salvation. She would turn back the world to a time before he’d hired his brilliance to such an unworthy cause, but not to a time when he might once again be tempted to turn from science to alchemy, nor to a time when he might still grow to become a person of such reckless pride. Time would be turned back far enough that such temptation might never occur, at least not to him. Far enough, perhaps, that the Pool could have a good, long rest without worrying about the presence of humanity.

  There was a real possibility that, if Betty did her job, Albert Einstein would never be born. Or any of the other wolves who chased immortality and power through the forests of human weakness.

  That would not be such a bad thing.

  Albert turned on the radio, not quite ready to fall asleep forever. He tuned in a fuzzy station and was delighted to hear Hiram--or Hank, as he called himself professionally--speaking in his southern American drawl.

  “Thank y’all for letting me play for you. I’ve got one more, and I’ll dedicate this one to my scienti
st friend. Maybe this is the last one I’ll ever play, at least in this life.”

  Hiram sang a low, mournful tune that brought tears to the scientist’s eyes.

  It was the sort of melancholy that the end of the world deserved.

  “There is no greater satisfaction for a just and well-meaning person than the knowledge that he has devoted his best energies to the service of the good cause.”

  --Albert Einstein

  Appendix A: The Essential Texas Writers

  To make this list, we need to define a Texas writer. This is hard to clarify. To some, it is a person born and raised in the state. That definition knocks out many of the famous Texans in history—David Crockett, Sam Houston, Howard Waldrop, and many more. Perhaps it is someone who once lived in Texas. Many others fit that description but perhaps it is too wide a definition. Samuel R. Delany lived in Texas for a while working as a gulf coast shrimper in the late ’60s while working on one of his novels, and I don’t think of him as a Texas writer (though we would be more than happy to claim him). Do we include those raised in Texas who soon left? This would include folks like Gene Wolfe who went to school in Texas attending Texas A&M University but soon left and was drafted into the Korean War. He later returned and got a degree from the University of Houston before heading north. I included him in my all Texan anthology Cross Plains Universe and was happy to have him.

  What about those born and raised elsewhere who managed to move to Texas as adults and made their home here for a long while? This would include authors such as Chad Oliver, Michael Moorcock, Walter M. Miller, Howard Waldrop, Bradley Denton, and a host of others. Ultimately, Texas is a state of mind and attitude, hard to define, but easy to see.

  There is an old joke that says “Never ask a man if he is from Texas. If he is, you will know it by the way he acts and talks. And if he isn’t, you’ll just embarrass him.”