“Oh, no. It finally won, the same way it had won the original one—at least, I think it was the original one. I’ll have to ask the computer sometime. But an untouched German Empire, stretching from all of Europe into all of the Saharan regions and across to the Urals, was able to do what America did. They had the bomb, too. Fortunately, Hitler died, they tell me, in 1947, before delivery systems were perfected. The hierarchy that followed him wanted to consolidate its empire, and so an informal peace was struck, dividing the world in much the same way as the pope had back in Columbus’ time. They have Europe, the Middle East, much of Africa, and Russia. The U.S. has a Chinese ally—no Mao, remember—that is weak but which it supports, as well as southern Asia and the Pacific, and most of Latin America is under its thumb.”
He left Herb, his mind reeling from the magnitude of the deed. And yet, somehow, the world had come out pretty much the same, only more messed up than ever. He rejoined the mystery woman. “I see what you mean about complicated. And your original present isn’t there, either?”
She shrugged. “No, not really. It doesn’t mean anything to me anymore, anyway. I can’t even remember it too well, and I don’t think I want to. What’s the difference? I mean, you feel bad about that guy Marx, right?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Well, forget it. Eric and his things were out to kill Marx all the time. They don’t know why, since the end came out pretty much the same in any case. Time jokes abound even with the big things.”
He was thunderstruck. “What do you mean, ‘they were out to kill Marx all the time’?”
“Not at the start. At least, they don’t think so. The first trip was more of a test. I doubt if that fellow—” she halted, as if trying to remember something.
“Sandoval?”
She nodded. “Yeah, Sandoval. They don’t think he knew this. But, you see, if they just went back and did it, we could go back and undo it. We would be able to spot just where and when they showed up, like they did with you, then go back to a point just before that. But that time is pretty crowded for the Outworlders. Almost all of the team has been somewhere in that time period, and not anywhere in Germany.”
“I see. So, if Lind, say, went back, he’d be in America someplace, taking up the life he’d lived when he was there before.”
She nodded. “That’s where they have it all over us. They can take their creatures and come into a time for just an hour or so, staying who they are. That’s about the limit before you become somebody else regardless. Since they can use their creatures for this, they don’t have to worry about becoming somebody else the way we do. They make the damned things, any of which can be sent back for an hour or so. They breed them in tanks somewhere back here in the Safe Zone, or so it’s said.”
“Blondie was real.”
“Eric, they call him. He has a lot of names, but that’s the one they use the most. Somebody has to direct those things. But we don’t know if he has ever stayed more than an hour in any time frame. We know nothing about him, except that he is the leader of the enemy’s time project.”
“So they put Sandoval and Marx together in the square, materialize just before the fateful meeting, and if I hadn’t acted, they would have shot him, having him in the right time and place so they could go to the very spot.”
She nodded. “It was the only way to be sure, since so much of Marx’s early life isn’t really known.”
A funny thought struck him. “They said Soviet generals rediscovered the time project. The idea of Soviet officers ordering the death of Marx and a German victory over Russia just doesn’t ring true.”
“No, it doesn’t,” Herb put in, coming over and joining the conversation. “They would never allow such a thing. That’s what makes Eric so fascinating. He’s the wild card in the game. They trusted him, and he double-crossed them as well, although there are no consequences, of course, because there now never were any Soviet generals. We don’t know what kind of game he’s playing, but it’s one to win, that’s for sure. Win for Earth and win for him, too. I suspect, at the expense of his bosses.” He paused a moment. “Um, I see you two have met.”
He looked over at the woman. “I still don’t know your name,” he pointed out.
“When you’ve nightsided past your trip point, you may as well pick any name,” she told him. “I call myself Dawn, because it’s a new start and I kind of like the sound of it. I have lots of other names, but they don’t mean nothing to me anymore.”
He liked her, felt a strange attraction for her, although he couldn’t really say why. She reminded him of a lot of people, but he couldn’t really put his finger on even one. Certainly she was no looker, but there was a lot inside there, including much that was probably never revealed to anyone, yet that spark showed through. And she had raised an interesting question. “What’s this trip point business?”
“You can reach a trip point in several ways,” Herb told him. “One way is to become so damn many people you’re more them than you. It’s an occupational hazard. Another way is to stay in a time period too long, so that your self-identity is changed. Despite the folks you’ve been, you’re still Ron Moosic, because at the core of your mind that’s who you are. But if another personality became dominant, got into that core, then you wouldn’t be Moosic anymore; rather, you’d be somebody else.”
He thought of Sister Nobody, who was still very much a part of him, and grew nervous. “I had one that I couldn’t really fight,” he told them. “If I hadn’t been attacked by those creatures, I might never have gotten control. So, you mean that if I stayed as her too long, then she’d be the dominant personality?”
Herb nodded. “Yes, indeed. And Ron Moosic would become one of the subordinate elements—but he could never rise again. The only reason we were able to get you here with your old body intact was that you still are Ron Moosic. You see, that’s what makes you different than any of us. We—none of us—are the folks we started out as being. And the more you’re somebody else, the less real that original fellow becomes.”
He began to understand Dawn’s problem now. She was still new at this herself, she’d said, so she wasn’t long, perhaps, past her trip point. Somewhere, deep down, there was an identity crisis that she was only just starting to be able to handle. He sympathized, and realized with a nervous start that it was probably his fate, too. He frowned, a sudden thought striking him as he realized the extent of Dawn’s comment on the insanity of time. “Uh—is there, or was there, a Ron Moosic in my own time—now?”
Herb shrugged. “Beats the hell out of me. If there is, you could go home—but to a nastier America than you left, and a dirtier world. You’d just merge with him and fade out the old you. Certainly, the time project still exists, but it sure wasn’t invaded by any Marxist fanatics. There aren’t any anymore. I heard her explain that to you.”
“Wait a minute! If Sandoval and I never went back, nobody was there to kill Marx! This is crazy!”
“Oh, there’s a logic to it; it’s just not the kind you’re used to. No, time rippled from the event and flattened out at the edge. The main line now has Marx killed by whoever the hell Sandoval was in that time. He died there, too; so it’s complete. You didn’t kill him—that fellow born in that time did, for whatever purpose. It doesn’t matter a bit. Marx and his murder ain’t even a footnote in the history books anymore. Only the computer and us nightsiders and Eric and his computer know the real truth. That leaves you hanging in a paradox time can easily resolve. It just removes the paradox, meaning you. Either you go back and merge with yourself and that’s the end of it, or you assimilate elsewhere, or you stay nightsided. Any way, you’re no problem to the fabric of time now. See?”