Yes. Of course.
I know what my mission is. I know who I am. I should have realized it when the timebelt was first given to me.
I am destined to rule the universe. I am God.
But I must never let them find out, or they will try to kill me.
I think I will kill them first.
If I ever get out of this room, I will kill them all!
I made a point of cautioning Danny, “I don’t know if he can be cured. But I am sure we can never trust him with a timebelt again. I think we’ll have to be very careful to see that he doesn’t get out. A paranoid schizophrenic running amok through time could be disastrous — not only for the rest of the world, but for us as well.”
Danny was thoughtful as he peered through the one-way glass. “It’s lucky that we caught him in time.” His voice caught on the last word; I think — I know — he was a little shaken at seeing the drooling maniac he might have become. I hadn’t gotten used to the sight either.
I said, “I think he wanted to be caught. We got him at a point where he was still conscious of what was happening to himself.”
“If he ever does get his hands on another timebelt,” Danny asked, “he could come back and rescue himself, couldn’t he?”
I nodded. “That’s partly why it was so hard to trap him. We had to get him into a timeline where he had no foreknowledge of where he was going, otherwise he would have jumped ahead to help himself against us. We wouldn’t even have known about him if he hadn’t kept coming farther and farther back into the past; one of us must have eventually recognized what was happening and gone for treatment, then come after this one who was still rampaging around. That’s when I was called in to help. We had to deny him any chance to look into his own future until we could get the belt off him. The fact that he hasn’t been rescued yet is a pretty good sign that this is the end of the line for this variant.”
Danny grinned. “Well, just the fact that we’re standing here talking about it proves that.”
“Uh-huh,” I said. I put my hand on his shoulder. “I’m from a line where they caught it in me before it got this far. I never went through that.” I pointed at the glass. “You, you’re a variant too. You’re from even earlier. Neither of us is in there. He could be incurable — and if that’s the case, then he has to stay in there. Forever. He — and I mean all of us — has to be either completely safe, or the timebelt must be held beyond his reach. The consequences—” I didn’t have to finish the sentence.
Danny bit his lip. “You’re right, of course. It’s just that I don’t like seeing him there.”
“It’s for his own good,” I said. “More important, it’s for our good. If time travel is the ultimate personal freedom, then it’s also the ultimate personal responsibility.”
“I guess so,” he said and turned away from the glass.
I didn’t add anything to that and we left the hospital for the last time.
Today President Robert F. Kennedy announced that “in response to recent discoveries, the United States is initiating a high-priority research program to investigate the possibilities of travel through time.”
So in order to protect myself (and my one-man monopoly), I had to go back and unkill Sirhan Sirhan. Dammit.
The “recent discoveries” he was referring to were some unfortunate anachronisms which I seem to have left in the past.
I thought I had been more careful, but apparently I haven’t. One of the Pompeiian artifacts in the British Museum has definitely been identified as a fossilized Coca-Cola bottle from the Atlanta, Georgia, bottling plant.
Well, I never said I was neat…
I don’t remember dropping the Coke bottle, but if it’s there, I must have. Unless some other version of me left it there—
That is possible. The more I bounce around time, the more versions of me there are; many of us seem to be overlapping, but I have observed Dans and Dons doing things that I never have or never will — at least I don’t intend to — so if they exist in this timeline, they must be other versions, just “passing through.”
Either they’re around to react to me, or I’m supposed to react to them. Or both. Certain fluxes must keep occurring, I guess — I assume there are mathematical formulae for expressing them, but I’m no mathematician — which necessitate two or more versions of myself coming into contact: such as the Don who came back through time to warn me against winning three million dollars at the race track on May 20.
That one was a situation where three versions of me had to exist simultaneously in one world: Dan, Don, and ultra-Don (who was excising himself). Other situations have been more complex; the more complex I become, the more me’s there are in this world.
The whole process is evolutionary. Every time Daniel Eakins eliminates a timeline, he’s removing a nonviable one and replacing it with one that suits him better. The world changes and develops, always working itself toward some unknown utopia of his own personal design.
My needs and desires keep changing, so does the world. (I must be about thirty now. I have no way of keeping track, but I look about that age.) I have lived in worlds dedicated to the pursuit of pleasure — sexual fan-
tasies come true. I had lived in other worlds too, harsher ones, for the sense of adventure. World War II was my private party.
But always, whenever I create a specialized world, I make a point of doing it very, very carefully with one or two easily reversed changes.
I do not want to get too far from home — meaning my own timeline. I do not want to get lost among alternate worlds with no way to get back and no way to find out what changes I made to create that alternate world.
So I make my changes one at a time and doublecheck each one before introducing another. If I decide I do not like a world, I will know exactly how to excise it. (I thought I had done right when I kidnapped the baby Hitler and left him twenty years away from his point of origin, but that had serious repercussions on the world of 1975, so I had to put the baby back. Instead I let Hitler be assassinated by his own generals in 1939. Much neater all around.)
For a while I was on an anti-assassination kick. I have had the unique pleasure of tapping Lee Harvey Oswald on the shoulder (Yes, I know there were people who had doubts about who did it — but I was there; I know it was Oswald) just before he would have pulled the trigger. Then I blew his head off. (John Wilkes Booth, James Earl Ray, and Sirhan Sirhan were similarly startled. In two cases, though, I had to go back and excise my removal of the assassins. I didn’t like the resultant worlds. Some of our heroes serve us better dead than alive.)
Once I created a world where Jesus Christ never existed. He went out into the desert to fast and he never came back.
The twentieth century I returned to was — different.
Alien.
The languages were different, the clothing styles, the maps, everything. The cities were smaller; the buildings were shorter and the streets were narrower. There were fewer cars and they seemed ugly and inefficient. There were slave traders in the city that would have been New York. There were temples to Gods I didn’t recognize. Everything was wrong.