The Time Traveler's Almanac (196 page)

The first generation colonies have long since guttered into senescence and extinction; so have the third and fourth generations. Of the first generation, barely one in five prospered – but that was sufficient. Those that live spawn prolifically. Planets are common, rocky terrestrial bodies far from rare, and even some of the more exotic types (water giants, tide-locked rocky giants in orbit around red dwarfs, and others) are amenable to human purpose. Where no planets are available, life is harder, prone to sudden extinction events: nobody survives the collapse of civilization aboard a space colony. But the tools and technologies of terraforming are well-known, and best practice, of a kind, develops. Many of the dwellers have adapted to their new habitats so well that they’re barely recognizable as primates anymore, or even mammals.

SLIDE 6.

Three billion years pass.

Two huge, glittering clouds of sentience fall through each other, a magnificently coordinated flypast of fleets of worlds meshing across the endless void. Shock waves thunder through the gas clouds, and millions of massive, short-lived new stars ignite and detonate like firecrackers. The starburst is indeed enormous. But for the most part, the inhabited worlds are safe: swarms of momentum-transfer robots, their numbers uncountable, work for millions of years ahead of and behind the event to direct the closest encounters. Emergent flocking rules and careful plans laid far in advance have steered colonies clear of the high-risk territories, marshaling brown dwarfs as dampers and buffers to redirect the tearaway suns – and both galaxies are talking to each other, for the expanding sphere of sentience now encompasses the entire Local Group.

Earth is no longer inhabited in this epoch; but the precious timegate remains, an oracular hub embedded in a cluster of exotic artificial worlds, conducting and orchestrating the dance of worlds.

There are now a hundred million civilizations within the expanding bubble of intelligence, each with an average population of billions. They are already within an order of magnitude of the Stasis’s ultimate population, and they are barely a thousandth of its age. The universe, it appears, has started to wake up.

SLIDE 7.

The crystal ball is clouded …

The Kindest Lies

They walked along a twisting path between walls of shrubs and creepers, and a few short trees, growing from mounds of damp-smelling soil. The path appeared to be of old sandstone, shot through with seams of a milky rock like calcite: appearances were deceptive.

“You played me like a flute,” said Pierce. He held his hands behind his back, as was his wont, keeping an arm’s reach aside from her.

“I did not!” Her denial was more in hurt than in anger. “I didn’t know about this until he, you, recruited me.” Her boot scuffed a rock leaning like a rotten tooth from the side of a herbaceous border: tiny insects scuttled from her toes, unnoticed. “I was still in training. Like you, when you were tapped for, for other things.”

They walked in silence for a minute, uphill and around a winding corner, then down a flight of steps cut into the side of a low hill.

“If this is all simply an internal adjustment, why doesn’t Internal Affairs shut everything down?” he asked. “They must know who is involved…”

“They don’t.” She shook her head. “When you call in a request for a timegate, your phone doesn’t say, ‘By the way, this iteration of Pierce is a member of the Opposition.’ All of us were compliant – once. If they catch us, they can backtrack along our history and undo the circumstances that led to our descent into dissidence; and sometimes we can catch and isolate them, put them in an environment where doubt flourishes. If they started unmaking every agent suspected of harboring disloyal thoughts, it would trigger a witch hunt that would tear Stasis apart: we’re not the kind who’d go quietly. Hence their insistence on control, alienation from family and other fixed reference points, complicity in shared atrocity. They aim to stifle disloyal thoughts before the first germination.”

“Huh.” They came to a fork in the path. A stone bench, stained gray and gently eroded by lichen, sat to one side. “Were you behind the assassination attempt, then?”

“No.” She perched tentatively at one side of the bench. “That was definitely Internal Affairs. They were after him, not you.”

“Him—”

“The iteration of you that never stayed in the Hegemony, never met Xiri, eventually drifted into different thoughts and met Yarrow again under favorable circumstances—”

Pierce slowly turned around as she was speaking, but in every direction he looked there was no horizon, just a neatly landscaped wall of mazes curving gently toward the zenith. “It seems to me that they’re out of control.”

“Yes.” She became intent, focused, showing him her lecturer’s face. “All organizations that are founded for a purpose rapidly fill with people who see their role as an end in itself. Internal Affairs are a secondary growth. If they ever succeed, there won’t be anything left of the Stasis but Internal Affairs, everyone spying on themselves for eternity and a day, trying to preserve a single outcome without allowing anyone to ask why…”

Not everything added up. Still thinking, Pierce sat down gingerly at the other side of the bench. Not looking at her, he said: “I met Imad and Leila, Xiri’s parents. How could they have survived? Everyone kills their own grandparents, it’s the only way to get into the Stasis.”

“How did you survive your graduation?” She turned and looked at him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “You can be very slow at times, Pierce.”

“What—”

“You don’t have to abide by what they made you do, my love. Corrupt practices, the use of complicity in shared atrocities to bind new recruits to a cause: it was a late addition to the training protocol, added at the request of Internal Affairs. It may even be what sparked the first muttering of Opposition. We’ve got the luxury of unmaking our mistakes – even to go back, unmake the mistake, and not enter the Stasis, despite having graduated. Agents do that, sometimes, when they’re too profoundly burned-out to continue: they go underground, they run and cut themselves off. That’s why there was no agent covering the Hegemony period you landed in. They’d erased their history with the Stasis, going into deep cover.”

“You say ‘they.’ Are you by any chance trying to disown their action?” he asked gently.

“No!” Now she sounded irritated. “I regret nothing. She regrets nothing. Withholding the truth from you for all those years – well, what would you have done if you’d known that your adoring Xiri, the mother of your children, was a deep-cover agent of the Opposition? What would you have done?” She reached across and seized his elbow, staring at him, searching for some truth he couldn’t articulate.

“I … don’t … know.” His shoulders slumped.

“All those years, you were under observation by other instances of yourself, sworn in service to Internal Affairs, reporting to Kafka,” she pointed out. “Honesty wasn’t an option. Not unless you can guarantee that all of those ghost-instances would be complicit in keeping the secret, from the moment you were recruited by the Stasis.”

“That’s why, back in college—” The moment of enlightenment was shocking. Yarrow’s mouth, seen for the first time, wide and sensual, the pale lips, his reaction. He looked across the bench, saw the brightness in her eyes as she nodded. “I’d never betray her.”

“It happened more than once, according to the Final Library. They can make you betray anyone if they get their claws into you early enough. The only way to prevent it is to make a palimpsest of your whole recruitment into the Stasis – to replace your conscript youth with a disloyal impostor from the outset, or to decline the invitation altogether, and go underground.”

“But, I. Him. I’m not him, exactly.”

She let go of his elbow. “Not unless you want to be, my love.”

“Am I your love? Or is he?”

“That depends which version of you you want to be.”

“You’re telling me that essentially I can only be free of Internal Affairs if I undo what they made me do.”

“There’s a protocol,” she said, looking away. “We can reactivate your phone. You don’t have to reenlist in the Stasis if you don’t want to. There are berths waiting for all of us on the colony ships…”

“But that’s just exchanging one sort of reified destiny for another, isn’t it? Expansion in space, instead of time. Why is that any better than, say, freeing the machines, turning over all the available temporal bandwidth to timelike computing to see if the wild-eyed prophets of artificial intelligence and ghosts uploaded in the machines were onto something after all?”

She looked at him oddly. “Do you have any idea how weird you can be at times?”

He snorted. “Don’t worry, I’m not serious about that. I know my limits. If I don’t do this thing we’re discussing, him upstairs will be annoyed. Because Kafka will have all those naively loyal young potential me’s to send on spy missions, won’t he?” Pierce took a deep breath. “I don’t see that there’s any alternative, really. And that’s what rankles. I had hoped that the Opposition would be willing to give me a little more freedom of action than Kafka, that’s all.” He felt the ghostly touch of a bunch of raisin-wrinkled grape joints holding his preteen wrists, showing him how to cast a line. He owed it to Grandpa, he felt: to leave his own children a universe with elbow room unconstrained by the thumbcuffs of absolute history. “Will you still be here when I get back?”

She regarded him gravely. “Will you still want to see me afterward?”

“Of course.”

“See you later, then.” She smiled as she stood up, then departed.

He stared at the spot where she’d been sitting for what seemed like a long, long time. But when he tried to remember her face all he could see was the two of them, Xiri and Yarrow, superimposed.

Saying Good-bye to Now

Twenty years in Stasis. Numerous deaths, many of them self-inflicted, ordered with the callous detachment of self-appointed gods. They feed into the unquiet conscience of a man who knows he could have been better, can still be better – if only he can untangle the Gordian knot of his destiny after it’s been tied up and handed to him by people he’s coming to despise.

That’s you in a nutshell, Pierce.

You’re at a bleak crossroads, surrounded by lovers and allies and oh, so isolated in your moment of destiny. Who are you going to be, really? Who do you want to be?

All the myriad ways will lie before you, all the roads not taken at your back: who do you want to be?

You have met your elder self, the man-machine at the center of an intrigue that might never exist if Kafka gets his way. And you’ll have mapped out the scope of the rift with Xiri, itself rooted in her despair at Stasis. You can examine your life with merciless, refreshing clarity, and find it wanting if you wish. You can even unmake your mistakes: let Grandpa flower, prune back your frightened teenage nightmare of murder. You can step off the murderous infinite roundabout whenever you please, resign the game or rejoin and play to win – but the question you’ve only recently begun to ask is, who writes the rules?

Who do you want to be?

The snow falls silently around you as you stand in darkness, knee-deep in the frosted weeds lining the ditch by the railroad tracks. Alone in the night, a young man walks between islands of light. A headhunter stalks him unseen, another young man with a heart full of fears and ears stuffed with lies. There’s a knife in his sleeve and a pebble-sized machine in his pocket, and you know what he means to do, and what will come of it. And you know what you need to do.

And now it’s your turn to start making history …

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

We would like to thank the following people for their talent and assistance: our UK editor, Nic Cheetham, at Head of Zeus and our U.S. editor, Liz Gorinsky, at Tor as well as our agents, Sally Harding and Ron Eckel, and all the good folks at the Cooke Agency for making this adventure come to pass. Thanks also to Dan Read, a good friend and bookseller extraordinaire, for finding and sharing obscure books with us and to Paula Guran, for her much appreciated friendship. Many thanks to the remarkable Michael Moorcock for his continued support and for also pointing us in more than one right direction, to the tireless Theresa Goulding who is always there to lend a hand and a smile, to Richard Scott for helping us track down a couple of stories; to Fritz Foy for help finding our way through the permissions maze; to Edward Gauvin for his expertise and translation talents; and to those editors who helped us along the way, including John Joseph Adams, Jetse de Vries, Gavin Grant, Alisa Krasnostein, Samuel Montgomery-Blinn, Bill Schafer, and Jonathan Strahan. We’d also like to thank Tyler Owen and the good people over at the Fermentation Lounge. Sustenance for both the brain and body! And last but not least, we owe a huge debt of gratitude to our editorial assistants, Dominik Parisien and Tessa Kum, for embarking on this adventure with us and keeping us sane. We couldn’t have done it without you.

About the Editors & Nonfiction Contributors

For twenty-five years, Hugo Award winner
Ann VanderMeer
and World Fantasy Award winner
Jeff VanderMeer
have been traveling into the past to bring back incredible stories for generations of readers. Their recent
The Weird: A Compendium of Strange & Dark Stories
(Atlantic Books, UK) covered 100 years of weird fiction in a single massive 750,000-word, 1,200-page volume. The VanderMeers have also edited such iconic compilations as
Steampunk
and
The New Weird,
both considered definitive for those subgenres. Other recent books include
The Thackery T. Lambshead Cabinet of Curiosities
and
The Kosher Guide to Imaginary Animals.
This “literary power couple” (
Boing Boing
) has been profiled on national NPR, the Weather Channel,
Wired.com
, and the
New York Times
’s book blog. Together or separately, they have been keynote speakers around the world, including at MIT, the Library of Congress, and Utopiales. They also have been brought in to conduct creativity workshops for the likes of Blizzard Entertainment (World of Warcraft) and help run Wofford College’s Shared Worlds, a unique SF/Fantasy teen writing camp. Ann served as editor in chief of
Weird Tales
for five years and currently serves as a consulting editor for
Tor.com
. She also recently edited
Steampunk III: Steampunk Revolution.
Jeff’s recent
Wonderbook: An Illustrated Guide to Creating Imaginative Fiction
is the world’s first image-driven writing book. His forthcoming Southern Reach trilogy was optioned by Paramount Pictures through Scott Rudin Productions and will be published by Farrar, Straus and Giroux (U.S.), HarperCollins Canada, and Fourth Estate (UK). The VanderMeers live in Tallahassee, Florida, with four cats and twenty thousand books.