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The man who folded himself. David Gerrold.
OCR by Quentin J. Tarantino (October 2005)
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This book is for Larry Niven, a good friend who believes that time
travel is impossible. He's probably right.
Oh wad some power the giftie gie us
To see oursels as others see us!
It was frae monie a blunder free us,
An foolish notion.
Robert Burns
To a Louse, stanza 8
* * *
In the box was a belt. And a manuscript.
* * *
I hadn't seen Uncle Jim in months.
He looked terrible. Shrunken. His skin hung in wrinkled folds, his
complexion was gray, and he was thin and stooped. He seemed to have aged ten
years. Twenty. The last time I'd seen him, we were almost the same height.
Now I realized I was taller.
"Uncle Jim!" I said. "Are you all right?"
He shook off my arm. "I'm fine, Danny. Just a little tired, that's
all." He came into my apartment. His gait was no longer a stride, now just a
shuffle. He lowered himself to the couch with a sigh.
"Can I get you anything?"
He shook his head. "No, I don't have that much time. We have some
important business to take care of How old are you, boy?" He peered at me
carefully. "Huh? I'm nineteen. You know that."
"Ah." He seemed to find that satisfactory. "Good. I was afraid I was
too early, you looked so young" He stopped himself. "How are you doing in
school?"
"Fine." I said it noncommittally. The university was
a bore, but Uncle Jim was paying me to attend. Four
hundred dollars a week, plus my apartment and my car.
And an extra hundred a week for keeping my nose clean.
"You don't like it though, do you?"
I said, "No, I don't." Why try to tell him I did? He'd know it for the
lie it was.
"You want to drop out?"
I shrugged. "I could live without it."
"Yes, you could." he agreed. He looked like he
wanted to say something else, but stopped himself instead. "I won't
give you the lecture on the value of an education. You'll find it out for
yourself in time. And besides, there are other ways to learn." He coughed;
his whole chest rattled. He was so thin. "Do you know how much you're worth
right now?"
"No. How much?"
He pursed his lips thoughtfully; the wrinkled skin folded and unfolded.
"One hundred and forty-three million dollars."
I whistled. "You're kidding."
"I'm not kidding."
"That's a lot of money."
"It's been properly handled."
One hundred and forty-three million dollars !
"Where is it now?" I asked. Stupid question.
"In stocks, bonds, properties. Things like that."
"I can't touch it then, can I?"
He looked at me and smiled. "I keep forgetting, Danny, how impatient
you were are." He corrected himself, then looked across at me; his gaze
wavered slightly. "You don't need it right now, do you?"
I thought about it. One hundred and forty-three million dollars. Even
if they delivered it in fifties, the apartment wasn't that big. "No, I guess
not."
"Then we'll leave it where it is," he said. "But it's your money. If
you need it, you can have it."
One hundred and forty-three million dollars. What would I do with it
what couldn't I do with it? I had known my parents had left me a little
money, but One hundred and forty-three million /
I found I was having trouble swallowing.
"I thought it was in trust until I was twenty-five," I said.
"No," he corrected. "It's for me to administer for you
until you're ready for it. You can have it any time you
want."
"I'm not so sure I want it," I said slowly. "No I
mean, of course, I want it! It's just that " How to explain? I had
visions of myself trapped in a big mansion surrounded by butlers and
bodyguards whose sole duty was to make sure that I dusted the stacks of
bills every morning. One hundred and forty-three million dollars. Even in
hundreds, it would fill several closets. "I'm doing okay on five hundred a
week," I said, "All that more "
"Five hundred a week?" Uncle Jim frowned. Then, "Yes, I keep forgetting
There's been so much Danny, I'm going to increase your allowance to two
thousand dollars a week, but I want you to do something to earn it."
"Sure," I said, delighted in spite of myself This was a sum of money I
could understand. (One hundred and forty-three million I wasn't sure there
was that much money in the world; but two thousand dollars, yes, I could
count to two thousand.) "What do I have to do?" "Keep a diary."
"A diary?"
"That's right."
"You mean write things down in a black book every
day? Dear diary, today I kissed a girl and all that kind of
stuff?"
"Not exactly. I want you to record the things that
seem important to you. Type out a few pages every day,
that's all. You can record specific incidents or just make
general comments about anything worth recording. All I
want is your guarantee that you'll add something to it
every day or let's say at least once a week. I know how
you get careless sometimes."
"And you want to read it ?" I started to ask.
"Oh, no, no, no " he said hastily. "I just want to
know that you're keeping it up. You won't have to show it
to me. Or anyone. It's your diary. What you do with it or
make of it is up to you."
My mind was working two thousand dollars a
week. "Can I use a dictation machine and a secretary?"
He shook his head. "It has to be a personal diary,
Danny. That's the whole purpose of it. If it has to pass through
someone else's hands, you might be inhibited. I want you to be honest." He
straightened up where he sat, and for a moment he looked like the Uncle Jim
I remembered, tall and strong. "Don't play any games, Danny. Be truthful in
your diary. If you're not, you'll only cheat yourself. And put down
everything everything that seems important to you." "Everything," I repeated
dumbly.
He nodded. There was a lot of meaning in that nod. "All right," I said.
"But why?"
"Why?" He looked at me. "You'll find out when you write it."
As usual, he was right.
* * *
I'm not fooled. Uncle Jim is trying to teach me something. This isn't
the first time he's thrown me into the deep end of the pool.
* * *
Okay, this is it. At least this is todayТs answer:
There's a point beyond which money is redundant.
This is not something I discovered just this week.
I've suspected it for a long time.
Five hundred dollars a week "spending money"
( like what else are you going to do with it? ) gives a
person a considerable amount of freedom to do whatever
he wants. Within limits, of course but those limits are
wide enough to be not very restricting. Increase them to
two thousand dollars a week and you don't feel them at
all. The difference isn't that much. Not really.
Okay, so I bought some new clothes and records and a couple of other
fancy toys I'd had my eye on, but I'd already gotten used to having as much
money as I'd needed (or wanted), so having that much more in my pocket
didn't make that much more difference. I just had to start wearing bigger
pockets, that's all. Well
I like to travel too. Usually, about once or twice a month I'd fly up
to San Francisco for the weekend, or something like that. Palm Springs,
Santa Barbara, Newport, San Diego. Follow the sun, that's me.
Since Uncle Jim increased my allowance, I've been to Acapulco, New
York, and the Grand Bahamas. And I'm thinking about Europe. But it's not all
that fun to travel alone and nobody I know can afford to come along with me.
So I find I'm staying home just as much as before.
I could buy things if I wanted but I've never cared much about owning
things. They need to be dusted. Besides, I have what I need.
Hell, I have what I want and that's a lot more than what I need. I have
everything I want now. Big deal.
I think it's a bore.
* * *
So that's what Uncle Jim wanted to teach me.
Money isn't everything. In fact, it isn't anything. It's just paper and
metal that we trade for other things.
I knew that already; but it's one thing to know it theoretically; itТs
another thing to know it from experience.
Okay. So, if money isn't anything, what is?
* * *
I didn't exactly drop out of the university I just sort of faded away.
It was a bore.
I found I had less and less to say to my classmates. I call them my
classmates because I'm not sure they were ever my friends. We weren't
talking on the same levels.
Typical conversation: " can I borrow five bucks, is she a good lay,
does anyone know where I can score a lid, can you spare a quarter, did you
hear what he said in class, I couldn't get my car running, do you know
anyone who's had her, my ten o'clock class is a bitch, lend me a buck
willya, what're we gonna do this weekend " They couldn't sympathize with my
problems either.
"Problems? With two thousand dollars a week, who's got problems?"
Me.
I think.
I know something is wrong I'm not happy. I wish I knew why.
* * *
I wish the other shoe would drop. Okay, Uncle Jim.
I got it about the money. Where's the rest of the lesson?
* * *
I think I will tell this exactly as it happened and try to do it
without crying. If I can.
Uncle Jim is dead.
I got the phone call at eleven this morning. It was one of the lawyers
from his company, Biggs or Briggs or something like that. He said, "Daniel
Eakins?" I said, "Yes?"
He said, "This is Jonathan Biggs-or-Briggs-or-something-like-that and I
have some bad news for you about your uncle."
"My uncle " I must have wavered. Everything
seemed made of ice.
The man was trying to be gentle. And not doing a very good job of it.
He said, "He was found this morning by his maid "
"He's . . . dead?"
IТm sorry. Yes.
Dead? Uncle Jim?
"How ? I mean "
"He just didn't wake up. He was a very old man."
Old?
No. It couldn't be. I wouldn't accept it. Uncle Jim was immortal.
"We thought that you, as next of kin, would like to supervise the
funeral arrangements "
Funeral arrangements?
" on the other hand, we realize your distress at a time like this, so
we've taken the liberty of " Dead? Uncle Jim?
The telephone was still making noises. I hung up.
* * *
The funeral was a horror. Some idiot had decided on an open-casket
ceremony, "so the deceased's family and friends might see him one more
time."
Family and friends. Meaning me. And the lawyers.
No one else.
I was surprised at that. And a little disappointed. I'd thought Uncle
Jim was well known and popular. But there was nobody there apparently I was
the only one who cared.
Uncle Jim looked like hell. They had rouged his cheeks in a sickly
effort to make him look like he was only asleep. It didn't work; it didn't
disguise the fact that he was a shriveled and tired old hulk. I must have
stared in horror. If he had seemed shrunken the last time I had seen him,
today he looked absolutely emaciated. Used up.
No. Uncle Jim wasn't in that casket. That was just a piece of dead
meat. Whatever it was that had made it Uncle Jim, that was gone this empty
old husk was nothing.
I bawled like a baby anyway.
The lawyers drove me home. I was moving like a zombie.
Everything seemed so damnably the same it had
all happened too fast, I hadn't had time to realize what it
might mean, and now here was some dark-suited
stranger sitting in my living room and trying to tell me
that things were going to be different.
Different ? Without Uncle Jim, how could they be the same?
Biggs Ц or Ц Briggs Ц or Ц something Ц like - that shuffled some papers
and managed to look both embarrassed and sorrowful.
I said, "I think I have some idea. I spoke with Uncle
Jim a few weeks ago."
"Ah, good," he said. "Then we can settle this a lot easier." He
hesitated. "Dan Daniel, your uncle died indigent." I must have looked
puzzled. He added, "That means poor."
"What?" I blurted. "Now, wait a minute that's not
what he told me "
"Eh? What did he tell you?"
I thought back. No, the lawyer was right. Uncle Jim hadn't said a word
about his own money. Carefully, I explained, "Uncle Jim said that I had a
bit of money . . . and he was supposed to administer it. So naturally, I
assumed that he had some of his own or that he was taking a fee "
Biggs-or-Briggs shook his head. "Your uncle was taking a fee," he said,
"but it was only a token. You haven't got that much yourself."
"How much?" I asked.
"A little less than six thousand."
"Huh?"
"Actually, it's about five thousand nine hundred and something. I don't
remember the exact amount." He shuffled papers in his briefcase.
I stared at him. "What happened to the hundred and forty-three
million?"
He blinked. "I beg your pardon ?"
I felt like a fool, but repeated, "A hundred and fortythree million
dollars. Uncle Jim said that I had a hundred and forty-three million
dollars. What happened to that?"
"A hundred and forty-three mill " He pushed his
glasses back onto his nose. "Uh, Mr. Eakins, you have six
thousand dollars. That's all. I don't know where you got
the idea that you had anything like "
I explained patiently, "My Uncle Jim sat there, right where you're
sitting now, and told me that I was worth one hundred and forty-three
million dollars and that I could have it any time I wanted." I fixed him
with what I hoped was my fiercest look. "Now, where is it?"
It didn't faze him at all. Instead he put on his I'dbetter-humor-him
expression. "Now, Daniel Dan, I think you can understand that when a person
gets old, his mind starts to get a little well, funny. Your Uncle Jim may
have told you that you were rich he may even have believed it himself! but "
"My Uncle Jim was not senile," I said. My voice was cold. "He may have
been sick, but when I saw him, his mind was as clear as as mine."
Biggs-or-Briggs looked like he wanted to reply to that, but didn't.
Probably he was reminding himself that we'd just come from a funeral and I
couldn't be expected to be entirely rational. "Well," he said. "The fact
remains that all you have in the accounts that we're administering is six
thousand dollars. To tell the truth, we were a little concerned with the way
you've been spending these past few weeks but your explanation clears that
up. There's been a terrible misunderstanding "
"Yes, there has. I want to see your books. When my parents died, their
money was put in trust for me. It couldn't all be gone by now."
"Mr. Eakins " he said. I could see that he was forcing himself to be
gentle. "I don't know anything about your parents. It was your Uncle Jim who
set up your trust fund, nineteen and a half years ago. He hasn't added to it
since; that hasn't been necessary. His intention was to provide you with
enough money to see you to your twenty-first birthday." He cleared his
throat apologetically. "We almost made it. If he hadn't instructed us to
increase your allowance two months ago, we probably could have made it
stretch "
I was feeling a little ill. This lawyer was making too much sense. When
I thought of the spending I'd been doing ouch! I didn't want to think about
it.
Of course, I hadn't spent it all I hadn't been trying. I started going
over in my mind how much I might have left in cash and in my checking
account. Not that much, after all. Maybe a few hundred.
And six thousand left in trust. No hundred and forty-three million
But Uncle Jim had said
I stopped and thought about it. If I'd really been worth a hundred and
forty-three million dollars, would I have grown up the way I did? Brought up
by a trained governess in Uncle Jim's comfortable but not very big San
Fernando Valley home, sent to public schools and the State University?
Uh-uh. Not likely.
If I'd been worth that big a pile, I'd have been fawned over, drooled
over, and protected every day of my life. I would have had nurses and
private tutors and valets and chauffeurs. I would have had butlers for my
butlers. I would have had my own pony, my own yacht, my own set of full-size
trains. I would have had my pick of any college in the country. In the
world. I would have been spoiled rotten.
I looked around my three-hundred-dollar-a-month apartment. There was no
evidence here that I was spoiled rotten.
Well . . . not to the tune of a hundred and fortythree million dollars.
You can get spoiled on five hundred a week, but that's a far cry from
butlers for your butlers. Ouch. And ouch again.
I'd thought I'd never have to worry about money in my life. Now I was
wondering if I would make it to the end of the year.
" of course," Biggs-or-Briggs was mumbling, "if
you still feel you want to check our books, by all means
we don't want there to be any misunderstandings or
hard feelings "
"Yeah . . ."I waved it off. "I'll call you. There's no hurry. I believe
you, I guess." Maybe Uncle Jim hadn't been thinking straight that day. The
more I thought about it, the odder his behavior seemed.
Oh, Uncle Jim! How could you have become so addled? A hundred and
forty-three million! I wasn't sure whom I felt sorriest for, him or me.
The lawyer was still talking. " Now, of course,
you're not responsible for any of his financial liabilities,
and they aren't that much anyway. The company will
probably cover them "
"Wasn't there any insurance?" I blurted suddenly.
"Eh? No, I'm sorry. Your uncle didn't believe in it.
We tried to talk to him about it many times, but he never paid any
attention."
I shrugged and let him go on. That was just like my Uncle Jim. Even he
believed he was immortal. "You're entitled to his personal effects and "
"No, I don't want them."
" there is one item he specifically requested you to have."
"What?"
"It's a package. Nobody's to open it but you."
"Well, where is it?"
"It's in the trunk of my car. If you'll just sign this receipt "
* * *
I waited until after what's-his-name had left. Whatever it was in the
box, Uncle Jim had intended it for me alone. I hefted it carefully. Perhaps
this was the hundred and forty-three million
I wondered could you put that much money into a box this small?
Maybe it was in million-dollar bills, one hundred and forty-three of
them. (I don't know do they even print million-dollar bills?)
No, that couldn't be. Could you imagine trying to cash one? I
shuddered. Uh-uh, Uncle Jim wouldn't do that to me. . . . Well, let's see,
maybe it was in ten-thousand-dollar bills. (That would be fourteen thousand,
three hundred of them.) No, the box was too light
If it was my fortune, it would have to be in some other form than
banknotes. Rare postage stamps? Precious gems? Maybe but I couldn't imagine
a hundred and forty-three million dollars' worth of them, at least not in
this box. It was too small.
There was only one way to find out. Tripped away the heavy brown
wrapping paper and fumbled off the top.
It was a belt.
A black leather belt. With a stainless-steel plate for a buckle.
A belt.
I almost didn't feel like taking it out of the box. I felt like a kid
at Santa Claus's funeral.
This was Uncle Jim's legacy?
I took it out. It wasn't a bad-looking belt in fact, it was quite
handsome. I wondered what I could wear it with almost anything actually; it
was just a simple black belt. It had a peculiar feel to it though; the
leather flexed like an eel, as if it were alive and had an electric backbone
running through it. The buckle too; it seemed heavier than it looked, and
well, have you ever tried to move the axis of a gyroscope? The torque
resists your pressure. The belt buckle felt like that.
I looped it around my waist to see what it would
look like. Not bad, but I had belts I liked better. I started
to put it back in the box when it popped open in my
hand. The buckle did.
I looked at the buckle more closely. What had
looked like a single plate of stainless steel was actually
two pieces hinged together at the bottom, so that when
you were wearing the belt you could open it up and read
the display on the inside of the front. It was a luminous
panel covered with numbers.
Great. Just what I needed. A digital belt buckle.
Clock, calculator, and musical synthesizer all in one. And wasn't that
just like Uncle Jim. He loved these kinds of toys.
But the only thing that looked like a trademark said TIMEBELT.
Everything else was display. Two of the rows of numbers kept flickering,
changing to keep track of the tenths of seconds, the seconds, and the
minutes. Also indicated were the hours, the day, the month, the year
Not bad, but I already had a watch and that was good enough. Besides,
this seemed such a silly idea, putting a clock in a belt buckle. You'd feel
embarrassed every time you opened it.
Fine. I had the worlds only belt buckle that told the time. I started
to close it up again
Wait a minute not so fast. There were too many numbers on that dial.
There were four rows of numbers, and a row of lights and some
lettering. The whole thing looked like this:
[clr] Wednesday [act]
D 1975 May 21 13:06.43.09
00 0000 000 00 00:00.00.00 F
0000000000000000000000000
T AD 1975 May 21 13:06.43.09 B
D 1975 May 16 17:30.00.00
hol] TIMEBELT [ret]
dd. What were all those numbers for?
The date on the bottom, for instance: March 16, 1975 what was so
special about that? What had happened at 5:30 on March 16?
I frowned. There was something
I went looking for my calendar. Yes, there it was.
March 16: Uncle Jim coming at 5:30.
The date on the bottom was the last time I had seen Uncle Jim. March
16. He had knocked on the door at precisely 5:30.
Uncle Jim was always punctual when he made appointments. On the phone
he had said he would be at my place at 5:30 sure enough, he was. But why,
two months later, was that date so important as to still be on his calendar
belt? It didn't make sense.
And there was something else I hadn't noticed. The other part of the
buckle the side facing the clock was divided into buttons. There were four
rows of them, all square and flush with each other. The top row was cut into
two; the second row, six; the third row, three; and the bottom row, six
again.
My curiosity was piqued. Now, what were all these for?
I touched one of the top two. The letter B on the lower right side of
the panel began to glow. I touched it again and the letter F above it winked
on instead. All right but what did they mean?
I put the belt around my waist and fastened it. Actu-
ally, it fastened itself; the back of the clasp leaped against
the leather part and held. I mean, held. I tugged at it,
but it didn't slip. Yet I could pop it off as easily as separating two
magnets. Quite a gimmick that.
The buckle was still open; I could read the numbers on it easily.
Almost automatically my hand moved to the buttons. Yes, that was right the
buttons were a keyboard against my waist, the panel was the readout; the
whole thing was a little computer.
But what in hell was I computing?
Idly I touched some of the buttons. The panel blinked. One of the dates
changed. I pressed another button and the center row of lights flickered.
When I pressed the first button again, a different part of the date changed.
I didn't understand it, and there was nothing in the box except some tissue
paper.
Maybe there was something on the belt itself I took it off.
On the back of the clasp, it said:
TIMEBELT
TEMPORAL TRANSPORT
DEVICE
Temporal Transport Device ? Hah! They had to be kidding.
A time machine? In a belt? Ridiculous.
And then I found the instructions.
* * *
The instructions were on the back of the clasp when I touched it
lightly, the words TIMEBELT, TEMPORAL TRANSPORT DEVICE winked out and the
first "page" of directions appeared in their place. Every time I tapped it
after that, a new page appeared. They were written in a land of linguistic
shorthand, but they were complete. The table of contents itself ran on for
several pages:
OPERATION OF THE TIMEBELT
Understanding
Theory and Relations
Time Tracking
The Paradox Paradox
Alternity
Discoursing
Protections
Corrections
Tangling and Excising
Excising with Records
Reluctances
Avoidances and Responsibilities
FUNCTIONS
Layout and Controls
Settings
Compound Settings
High-Order Programming
Safety Features
USAGES
Forward in Time
By a Specific Amount
To a Particular Moment
Cautions
Backward in Time
By a Specific Amount
To a Particular Moment
Additional Cautions
Fail-Safe Functions
Compound Jumps
Advanced
High-Order
Compound Cautions
Distance Jumps
Medium Range
Long Range
Ultra-Long Range
Special Cautions
Infinity Dangers
Entropy Awareness
Timeskimming
Short Range
Long Range
Ultra-Long Range
Timestop
Uses of the Timestop
Stopping the Present
Stopping the Past
Stopping the Future
Special Cautions on the Use of the Timestop
Multiple Jumps
Programming
Usage
Cautions and Protections on Multiple Jumps
Emergency Jumps
Returns
Timestops
Timeskims
Height and Motion Compensations
(moving vehicles and temporary heights)
Other Compensations
(ordinary and specific use)
General Cautions
Summary
ACCLIMATIZATIONS
Cultures
Determinations
Languages
Clothing
Shelter
Currency
Living Patterns and Customs
Religions and Taboos
Health
Protocols
Timestop Determinations
Additional Acclimatizations
Cautions
ARTIFACTING
Transporting
Special Cases
Cautions
I was beginning to feel a little dazed of course this couldn't be for
real. It couldn't be. . . .
I sat down on the couch and began reading the directions in detail.
They were easy to understand. There was a great deal about the principles of
operation and the variety of uses, but I just skimmed that.
The readout panel was easy enough to understand.
The top row of numbers was the time now; the second
row was the distance you wished to travel away from it,
either forward or back; and the third row was the moment to which you
were traveling, your target. The fourth row was the moment of your last jump
that is, when the belt had last come from. (Later I found that it could also
be the date of the next jump if you had preprogrammed for it. Or it could be
a date held in storage one that you could keep permanently set up and jump
to at a moment's decision.)
The letters F and B on the right side, of course, stood for Forward and
Back. The letters J and T on the left side stood for Jump and Target. The
lights in the center of the panel had several functions; mostly they
indicated the belt's programming.
In each corner of the readout was a lettered square. These were
references to four buttons on the face of the buckle itself. (I closed he
buckle and looked there weren't any obvious buttons, but in each corner was
an area that seemed to depress with a slight click.) CLR stood for Clear,
HOL meant Hold, RET was Return, and ACT was Activate. Each button had to be
pressed twice in rapid succession to function; that way you wouldn't
accidentally change any of your settings or send yourself off on an
unintended jaunt,
CLR was meant to clear the belt of all previous instructions and
settings. HOL would hold any date in storage indefinitely, or call it out
again. RET would send you back to the moment of your last jump, or to any
date locked in by HOL. ACT would do just that act. Whatever instructions had
been programmed into the belt, nothing would happen until ACT was pressed.
Twice.
There were more instructions. There was something called Timestop and
something else called Timeskim. According to the instructions, each was an
interrupted time jump resulting in a controlled out-of-phase relationship
with the real-time universe. Because the rate of phase congruency could be
controlled, so could the perceived rate of the timestream.
What that meant was that I could view events like a motion picture
film. I could speed it up and see things happening at an ultra-fast rate via
the Timeskim, or I could slow them down I could even freeze them altogether
with the Timestop.
The Timeskim was necessary to allow you to maintain your bearings over
a long-range jump; you could skim through time instead of jumping directly.
The movement of people and animals would be a blur, but you would be able to
avoid materializing inside of a building that hadn't been there before. The
Timestop was intended to help you get your bearings after you arrived, but
before you reinserted yourself into the timestream, especially if you were
looking for a particular moment. With everything seemingly frozen solid, you
could find an unobserved place to appear, or you could remain an unseen
observer of the Timestopped still life. Or you could Timeskim at the
real-time rate without being a part of real-world events, again an unseen
observer. I guessed that the Timestop and Timeskim were necessary for
traveling to unfamiliar eras especially dangerous ones.
There were other functions too, complex things that I didn't understand
yet. I decided to leave them alone for a while. For instance, Entropy
Awareness left me a bit leery. I concentrated on the keyboard instead. If I
was going to use this thing, I'd better know how to program it.
The top two buttons controlled Jump and Target, Forward and Back. The
second row of six controlled any six digits of the date; the third row of
three was for programming they determined the settings of the second and
fourth rows. The fourth row had six buttons; used in combination with the
third row, they determined ways of using the belt. Maybe more. Each of the
buttons on the keyboard was multi-functional. What it controlled, and how,
was determined by which other buttons it was used in combination with.
Clearly this timebelt was not a simple device. There was a lot to
learn.
* * *
I felt like a kid with a ten-dollar bill in a candy store no, like an
adolescent with a hundred-dollar bill in a brothel.
I was ready but what should I do first?
Possibilities cascaded across my mind like a stack of unopened
presents. I was both eager and scared. My hand was nervous as I fumbled open
the buckle.
I eyed the readout plate warily. All the numbers had been cleared and
were at zero; they gazed right back at me.
Well, lets try something simple first. I touched the third button in
the third row, setting the second row of controls for minutes, seconds and
tenths of seconds. I tapped the first button in the second row twice: twenty
minutes. I set the top right-hand button for Forward, the top left-hand
button for Jump.
I double-checked the numbers on the panel and closed the belt.
Now. All I had to do was tap the upper right-hand corner of the buckle
twice.
The future waited.
I swallowed once and tapped.
POP!
I staggered and straightened. I had forgotten about that. The
instructions had warned that there would be a slight shock every time I
jumped. It had something to do with forcing the air out of the space you
were materializing in. It wasn't bad though I just hadn't been expecting it.
It was like scuffing your shoes on a rug and then touching metal, that kind
of shock, but all over your whole body at once.
Aside from that, I had no way of proving I was in the future.
Oh, wait. Yes, I did. I was still wearing my wristwatch. It said 1:43.
I strode into the kitchen and looked at the kitchen clock.
It said 2:03.
If the kitchen clock was to be believed, then the belt was real, and I
had just traveled through time. Twenty minutes forward. Assuming the kitchen
clock hadn't suddenly
No! This had to be real. It was real. I had actually done it!
I'd been sort of treating the whole thing as a game; not even the
jump-shock had convinced me. That could have been faked by a battery in the
belt. But this I
I knew my watch and I knew that kitchen clock; they couldn't have been
faked.
I actually had a time machine. A real live, honestto-God working time
machine.
I took a deep breath and forced myself to be calm. I tried to force
myself to be calm.
I had a time machine. A real time machine. I had jumped twenty minutes
forward. The room looked just the same, not even the quality of the
afternoon sunlight had changed, but I knew I had jumped forward in time. The
big question was what was I going to do next?
I had to think about this no problem, I had all the time in the world.
I giggled when I realized that. Hmm. I knew. Suddenly I realized what I
could do.
I opened the belt and reset the control for twentyfour hours. Forward.
I would pick up a copy of tomorrow's paper, then bounce back and go to the
race track today. I would make a fortune. I would MIGOD! Why hadn't I
realized this ?
I could be as rich as I wanted to be.
Rich ? The word lost all meaning when I realized what I could do. Not
just the race track Las Vegas! The stock market! Anything! There were boxing
matches to bet on and companies to invest in, new products from the future
and rare objects from the past my head swam with the possibilities.
I wanted to laugh. And I'd been worried about a mere hundred and
forty-three million dollars!
Uncle Jim had been right after all! I was rich! I wanted to shout! I
felt like dancing! The room twirled with wealth and I spun with it until I
tripped over a chair.
Still gasping and giggling, I sat up. It was too much too much!
Before before I had proven that the belt really worked all those
possibilities had been merely fantasies: fun things to think about, but not
taken seriously. Now, however, they were more than possibilities. They were
probabilities. I would do them all. All of them! Because I had all the time
in the world! I was hysterical with delight. Giddy with enthusiasm
I forced myself to stop.
Be serious now, I told myself. Let's approach this properly. Let's
think these things out; take them one at a time
Tomorrow. I grinned and touched the button.
Pop!
* * *
This time the shock wasn't so bad, I
There was somebody in the room.
Then he turned to face me.
For a moment it was like staring into a sudden mirror
"Hi," he said. "I've been waiting for you."
It was me.
I must have been staring, because he said, "Relax, Dan " and I jumped
again.
The sound of his voice it was my voice as I've heard it on tape. The
look in his eyes I've seen those eyes in the mirror. His face it was my face
the features, everything: the nose, short and straight; the hair, dark brown
with a hint of red and with the wave that I can't comb out; the mouth, wide
and smiling; the cheekbones, high and pronounced.
"You're me " It must have sounded inane.
He was a little flustered too. He held out something he had been
holding, a newspaper. "Here," he said. "I believe we were going to the
races."
"We?"
"Well, it's no fun going alone, is it?"
"Uh " My head was still spinning.
"It's all right," he said. "I'm you I'm your future self. Tomorrow
you'll be me. That is, we're the same person. We've just doubled back our
timeline." "Oh," I said, blinking.
He grinned with the knowledge of a joke that I hadn't gotten yet.
"Okay, let's do it this way. I'm your twin brother."
I looked at him again; he stared unabashedly back.
He was almost delighting in my confusion, and he had hit on one of my
most secret fantasies of course. He couldn't help but know, he was me. When
I was younger, my greatest desire had been the impossible wish for an
identical twin a second me, someone who understood me, whom I could talk to
and share secrets with. Someone who would always be there, so I would never
be alone. Someone who
I gaped helplessly. It was all happening too fast.
He reached out and took my hand, shook it warmly.
"Hi," he said. "I'm Don. I'm your brother." At first I just let him
shake my hand, but after a second of his silly grinning at me, I returned
his grip. (Interesting. Some people shake my hand and their grip is too
hard. Others have a grip that's too weak. Don's grip was just right but why
shouldn't it be? He's me. I have to keep reminding myself of that; it's
almost too easy to think of him as Don.) The touch of his hand was strange.
Is that what I feel like?
We went to the races.
Oh, first we bounced back twenty-eight hours; both of us. He flashed
back first, then I followed. We both reappeared at the same instant because
our target settings were identical. He was wearing a timebelt too well, of
course; if I could be duplicated, so could the belt.) I couldn't shake the
feeling that this fellow from the future was invading my home even though it
was meaningless but he seemed so sure of himself that I had to follow in his
wake.
When I glanced at the kitchen clock, I got another start. It was just a
little past ten why, I was still at Uncle Jim's funeral! I'd be coming home
in an hour with the lawyer. Maybe it was a good thing that Don had taken the
lead; there was still too much I didn't know.
As we walked out to the car, Mrs. Peterson, the old lady in the front
apartment, was just coming out of her door. "Hello, Danny " she started,
then she stopped. She looked from one to the other of us confusedly. "This
is my brother," said Don quickly. "Don," he said to me, a gentle pressure on
my arm, "this is Mrs. Peterson." To her: "Don will be staying with me for a
while, so if you think you're seeing double, don't be surprised."
She smiled at me. I nodded, feeling like a fool. I knew Mrs. Peterson
but Don's grip on my arm reminded me that she didn't know. She looked back
and forth, blinking. "I didn't know you were twins "
"We've been living separately," said Don quicky, "so we could each have
a chance to be our own person. Don's been up in San Francisco for the past
two years."
"Oh," she said. She turned on her smile again and beamed politely at
me. "Well, I hope you'll like it in Los Angeles, Don. There's so much to
do."
"Uh yes," I said. "It's very exciting."
We made our goodbyes and went on to the car.
Abruptly, Don started giggling. "I wish you could have seen your face,"
he said. "Well, you will tomorrow." Still laughing, he repeated my last
words, "Uh yes. It's very exciting. You looked as if you'd swallowed a
frog."
I stopped in the act of unlocking the passenger-side door. (It seemed
natural for him to take the drivers side; besides, I was unsure of the way
to the track.) "Why didn't you let me explain?" I asked. "She's my
neighbor."
"She's my neighbor too," he replied, giggling again. "Besides, what
would you have said? At least I've been through this once before." He opened
his door and dropped into the drivers seat.
I got in slowly and looked at him. He was unlatching the convertible
top. He didn't notice my gaze. I realized that I was feeling resentful of
him he was so damned sure of himself, even to the way he was making himself
at home in my car. Was that the way I was? I found myself studying his
mannerisms.
Suddenly he turned to me. "Relax," he said. He turned to look me
straight in the eye. "I know what you're going through. I went through it
too. The way to do this is at least, I think so is the first time you go
through something, just watch. The second time, you know what's going to
happen; that's where the arrogance comes from. Only it isn't arrogance. It's
confidence." "I guess this is happening a little too fast for me."
"Me too," he said. "I know this is a weird thing to say, but I missed
you. Or maybe I missed me. Anyway, it'll work better this way. You'll see."
He pushed the button on the dashboard and the convertible top lifted off and
began folding back. "Put on a tape," he said, indicating the box of
cassettes on the floor. He started to name one, then stopped himself. "Want
me to tell you which one you're going to choose?"
"Uh no, thanks." I studied the different titles with such an intensity
I couldn't see any of them. It would be impossible for me to surprise him no
matter what tape I chose, no matter what I did, he would already know, he
would have done it himself.
Of course, he had been through all this before. He had every reason to
be sure of himself. When I became him, I'd probably be cocky too. Perhaps a
little giddy you couldn't help but feel powerful if you knew everything that
was going to happen before it happened. Of course he should be the one to do
the talking.
Later I'd get my turn; but right now I was feeling a little unsure,
both of myself and of the situation. I could learn by following his lead. I
put on a tape of Petrouchka and concentrated on the road.
I'd never been to the race track before. It was bigger than I'd
expected. Don steered his way into the parking lot with surprising
familiarity and arrowed immediately toward a space that shouldn't have been
there, but was.
Instead of seats in the bleachers, as I had expected, he bought a
private box. Grinning at me, he explained, "Why not? We deserve the best."
I wanted to point out that it wasn't necessary; besides, it cost too
much. Then I realized he was right; the money made no difference at all. We
were going to make a lot more than we spent, so why not enjoy? I shut up and
let myself be awed by the great expanses of green lawn. Under the bright
sun, the wide sweeping track seemed poised in midair, a curve of stark and
simple elegance. The stands loomed high above us and I was properly
impressed.
We ordered mint juleps from the bar nouveau riche I thought, but didn't
protest and made our way to our seats. Don made a great show of studying the
paper, which I thought was funny it was today's race results he was poring
over. "Yes, yes . . ."he muttered in loud tones of feigned thoughtfulness.
"I think Absolam's Ass looks pretty good in the first." He looked up.
"Danny, go put a hundred dollars on Absolam's Ass. To win."
"Uh " I started fumbling in my pockets. "I only
have sixty " And then I broke off and looked at him. "A
hundred dollars ?" On a horse? A hundred dollars?
He was eying me with cool amusement. There was a crisp new bill in his
hand. "You want to get rich?" he asked. "You have to spend money to make
money." I blinked and took the bill. Somehow I found my way to the betting
windows and traded the money for ten bright printed tickets. The clerk
didn't even glance up.
Absolam's Ass paid off at three to one. We now had three hundred
dollars. Don ordered two more mint juleps while I went to collect our
winnings and put them on Fig Leaf. This time the clerk hesitated, repeated
the bet aloud, then punched the buttons on his machine.
Fig Leaf paid off at two to one. We now had six hundred dollars. And
another mint julep.
Calamity Jane also paid off at two to one. We were up to twelve hundred
dollars, and the clerk at the window was beginning to recognize me.
Finders Keepers came in second, and I looked at
Don in consternation. He merely grinned and said,
"Wait " I waited, and Harass was disqualified for
bumping Tumbleweed. Finders Keepers paid eight to
one. Ninety-six hundred dollars. The betting official
went a little goggle-eyed when I tried to put it all on Big
John. He had to call over a manager to okay it.
Big John came in at three to one. Twenty-eight thousand, eight hundred
dollars. I was getting a little goggle-eyed. The track manager personally
took my next bet; with that much money at stake, I couldn't blame him. I
made a little show of hesitating thoughtfully as if I couldn't make up my
mind, partly to keep him from getting curious about my "system" and partly
because I was getting nervous about all the people who were watching me to
see which way I would bet. Apparently they were betting the same way. Word
The man who folded himself. David Gerrold.
OCR by Quentin J. Tarantino (October 2005)
---------------------------------------------------------------
This book is for Larry Niven, a good friend who believes that time
travel is impossible. He's probably right.
Oh wad some power the giftie gie us
To see oursels as others see us!
It was frae monie a blunder free us,
An foolish notion.
Robert Burns
To a Louse, stanza 8
* * *
In the box was a belt. And a manuscript.
* * *
I hadn't seen Uncle Jim in months.
He looked terrible. Shrunken. His skin hung in wrinkled folds, his
complexion was gray, and he was thin and stooped. He seemed to have aged ten
years. Twenty. The last time I'd seen him, we were almost the same height.
Now I realized I was taller.
"Uncle Jim!" I said. "Are you all right?"
He shook off my arm. "I'm fine, Danny. Just a little tired, that's
all." He came into my apartment. His gait was no longer a stride, now just a
shuffle. He lowered himself to the couch with a sigh.
"Can I get you anything?"
He shook his head. "No, I don't have that much time. We have some
important business to take care of How old are you, boy?" He peered at me
carefully. "Huh? I'm nineteen. You know that."
"Ah." He seemed to find that satisfactory. "Good. I was afraid I was
too early, you looked so young" He stopped himself. "How are you doing in
school?"
"Fine." I said it noncommittally. The university was
a bore, but Uncle Jim was paying me to attend. Four
hundred dollars a week, plus my apartment and my car.
And an extra hundred a week for keeping my nose clean.
"You don't like it though, do you?"
I said, "No, I don't." Why try to tell him I did? He'd know it for the
lie it was.
"You want to drop out?"
I shrugged. "I could live without it."
"Yes, you could." he agreed. He looked like he
wanted to say something else, but stopped himself instead. "I won't
give you the lecture on the value of an education. You'll find it out for
yourself in time. And besides, there are other ways to learn." He coughed;
his whole chest rattled. He was so thin. "Do you know how much you're worth
right now?"
"No. How much?"
He pursed his lips thoughtfully; the wrinkled skin folded and unfolded.
"One hundred and forty-three million dollars."
I whistled. "You're kidding."
"I'm not kidding."
"That's a lot of money."
"It's been properly handled."
One hundred and forty-three million dollars !
"Where is it now?" I asked. Stupid question.
"In stocks, bonds, properties. Things like that."
"I can't touch it then, can I?"
He looked at me and smiled. "I keep forgetting, Danny, how impatient
you were are." He corrected himself, then looked across at me; his gaze
wavered slightly. "You don't need it right now, do you?"
I thought about it. One hundred and forty-three million dollars. Even
if they delivered it in fifties, the apartment wasn't that big. "No, I guess
not."
"Then we'll leave it where it is," he said. "But it's your money. If
you need it, you can have it."
One hundred and forty-three million dollars. What would I do with it
what couldn't I do with it? I had known my parents had left me a little
money, but One hundred and forty-three million /
I found I was having trouble swallowing.
"I thought it was in trust until I was twenty-five," I said.
"No," he corrected. "It's for me to administer for you
until you're ready for it. You can have it any time you
want."
"I'm not so sure I want it," I said slowly. "No I
mean, of course, I want it! It's just that " How to explain? I had
visions of myself trapped in a big mansion surrounded by butlers and
bodyguards whose sole duty was to make sure that I dusted the stacks of
bills every morning. One hundred and forty-three million dollars. Even in
hundreds, it would fill several closets. "I'm doing okay on five hundred a
week," I said, "All that more "
"Five hundred a week?" Uncle Jim frowned. Then, "Yes, I keep forgetting
There's been so much Danny, I'm going to increase your allowance to two
thousand dollars a week, but I want you to do something to earn it."
"Sure," I said, delighted in spite of myself This was a sum of money I
could understand. (One hundred and forty-three million I wasn't sure there
was that much money in the world; but two thousand dollars, yes, I could
count to two thousand.) "What do I have to do?" "Keep a diary."
"A diary?"
"That's right."
"You mean write things down in a black book every
day? Dear diary, today I kissed a girl and all that kind of
stuff?"
"Not exactly. I want you to record the things that
seem important to you. Type out a few pages every day,
that's all. You can record specific incidents or just make
general comments about anything worth recording. All I
want is your guarantee that you'll add something to it
every day or let's say at least once a week. I know how
you get careless sometimes."
"And you want to read it ?" I started to ask.
"Oh, no, no, no " he said hastily. "I just want to
know that you're keeping it up. You won't have to show it
to me. Or anyone. It's your diary. What you do with it or
make of it is up to you."
My mind was working two thousand dollars a
week. "Can I use a dictation machine and a secretary?"
He shook his head. "It has to be a personal diary,
Danny. That's the whole purpose of it. If it has to pass through
someone else's hands, you might be inhibited. I want you to be honest." He
straightened up where he sat, and for a moment he looked like the Uncle Jim
I remembered, tall and strong. "Don't play any games, Danny. Be truthful in
your diary. If you're not, you'll only cheat yourself. And put down
everything everything that seems important to you." "Everything," I repeated
dumbly.
He nodded. There was a lot of meaning in that nod. "All right," I said.
"But why?"
"Why?" He looked at me. "You'll find out when you write it."
As usual, he was right.
* * *
I'm not fooled. Uncle Jim is trying to teach me something. This isn't
the first time he's thrown me into the deep end of the pool.
* * *
Okay, this is it. At least this is todayТs answer:
There's a point beyond which money is redundant.
This is not something I discovered just this week.
I've suspected it for a long time.
Five hundred dollars a week "spending money"
( like what else are you going to do with it? ) gives a
person a considerable amount of freedom to do whatever
he wants. Within limits, of course but those limits are
wide enough to be not very restricting. Increase them to
two thousand dollars a week and you don't feel them at
all. The difference isn't that much. Not really.
Okay, so I bought some new clothes and records and a couple of other
fancy toys I'd had my eye on, but I'd already gotten used to having as much
money as I'd needed (or wanted), so having that much more in my pocket
didn't make that much more difference. I just had to start wearing bigger
pockets, that's all. Well
I like to travel too. Usually, about once or twice a month I'd fly up
to San Francisco for the weekend, or something like that. Palm Springs,
Santa Barbara, Newport, San Diego. Follow the sun, that's me.
Since Uncle Jim increased my allowance, I've been to Acapulco, New
York, and the Grand Bahamas. And I'm thinking about Europe. But it's not all
that fun to travel alone and nobody I know can afford to come along with me.
So I find I'm staying home just as much as before.
I could buy things if I wanted but I've never cared much about owning
things. They need to be dusted. Besides, I have what I need.
Hell, I have what I want and that's a lot more than what I need. I have
everything I want now. Big deal.
I think it's a bore.
* * *
So that's what Uncle Jim wanted to teach me.
Money isn't everything. In fact, it isn't anything. It's just paper and
metal that we trade for other things.
I knew that already; but it's one thing to know it theoretically; itТs
another thing to know it from experience.
Okay. So, if money isn't anything, what is?
* * *
I didn't exactly drop out of the university I just sort of faded away.
It was a bore.
I found I had less and less to say to my classmates. I call them my
classmates because I'm not sure they were ever my friends. We weren't
talking on the same levels.
Typical conversation: " can I borrow five bucks, is she a good lay,
does anyone know where I can score a lid, can you spare a quarter, did you
hear what he said in class, I couldn't get my car running, do you know
anyone who's had her, my ten o'clock class is a bitch, lend me a buck
willya, what're we gonna do this weekend " They couldn't sympathize with my
problems either.
"Problems? With two thousand dollars a week, who's got problems?"
Me.
I think.
I know something is wrong I'm not happy. I wish I knew why.
* * *
I wish the other shoe would drop. Okay, Uncle Jim.
I got it about the money. Where's the rest of the lesson?
* * *
I think I will tell this exactly as it happened and try to do it
without crying. If I can.
Uncle Jim is dead.
I got the phone call at eleven this morning. It was one of the lawyers
from his company, Biggs or Briggs or something like that. He said, "Daniel
Eakins?" I said, "Yes?"
He said, "This is Jonathan Biggs-or-Briggs-or-something-like-that and I
have some bad news for you about your uncle."
"My uncle " I must have wavered. Everything
seemed made of ice.
The man was trying to be gentle. And not doing a very good job of it.
He said, "He was found this morning by his maid "
"He's . . . dead?"
IТm sorry. Yes.
Dead? Uncle Jim?
"How ? I mean "
"He just didn't wake up. He was a very old man."
Old?
No. It couldn't be. I wouldn't accept it. Uncle Jim was immortal.
"We thought that you, as next of kin, would like to supervise the
funeral arrangements "
Funeral arrangements?
" on the other hand, we realize your distress at a time like this, so
we've taken the liberty of " Dead? Uncle Jim?
The telephone was still making noises. I hung up.
* * *
The funeral was a horror. Some idiot had decided on an open-casket
ceremony, "so the deceased's family and friends might see him one more
time."
Family and friends. Meaning me. And the lawyers.
No one else.
I was surprised at that. And a little disappointed. I'd thought Uncle
Jim was well known and popular. But there was nobody there apparently I was
the only one who cared.
Uncle Jim looked like hell. They had rouged his cheeks in a sickly
effort to make him look like he was only asleep. It didn't work; it didn't
disguise the fact that he was a shriveled and tired old hulk. I must have
stared in horror. If he had seemed shrunken the last time I had seen him,
today he looked absolutely emaciated. Used up.
No. Uncle Jim wasn't in that casket. That was just a piece of dead
meat. Whatever it was that had made it Uncle Jim, that was gone this empty
old husk was nothing.
I bawled like a baby anyway.
The lawyers drove me home. I was moving like a zombie.
Everything seemed so damnably the same it had
all happened too fast, I hadn't had time to realize what it
might mean, and now here was some dark-suited
stranger sitting in my living room and trying to tell me
that things were going to be different.
Different ? Without Uncle Jim, how could they be the same?
Biggs Ц or Ц Briggs Ц or Ц something Ц like - that shuffled some papers
and managed to look both embarrassed and sorrowful.
I said, "I think I have some idea. I spoke with Uncle
Jim a few weeks ago."
"Ah, good," he said. "Then we can settle this a lot easier." He
hesitated. "Dan Daniel, your uncle died indigent." I must have looked
puzzled. He added, "That means poor."
"What?" I blurted. "Now, wait a minute that's not
what he told me "
"Eh? What did he tell you?"
I thought back. No, the lawyer was right. Uncle Jim hadn't said a word
about his own money. Carefully, I explained, "Uncle Jim said that I had a
bit of money . . . and he was supposed to administer it. So naturally, I
assumed that he had some of his own or that he was taking a fee "
Biggs-or-Briggs shook his head. "Your uncle was taking a fee," he said,
"but it was only a token. You haven't got that much yourself."
"How much?" I asked.
"A little less than six thousand."
"Huh?"
"Actually, it's about five thousand nine hundred and something. I don't
remember the exact amount." He shuffled papers in his briefcase.
I stared at him. "What happened to the hundred and forty-three
million?"
He blinked. "I beg your pardon ?"
I felt like a fool, but repeated, "A hundred and fortythree million
dollars. Uncle Jim said that I had a hundred and forty-three million
dollars. What happened to that?"
"A hundred and forty-three mill " He pushed his
glasses back onto his nose. "Uh, Mr. Eakins, you have six
thousand dollars. That's all. I don't know where you got
the idea that you had anything like "
I explained patiently, "My Uncle Jim sat there, right where you're
sitting now, and told me that I was worth one hundred and forty-three
million dollars and that I could have it any time I wanted." I fixed him
with what I hoped was my fiercest look. "Now, where is it?"
It didn't faze him at all. Instead he put on his I'dbetter-humor-him
expression. "Now, Daniel Dan, I think you can understand that when a person
gets old, his mind starts to get a little well, funny. Your Uncle Jim may
have told you that you were rich he may even have believed it himself! but "
"My Uncle Jim was not senile," I said. My voice was cold. "He may have
been sick, but when I saw him, his mind was as clear as as mine."
Biggs-or-Briggs looked like he wanted to reply to that, but didn't.
Probably he was reminding himself that we'd just come from a funeral and I
couldn't be expected to be entirely rational. "Well," he said. "The fact
remains that all you have in the accounts that we're administering is six
thousand dollars. To tell the truth, we were a little concerned with the way
you've been spending these past few weeks but your explanation clears that
up. There's been a terrible misunderstanding "
"Yes, there has. I want to see your books. When my parents died, their
money was put in trust for me. It couldn't all be gone by now."
"Mr. Eakins " he said. I could see that he was forcing himself to be
gentle. "I don't know anything about your parents. It was your Uncle Jim who
set up your trust fund, nineteen and a half years ago. He hasn't added to it
since; that hasn't been necessary. His intention was to provide you with
enough money to see you to your twenty-first birthday." He cleared his
throat apologetically. "We almost made it. If he hadn't instructed us to
increase your allowance two months ago, we probably could have made it
stretch "
I was feeling a little ill. This lawyer was making too much sense. When
I thought of the spending I'd been doing ouch! I didn't want to think about
it.
Of course, I hadn't spent it all I hadn't been trying. I started going
over in my mind how much I might have left in cash and in my checking
account. Not that much, after all. Maybe a few hundred.
And six thousand left in trust. No hundred and forty-three million
But Uncle Jim had said
I stopped and thought about it. If I'd really been worth a hundred and
forty-three million dollars, would I have grown up the way I did? Brought up
by a trained governess in Uncle Jim's comfortable but not very big San
Fernando Valley home, sent to public schools and the State University?
Uh-uh. Not likely.
If I'd been worth that big a pile, I'd have been fawned over, drooled
over, and protected every day of my life. I would have had nurses and
private tutors and valets and chauffeurs. I would have had butlers for my
butlers. I would have had my own pony, my own yacht, my own set of full-size
trains. I would have had my pick of any college in the country. In the
world. I would have been spoiled rotten.
I looked around my three-hundred-dollar-a-month apartment. There was no
evidence here that I was spoiled rotten.
Well . . . not to the tune of a hundred and fortythree million dollars.
You can get spoiled on five hundred a week, but that's a far cry from
butlers for your butlers. Ouch. And ouch again.
I'd thought I'd never have to worry about money in my life. Now I was
wondering if I would make it to the end of the year.
" of course," Biggs-or-Briggs was mumbling, "if
you still feel you want to check our books, by all means
we don't want there to be any misunderstandings or
hard feelings "
"Yeah . . ."I waved it off. "I'll call you. There's no hurry. I believe
you, I guess." Maybe Uncle Jim hadn't been thinking straight that day. The
more I thought about it, the odder his behavior seemed.
Oh, Uncle Jim! How could you have become so addled? A hundred and
forty-three million! I wasn't sure whom I felt sorriest for, him or me.
The lawyer was still talking. " Now, of course,
you're not responsible for any of his financial liabilities,
and they aren't that much anyway. The company will
probably cover them "
"Wasn't there any insurance?" I blurted suddenly.
"Eh? No, I'm sorry. Your uncle didn't believe in it.
We tried to talk to him about it many times, but he never paid any
attention."
I shrugged and let him go on. That was just like my Uncle Jim. Even he
believed he was immortal. "You're entitled to his personal effects and "
"No, I don't want them."
" there is one item he specifically requested you to have."
"What?"
"It's a package. Nobody's to open it but you."
"Well, where is it?"
"It's in the trunk of my car. If you'll just sign this receipt "
* * *
I waited until after what's-his-name had left. Whatever it was in the
box, Uncle Jim had intended it for me alone. I hefted it carefully. Perhaps
this was the hundred and forty-three million
I wondered could you put that much money into a box this small?
Maybe it was in million-dollar bills, one hundred and forty-three of
them. (I don't know do they even print million-dollar bills?)
No, that couldn't be. Could you imagine trying to cash one? I
shuddered. Uh-uh, Uncle Jim wouldn't do that to me. . . . Well, let's see,
maybe it was in ten-thousand-dollar bills. (That would be fourteen thousand,
three hundred of them.) No, the box was too light
If it was my fortune, it would have to be in some other form than
banknotes. Rare postage stamps? Precious gems? Maybe but I couldn't imagine
a hundred and forty-three million dollars' worth of them, at least not in
this box. It was too small.
There was only one way to find out. Tripped away the heavy brown
wrapping paper and fumbled off the top.
It was a belt.
A black leather belt. With a stainless-steel plate for a buckle.
A belt.
I almost didn't feel like taking it out of the box. I felt like a kid
at Santa Claus's funeral.
This was Uncle Jim's legacy?
I took it out. It wasn't a bad-looking belt in fact, it was quite
handsome. I wondered what I could wear it with almost anything actually; it
was just a simple black belt. It had a peculiar feel to it though; the
leather flexed like an eel, as if it were alive and had an electric backbone
running through it. The buckle too; it seemed heavier than it looked, and
well, have you ever tried to move the axis of a gyroscope? The torque
resists your pressure. The belt buckle felt like that.
I looped it around my waist to see what it would
look like. Not bad, but I had belts I liked better. I started
to put it back in the box when it popped open in my
hand. The buckle did.
I looked at the buckle more closely. What had
looked like a single plate of stainless steel was actually
two pieces hinged together at the bottom, so that when
you were wearing the belt you could open it up and read
the display on the inside of the front. It was a luminous
panel covered with numbers.
Great. Just what I needed. A digital belt buckle.
Clock, calculator, and musical synthesizer all in one. And wasn't that
just like Uncle Jim. He loved these kinds of toys.
But the only thing that looked like a trademark said TIMEBELT.
Everything else was display. Two of the rows of numbers kept flickering,
changing to keep track of the tenths of seconds, the seconds, and the
minutes. Also indicated were the hours, the day, the month, the year
Not bad, but I already had a watch and that was good enough. Besides,
this seemed such a silly idea, putting a clock in a belt buckle. You'd feel
embarrassed every time you opened it.
Fine. I had the worlds only belt buckle that told the time. I started
to close it up again
Wait a minute not so fast. There were too many numbers on that dial.
There were four rows of numbers, and a row of lights and some
lettering. The whole thing looked like this:
[clr] Wednesday [act]
D 1975 May 21 13:06.43.09
00 0000 000 00 00:00.00.00 F
0000000000000000000000000
T AD 1975 May 21 13:06.43.09 B
D 1975 May 16 17:30.00.00
hol] TIMEBELT [ret]
dd. What were all those numbers for?
The date on the bottom, for instance: March 16, 1975 what was so
special about that? What had happened at 5:30 on March 16?
I frowned. There was something
I went looking for my calendar. Yes, there it was.
March 16: Uncle Jim coming at 5:30.
The date on the bottom was the last time I had seen Uncle Jim. March
16. He had knocked on the door at precisely 5:30.
Uncle Jim was always punctual when he made appointments. On the phone
he had said he would be at my place at 5:30 sure enough, he was. But why,
two months later, was that date so important as to still be on his calendar
belt? It didn't make sense.
And there was something else I hadn't noticed. The other part of the
buckle the side facing the clock was divided into buttons. There were four
rows of them, all square and flush with each other. The top row was cut into
two; the second row, six; the third row, three; and the bottom row, six
again.
My curiosity was piqued. Now, what were all these for?
I touched one of the top two. The letter B on the lower right side of
the panel began to glow. I touched it again and the letter F above it winked
on instead. All right but what did they mean?
I put the belt around my waist and fastened it. Actu-
ally, it fastened itself; the back of the clasp leaped against
the leather part and held. I mean, held. I tugged at it,
but it didn't slip. Yet I could pop it off as easily as separating two
magnets. Quite a gimmick that.
The buckle was still open; I could read the numbers on it easily.
Almost automatically my hand moved to the buttons. Yes, that was right the
buttons were a keyboard against my waist, the panel was the readout; the
whole thing was a little computer.
But what in hell was I computing?
Idly I touched some of the buttons. The panel blinked. One of the dates
changed. I pressed another button and the center row of lights flickered.
When I pressed the first button again, a different part of the date changed.
I didn't understand it, and there was nothing in the box except some tissue
paper.
Maybe there was something on the belt itself I took it off.
On the back of the clasp, it said:
TIMEBELT
TEMPORAL TRANSPORT
DEVICE
Temporal Transport Device ? Hah! They had to be kidding.
A time machine? In a belt? Ridiculous.
And then I found the instructions.
* * *
The instructions were on the back of the clasp when I touched it
lightly, the words TIMEBELT, TEMPORAL TRANSPORT DEVICE winked out and the
first "page" of directions appeared in their place. Every time I tapped it
after that, a new page appeared. They were written in a land of linguistic
shorthand, but they were complete. The table of contents itself ran on for
several pages:
OPERATION OF THE TIMEBELT
Understanding
Theory and Relations
Time Tracking
The Paradox Paradox
Alternity
Discoursing
Protections
Corrections
Tangling and Excising
Excising with Records
Reluctances
Avoidances and Responsibilities
FUNCTIONS
Layout and Controls
Settings
Compound Settings
High-Order Programming
Safety Features
USAGES
Forward in Time
By a Specific Amount
To a Particular Moment
Cautions
Backward in Time
By a Specific Amount
To a Particular Moment
Additional Cautions
Fail-Safe Functions
Compound Jumps
Advanced
High-Order
Compound Cautions
Distance Jumps
Medium Range
Long Range
Ultra-Long Range
Special Cautions
Infinity Dangers
Entropy Awareness
Timeskimming
Short Range
Long Range
Ultra-Long Range
Timestop
Uses of the Timestop
Stopping the Present
Stopping the Past
Stopping the Future
Special Cautions on the Use of the Timestop
Multiple Jumps
Programming
Usage
Cautions and Protections on Multiple Jumps
Emergency Jumps
Returns
Timestops
Timeskims
Height and Motion Compensations
(moving vehicles and temporary heights)
Other Compensations
(ordinary and specific use)
General Cautions
Summary
ACCLIMATIZATIONS
Cultures
Determinations
Languages
Clothing
Shelter
Currency
Living Patterns and Customs
Religions and Taboos
Health
Protocols
Timestop Determinations
Additional Acclimatizations
Cautions
ARTIFACTING
Transporting
Special Cases
Cautions
I was beginning to feel a little dazed of course this couldn't be for
real. It couldn't be. . . .
I sat down on the couch and began reading the directions in detail.
They were easy to understand. There was a great deal about the principles of
operation and the variety of uses, but I just skimmed that.
The readout panel was easy enough to understand.
The top row of numbers was the time now; the second
row was the distance you wished to travel away from it,
either forward or back; and the third row was the moment to which you
were traveling, your target. The fourth row was the moment of your last jump
that is, when the belt had last come from. (Later I found that it could also
be the date of the next jump if you had preprogrammed for it. Or it could be
a date held in storage one that you could keep permanently set up and jump
to at a moment's decision.)
The letters F and B on the right side, of course, stood for Forward and
Back. The letters J and T on the left side stood for Jump and Target. The
lights in the center of the panel had several functions; mostly they
indicated the belt's programming.
In each corner of the readout was a lettered square. These were
references to four buttons on the face of the buckle itself. (I closed he
buckle and looked there weren't any obvious buttons, but in each corner was
an area that seemed to depress with a slight click.) CLR stood for Clear,
HOL meant Hold, RET was Return, and ACT was Activate. Each button had to be
pressed twice in rapid succession to function; that way you wouldn't
accidentally change any of your settings or send yourself off on an
unintended jaunt,
CLR was meant to clear the belt of all previous instructions and
settings. HOL would hold any date in storage indefinitely, or call it out
again. RET would send you back to the moment of your last jump, or to any
date locked in by HOL. ACT would do just that act. Whatever instructions had
been programmed into the belt, nothing would happen until ACT was pressed.
Twice.
There were more instructions. There was something called Timestop and
something else called Timeskim. According to the instructions, each was an
interrupted time jump resulting in a controlled out-of-phase relationship
with the real-time universe. Because the rate of phase congruency could be
controlled, so could the perceived rate of the timestream.
What that meant was that I could view events like a motion picture
film. I could speed it up and see things happening at an ultra-fast rate via
the Timeskim, or I could slow them down I could even freeze them altogether
with the Timestop.
The Timeskim was necessary to allow you to maintain your bearings over
a long-range jump; you could skim through time instead of jumping directly.
The movement of people and animals would be a blur, but you would be able to
avoid materializing inside of a building that hadn't been there before. The
Timestop was intended to help you get your bearings after you arrived, but
before you reinserted yourself into the timestream, especially if you were
looking for a particular moment. With everything seemingly frozen solid, you
could find an unobserved place to appear, or you could remain an unseen
observer of the Timestopped still life. Or you could Timeskim at the
real-time rate without being a part of real-world events, again an unseen
observer. I guessed that the Timestop and Timeskim were necessary for
traveling to unfamiliar eras especially dangerous ones.
There were other functions too, complex things that I didn't understand
yet. I decided to leave them alone for a while. For instance, Entropy
Awareness left me a bit leery. I concentrated on the keyboard instead. If I
was going to use this thing, I'd better know how to program it.
The top two buttons controlled Jump and Target, Forward and Back. The
second row of six controlled any six digits of the date; the third row of
three was for programming they determined the settings of the second and
fourth rows. The fourth row had six buttons; used in combination with the
third row, they determined ways of using the belt. Maybe more. Each of the
buttons on the keyboard was multi-functional. What it controlled, and how,
was determined by which other buttons it was used in combination with.
Clearly this timebelt was not a simple device. There was a lot to
learn.
* * *
I felt like a kid with a ten-dollar bill in a candy store no, like an
adolescent with a hundred-dollar bill in a brothel.
I was ready but what should I do first?
Possibilities cascaded across my mind like a stack of unopened
presents. I was both eager and scared. My hand was nervous as I fumbled open
the buckle.
I eyed the readout plate warily. All the numbers had been cleared and
were at zero; they gazed right back at me.
Well, lets try something simple first. I touched the third button in
the third row, setting the second row of controls for minutes, seconds and
tenths of seconds. I tapped the first button in the second row twice: twenty
minutes. I set the top right-hand button for Forward, the top left-hand
button for Jump.
I double-checked the numbers on the panel and closed the belt.
Now. All I had to do was tap the upper right-hand corner of the buckle
twice.
The future waited.
I swallowed once and tapped.
POP!
I staggered and straightened. I had forgotten about that. The
instructions had warned that there would be a slight shock every time I
jumped. It had something to do with forcing the air out of the space you
were materializing in. It wasn't bad though I just hadn't been expecting it.
It was like scuffing your shoes on a rug and then touching metal, that kind
of shock, but all over your whole body at once.
Aside from that, I had no way of proving I was in the future.
Oh, wait. Yes, I did. I was still wearing my wristwatch. It said 1:43.
I strode into the kitchen and looked at the kitchen clock.
It said 2:03.
If the kitchen clock was to be believed, then the belt was real, and I
had just traveled through time. Twenty minutes forward. Assuming the kitchen
clock hadn't suddenly
No! This had to be real. It was real. I had actually done it!
I'd been sort of treating the whole thing as a game; not even the
jump-shock had convinced me. That could have been faked by a battery in the
belt. But this I
I knew my watch and I knew that kitchen clock; they couldn't have been
faked.
I actually had a time machine. A real live, honestto-God working time
machine.
I took a deep breath and forced myself to be calm. I tried to force
myself to be calm.
I had a time machine. A real time machine. I had jumped twenty minutes
forward. The room looked just the same, not even the quality of the
afternoon sunlight had changed, but I knew I had jumped forward in time. The
big question was what was I going to do next?
I had to think about this no problem, I had all the time in the world.
I giggled when I realized that. Hmm. I knew. Suddenly I realized what I
could do.
I opened the belt and reset the control for twentyfour hours. Forward.
I would pick up a copy of tomorrow's paper, then bounce back and go to the
race track today. I would make a fortune. I would MIGOD! Why hadn't I
realized this ?
I could be as rich as I wanted to be.
Rich ? The word lost all meaning when I realized what I could do. Not
just the race track Las Vegas! The stock market! Anything! There were boxing
matches to bet on and companies to invest in, new products from the future
and rare objects from the past my head swam with the possibilities.
I wanted to laugh. And I'd been worried about a mere hundred and
forty-three million dollars!
Uncle Jim had been right after all! I was rich! I wanted to shout! I
felt like dancing! The room twirled with wealth and I spun with it until I
tripped over a chair.
Still gasping and giggling, I sat up. It was too much too much!
Before before I had proven that the belt really worked all those
possibilities had been merely fantasies: fun things to think about, but not
taken seriously. Now, however, they were more than possibilities. They were
probabilities. I would do them all. All of them! Because I had all the time
in the world! I was hysterical with delight. Giddy with enthusiasm
I forced myself to stop.
Be serious now, I told myself. Let's approach this properly. Let's
think these things out; take them one at a time
Tomorrow. I grinned and touched the button.
Pop!
* * *
This time the shock wasn't so bad, I
There was somebody in the room.
Then he turned to face me.
For a moment it was like staring into a sudden mirror
"Hi," he said. "I've been waiting for you."
It was me.
I must have been staring, because he said, "Relax, Dan " and I jumped
again.
The sound of his voice it was my voice as I've heard it on tape. The
look in his eyes I've seen those eyes in the mirror. His face it was my face
the features, everything: the nose, short and straight; the hair, dark brown
with a hint of red and with the wave that I can't comb out; the mouth, wide
and smiling; the cheekbones, high and pronounced.
"You're me " It must have sounded inane.
He was a little flustered too. He held out something he had been
holding, a newspaper. "Here," he said. "I believe we were going to the
races."
"We?"
"Well, it's no fun going alone, is it?"
"Uh " My head was still spinning.
"It's all right," he said. "I'm you I'm your future self. Tomorrow
you'll be me. That is, we're the same person. We've just doubled back our
timeline." "Oh," I said, blinking.
He grinned with the knowledge of a joke that I hadn't gotten yet.
"Okay, let's do it this way. I'm your twin brother."
I looked at him again; he stared unabashedly back.
He was almost delighting in my confusion, and he had hit on one of my
most secret fantasies of course. He couldn't help but know, he was me. When
I was younger, my greatest desire had been the impossible wish for an
identical twin a second me, someone who understood me, whom I could talk to
and share secrets with. Someone who would always be there, so I would never
be alone. Someone who
I gaped helplessly. It was all happening too fast.
He reached out and took my hand, shook it warmly.
"Hi," he said. "I'm Don. I'm your brother." At first I just let him
shake my hand, but after a second of his silly grinning at me, I returned
his grip. (Interesting. Some people shake my hand and their grip is too
hard. Others have a grip that's too weak. Don's grip was just right but why
shouldn't it be? He's me. I have to keep reminding myself of that; it's
almost too easy to think of him as Don.) The touch of his hand was strange.
Is that what I feel like?
We went to the races.
Oh, first we bounced back twenty-eight hours; both of us. He flashed
back first, then I followed. We both reappeared at the same instant because
our target settings were identical. He was wearing a timebelt too well, of
course; if I could be duplicated, so could the belt.) I couldn't shake the
feeling that this fellow from the future was invading my home even though it
was meaningless but he seemed so sure of himself that I had to follow in his
wake.
When I glanced at the kitchen clock, I got another start. It was just a
little past ten why, I was still at Uncle Jim's funeral! I'd be coming home
in an hour with the lawyer. Maybe it was a good thing that Don had taken the
lead; there was still too much I didn't know.
As we walked out to the car, Mrs. Peterson, the old lady in the front
apartment, was just coming out of her door. "Hello, Danny " she started,
then she stopped. She looked from one to the other of us confusedly. "This
is my brother," said Don quickly. "Don," he said to me, a gentle pressure on
my arm, "this is Mrs. Peterson." To her: "Don will be staying with me for a
while, so if you think you're seeing double, don't be surprised."
She smiled at me. I nodded, feeling like a fool. I knew Mrs. Peterson
but Don's grip on my arm reminded me that she didn't know. She looked back
and forth, blinking. "I didn't know you were twins "
"We've been living separately," said Don quicky, "so we could each have
a chance to be our own person. Don's been up in San Francisco for the past
two years."
"Oh," she said. She turned on her smile again and beamed politely at
me. "Well, I hope you'll like it in Los Angeles, Don. There's so much to
do."
"Uh yes," I said. "It's very exciting."
We made our goodbyes and went on to the car.
Abruptly, Don started giggling. "I wish you could have seen your face,"
he said. "Well, you will tomorrow." Still laughing, he repeated my last
words, "Uh yes. It's very exciting. You looked as if you'd swallowed a
frog."
I stopped in the act of unlocking the passenger-side door. (It seemed
natural for him to take the drivers side; besides, I was unsure of the way
to the track.) "Why didn't you let me explain?" I asked. "She's my
neighbor."
"She's my neighbor too," he replied, giggling again. "Besides, what
would you have said? At least I've been through this once before." He opened
his door and dropped into the drivers seat.
I got in slowly and looked at him. He was unlatching the convertible
top. He didn't notice my gaze. I realized that I was feeling resentful of
him he was so damned sure of himself, even to the way he was making himself
at home in my car. Was that the way I was? I found myself studying his
mannerisms.
Suddenly he turned to me. "Relax," he said. He turned to look me
straight in the eye. "I know what you're going through. I went through it
too. The way to do this is at least, I think so is the first time you go
through something, just watch. The second time, you know what's going to
happen; that's where the arrogance comes from. Only it isn't arrogance. It's
confidence." "I guess this is happening a little too fast for me."
"Me too," he said. "I know this is a weird thing to say, but I missed
you. Or maybe I missed me. Anyway, it'll work better this way. You'll see."
He pushed the button on the dashboard and the convertible top lifted off and
began folding back. "Put on a tape," he said, indicating the box of
cassettes on the floor. He started to name one, then stopped himself. "Want
me to tell you which one you're going to choose?"
"Uh no, thanks." I studied the different titles with such an intensity
I couldn't see any of them. It would be impossible for me to surprise him no
matter what tape I chose, no matter what I did, he would already know, he
would have done it himself.
Of course, he had been through all this before. He had every reason to
be sure of himself. When I became him, I'd probably be cocky too. Perhaps a
little giddy you couldn't help but feel powerful if you knew everything that
was going to happen before it happened. Of course he should be the one to do
the talking.
Later I'd get my turn; but right now I was feeling a little unsure,
both of myself and of the situation. I could learn by following his lead. I
put on a tape of Petrouchka and concentrated on the road.
I'd never been to the race track before. It was bigger than I'd
expected. Don steered his way into the parking lot with surprising
familiarity and arrowed immediately toward a space that shouldn't have been
there, but was.
Instead of seats in the bleachers, as I had expected, he bought a
private box. Grinning at me, he explained, "Why not? We deserve the best."
I wanted to point out that it wasn't necessary; besides, it cost too
much. Then I realized he was right; the money made no difference at all. We
were going to make a lot more than we spent, so why not enjoy? I shut up and
let myself be awed by the great expanses of green lawn. Under the bright
sun, the wide sweeping track seemed poised in midair, a curve of stark and
simple elegance. The stands loomed high above us and I was properly
impressed.
We ordered mint juleps from the bar nouveau riche I thought, but didn't
protest and made our way to our seats. Don made a great show of studying the
paper, which I thought was funny it was today's race results he was poring
over. "Yes, yes . . ."he muttered in loud tones of feigned thoughtfulness.
"I think Absolam's Ass looks pretty good in the first." He looked up.
"Danny, go put a hundred dollars on Absolam's Ass. To win."
"Uh " I started fumbling in my pockets. "I only
have sixty " And then I broke off and looked at him. "A
hundred dollars ?" On a horse? A hundred dollars?
He was eying me with cool amusement. There was a crisp new bill in his
hand. "You want to get rich?" he asked. "You have to spend money to make
money." I blinked and took the bill. Somehow I found my way to the betting
windows and traded the money for ten bright printed tickets. The clerk
didn't even glance up.
Absolam's Ass paid off at three to one. We now had three hundred
dollars. Don ordered two more mint juleps while I went to collect our
winnings and put them on Fig Leaf. This time the clerk hesitated, repeated
the bet aloud, then punched the buttons on his machine.
Fig Leaf paid off at two to one. We now had six hundred dollars. And
another mint julep.
Calamity Jane also paid off at two to one. We were up to twelve hundred
dollars, and the clerk at the window was beginning to recognize me.
Finders Keepers came in second, and I looked at
Don in consternation. He merely grinned and said,
"Wait " I waited, and Harass was disqualified for
bumping Tumbleweed. Finders Keepers paid eight to
one. Ninety-six hundred dollars. The betting official
went a little goggle-eyed when I tried to put it all on Big
John. He had to call over a manager to okay it.
Big John came in at three to one. Twenty-eight thousand, eight hundred
dollars. I was getting a little goggle-eyed. The track manager personally
took my next bet; with that much money at stake, I couldn't blame him. I
made a little show of hesitating thoughtfully as if I couldn't make up my
mind, partly to keep him from getting curious about my "system" and partly
because I was getting nervous about all the people who were watching me to
see which way I would bet. Apparently they were betting the same way. Word