by Jean Rabe
There was a sound like a meaty punch. My chest went numb, and I fell back against the time machine. And then a fiery pain blossomed, right over my heart.
So this was what dying felt like.
I’d thought I would be afraid, but instead I was so calm.
Everything had slowed to half speed.
I forced myself up. My blood smeared the time machine.
I staggered and dragged my hand up so that the two men could see what I held in it.
Rick had built the trigger in a cute little box that had a red, blinking button like something from a child’s game.
They understood exactly what I was showing them. They ran.
I looked down at myself. From my breasts down, my silver gray uniform was bright red and wet. Shiny.
I was going to die shiny. It made me smile.
I pushed the button.
Rick stumbled into his apartment, dropped his satchel, and flipped on the lights. His dog, Grady, danced around his feet, glad to see him, but Rick had to sit down to catch his breath.
He’d obviously run up the stairs instead of taking the elevator, but he couldn’t remember why.
The library books in his satchel had to weigh fifty pounds. He could have killed himself running with all that extra weight. His heart felt like it was going to jump out of his chest, and his breath was so rasping that it hurt his throat.
When his breathing had eased, he bent down to pat Grady.
Something in his shirt pocket crackled. The mail he’d picked up before his dash up the stairs, he guessed. He pulled out a letter, addressed to him with way too much postage stuck in the corner.
He opened it and pulled out a single sheet of paper so thick and fine that it felt like something from another time. The logo on it was for something called Timeshares Travel Agency. He’d never heard of it.
The note was written in a neat script.
Rick,
If I’m successful, I don’t think this note will make any sense to you.
But if you read it in time, please forgive me. Forgive me for making your beautiful voice dark. Forgive me for lying to you. But if I’d let you blow up the machine of today, they’d have just built another one. And all that would have accomplished was to delay the inevitable. I had to take out the very first one.
There are so many reasons why I’ve done what I did. It was for the Anasazi, and Newgrange and Stonehenge and the Mona Lisa. For the books and the libraries. But, mostly, it was for the future.
I did it for the mysteries. And for the children. Everyone deserves the right to grow up unspoiled, not knowing.
Sarah Jane
ABOUT THE EDITORS
Jean Rabe is the author of two dozen books and more than four dozen short stories. She primarily writes fantasy, but dabbles in the science fiction, military, and horror genres when given the opportunity. A former newspaper reporter and news bureau chief, she’s also edited anthologies, gaming magazines, and newsletters. When not writing, Jean works on her growing to-be-read stack of books, plays roleplaying and board games, visits museums, and fiercely tugs on old socks with her three dogs. Visit her Web site at: www.jeanrabe.com.
Martin H. Greenberg is the CEO of Tekno Books and its predecessor companies, now the largest book developer of commercial fiction and nonfiction in the world, with over two thousand published books, including more than one thousand anthologies, that have been translated into thirty-three languages. He is the recipient of an unprecedented four Lifetime Achievement Awards in the science fiction, mystery, and supernatural horror genres, the Milford and Solstice awards in science fiction, the Bram Stoker award in horror, and the Ellery Queen award in mystery—the only person in publishing history to have received all three awards.