Past Imperfect (Jerry eBooks)

by Martin H Greenberg

  Behind her Private Becky Pollard came up. “Nice job. Much better than my first time out here.” Becky was a short woman, with bright red hair and freckles. Dining the battle she swore more than any person Kendra had ever heard, using words Kendra had never dreamed a woman could use so effectively.

  “Thanks,” Kendra said. “I had no idea what I was doing.”

  “How could you,” Becky said. “Remember where you were when the Captain asked you to join the crew.”

  “A nursing home wheelchair,” Kendra said, the memories flooding back in. And the questions about this all being a dream. It didn’t feel much like a dream anymore, that was for sure.

  “Being in a nursing home sure trains you to fire a Proton Beam, doesn’t it?” Becky said, then laughed.

  “I wish I had one for a few of the nurses,” Kendra said.

  Becky laughed. “Yeah, I know that feeling. Come on, I’ll show you where a shower is, and you should have another fresh uniform in your room.”

  “Thanks,” Kendra said. Then, almost as if it had been a habit for the past twenty-five years, she pushed herself to her feet and stood. It wasn’t until she took the first step that she remembered that before this trip, she couldn’t walk. And hadn’t been able to for years.

  This was a dream.

  It had to be.

  One hour later, freshly showered and still marveling at her ability to walk, she joined the rest of the crew in the small mess area. The place smelled of fresh bread and all the tables had been pushed against the walls. Drinks and food filled one table near the door and she took a bottle of water and some fresh bread. She met the crew members she hadn’t had time to meet before the battle, then moved over to Captain Saber.

  “Thanks for the great idea of ramming the Warsticks,” he said, handing her a drink. “You saved all of our lives.”

  She laughed. “You’d have thought of it eventually.”

  “Maybe, maybe not,” he said. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.” She knew her face was red, but she ignored the feeling.

  At that, the Captain turned to his second in command and said, “Fire it up.”

  “You got it, Captain,” Carl said, smiling at her. He flicked a switch and music filled the room. Christmas music just soft enough to talk over, yet loud enough to hear clearly.

  The Captain bowed to her slightly. “I remember in one of our lunch conversations you mentioned how much you liked to dance. What better thing to do on Christmas than dance?”

  For a moment she thought she just might wake up and lose the entire dream. But she didn’t. She stayed right there, standing on her own two feet. “I’d love to,” she managed to say to the Captain.

  He took her hand and a moment later they were moving around the floor of the mess hall as the others watched and clapped along with the music.

  Four hours later, after more dances than she could remember, she was standing beside her sleep chamber again, her old nightgown on her young body. She knew she had to get in the chamber, but she didn’t want to.

  She stood there, trying to get the memory of the dancing, of just standing, clearly in her mind. Finally when the warning bell rang, she had no choice. With one last twirl on her feet, she crawled in and pulled the cover closed over her head.

  The next thing she remembered the young woman dressed in black was picking her up out of the sleep chamber and taking her down into the courtyard, floating in the cold Chicago night air. A few minutes later the woman put her down in her wheelchair, saluted, and left.

  Kendra looked at her old, wrinkled hands in the dim light, then felt the deadness in her legs. Had she been dancing on those legs? Had it happened?

  Had she just dreamed it all?

  She needed to try to find out the answer to those questions.

  She moved her chair out into the hall and through Brian’s door. He was in bed, his head turned so that he could see her as she rolled up beside him. Even in the dim light, she could see his smile and the twinkle in his eyes.

  “You’ve got a lot of explaining to do,” she said, “before I’m really going to believe that all happened.”

  He laughed. “I felt exactly the same way at first. And every time I end up back here in this old worthless body, I wonder if I did everything I remember doing.”

  “So it was real?” she asked, looking around the nursing home room, so far from the ship on the edge of the borders between earth’s space and other aliens races. So far from the battle with the Warsticks.

  “Very real,” he said. “And very important. We’re the only ones that can go out there and defend this planet. We’re the only ones old enough to withstand the time travel length. Earth needs us. Amazing as that may seem.”

  A shiver ran down her back. “I thought I was long past the point where anyone would ever need me.”

  “A few years ago,” Brian said, “so did I.”

  They sat in silence for a moment.

  Finally she took a deep breath and realized just how tired she felt. She slowly pushed her wheelchair back and turned it toward the door. “Join me for Christmas breakfast?”

  “I’d love to,” he said, smiling. “And maybe soon we can go dancing again.”

  “Do you think that’s possible? Really?”

  “We usually are called for a mission at least once a week, if not more often,” he said. “I think a dance or two just might be arranged.”

  “Thank you, Captain,” she said. “For the best Christmas present anyone has ever given me. I will see you at breakfast.”

  “The pleasure will be all mine,” he said.

  She wheeled herself across the hall and to her bed. A few moments later she was on her back, staring at the ceiling, remembering the feeling of standing, of walking, and of dancing.

  Especially of dancing.

  She so loved to dance. Tonight hadn’t been a dream. She knew that now. She had fought aliens for the Earth Protection League. And she had danced, and she would dance again.

  For the first time in years she actually had something to live for. Tomorrow at breakfast she’d talk to Captain Brian Saber about all the wonders out there in the universe. And about her duties and what Earth needed from her.

  It felt wonderful to be needed again, especially on Christmas.

  She closed her eyes after a few minutes and drifted off to sleep. And for the first night in a very long time, she didn’t need to dream of dancing.

  A TOUCH THROUGH TIME

  by Kathleen M. Massie-Ferch

  Kathleen Massie-Ferch was born and raised in Wisconsin. She’s there still, with a wonderful husband, two Scottie dogs, several telescopes, numerous rocks, and more books than she cares to count. She worked her way through college, earning degrees in astronomy, physics, and geology-geophysics. For the past twenty years she has worked for the University of Wisconsin as a research geologist. Massie-Ferch has made short fiction sales to a variety of places, such as Fantasy Magazine, Sword and Sorceress, Warrior Princesses, and Far Frontiers. She has coedited two historical fantasy anthologies for DAW Books, Ancient Enchantresses and Warrior Enchantresses.

  I set the cardboard box on my new desk in the nearly empty office. Two high-backed chairs near the large windows looked very comfortable. An exceptional place for watching the eight very rare gaurs grazing in the lush green area between the widely spaced buildings. I wondered if the animals were the real thing or cloned bovines. This was certainly a better view than the one in my newly acquired living quarters. In fact, it was a majestic view and likely to be very distracting. And yet somewhere, under all that scenic grass, a series of tunnels connected every building I could see and those I couldn’t see. Someone had fun designing this place!

  I turned away. The entire wall opposite the bank of north-facing windows was floor-to-ceiling bookcases. It might be enough room. Might.

  The phone rang. How should I answer it? I looked at it through two more rings. Then I shrugged and picked up the handset.

  �
�Dr. Connor Robins.” One of the few times I had used my new title. I liked the sound of it. Nice and formal for the new job.

  “Hey, Connor. How’s the new digs?”

  “Hey, Ky. They’re fine. I see the rest of my things haven’t arrived.”

  “You mean your books?”

  I turned around and found my best and oldest friend standing in the open doorway, holding his cell phone. I hung up even as Ky did. We shook hands.

  “So where are my books?”

  Ky smiled as he shoved his hands in his jean pockets. “Still over in shipping. I had them put in more shelves.” He pointed to the south wall. “They just finished with these yesterday. Maintenance will bring the books over later today, and I’ve got a grad student willing to unpack them.”

  “Grad student?”

  “Yeah, in fact I think they had a raffle to see who got the honor of unpacking for you.”

  “What?”

  “The great Dr. Connor Robins!” Ky laughed.

  “You’re bullshitting me, aren’t you?” Did I hear the soft mooing of those bovines in the background?

  “No, not at all. You’re a legend around here. Some of the students know your dissertation by heart, I swear. Every formula. No one can believe how a genius of your magnitude could have taken so long to finish a simple Ph.D.”

  “Simple? Genius?” I studied Ky’s dark features more closely. His brown eyes betrayed little except his usual good humor. I had known this man most of my life, but still it was hard to read him some days. “What have you been telling these people?” I went over and opened my sole box of fragile possessions. The box I wouldn’t leave to the movers.

  “Not much.”

  “What?”

  “Basically that it took you five years longer than me because you are so demanding. Everything must be exact!”

  “I’m not into sloppy work.”

  “Of course not. And neither am I, but no one really understands your mathematics.”

  “There was also the matter of that little pandemic in ’04. You know that flu that killed so many people? It did disrupt a few people’s plans. Including my own.”

  “Of course it did. You could have finished your degree during the middle of the pandemic, and they would have graduated you. Then you would have had lots of time to spend volunteering. Having a job didn’t stop me, or anyone else here, from helping out where we could.”

  “My research was undone then.”

  “Only you knew that.”

  “No, my father knew it.”

  “So? He wasn’t on your panel.”

  “No, but I’m sure he read my dissertation, analyzed the calculations, and passed judgment on it within hours of it being turned in.”

  “Connor, relax. He doesn’t have that much pull anywhere in the world of physics, despite his precious Nobel. Remember what post-docs are for?”

  “I’ve heard this argument before. Get out in the real world, make some money while finishing your research and then publish the good stuff. You ever finish your calculations on wormhole densities?”

  He actually grinned. “No, but then I don’t need to. You’ve proved we don’t need wormholes to describe time flow.”

  “I didn’t prove that at all. I found one theory of time, and it doesn’t require worms. You could find another, just as viable method.”

  “Not likely.” Ky reached into my box of belongings and pulled out a picture as I set up several others on my desk. “Is this the same picture we found at that garage sale?”

  “Yes,” I answered.

  “How that one little history project changed your life. It sounded so simple. Find a picture of someone you never heard of and track down their life’s story. You realize that most of the kids, including me, made up the stories we told?”

  “Oh, I knew. And so did Mrs. Adams, which is why I got an A and you didn’t.”

  “I thought that was because I chose a picture of a whale and not a person.” He looked at my new desk. “All of these pictures are of her.” He took the one I was holding. “This one is even signed! How did you manage that? No, wait. I should ask, how long did it take you to track this one down? It’s not as if Amora Jord has a fan club or anything.”

  “Not long,” I answered.

  “I take that back. She does have a fan club. Membership of one.”

  I smiled. “Only me? How about you?”

  “Yeah, I did like her. When I was fourteen. But the woman’s been dead for eighty-four years.”

  “Don’t embellish. It’s only been—”

  “Eighty-four years this fall,” Ky finished. His smiled died. “I’m sorry, Connor.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you got involved in time-travel physics because of her.”

  “Did I?”

  Ky nodded. “I always thought you wanted to invent time travel to go back to that day she died and pull her from the burning theater, or to warn her off at the very least. And now your theories have proved beyond a doubt that history can’t be changed, only observed.”

  “I know that’s what my father thought, or maybe he never forgave me for going into an area other than quantum physics. He’s taken my equations and is running wild trying to prove any form of time travel is impossible.”

  “I heard that. I knew he’d never be able to survive retirement. He’s more prolific now than ever. Did you see his latest papers?”

  “No. I’m avoiding them. He’s always been very good at trashing my work.”

  “Actually he doesn’t criticize your work or even mention it.”

  “No, but he doesn’t have much use for time travel or preserving endangered species. And certainly not for restoring extinct species. When he finally finds a theory he likes, he’ll try to ram it down my throat so I’ll quit here and join his research company. Or he’ll buy this company and shut it down.”

  “So much for retirement!” Ky said with a smile.

  “Retirement means he only goes to the office six hours a day.”

  “Don’t worry, Northern Escapes isn’t for sale.” Ky pointed to the table again. “How did you get so many pictures of Amora?”

  “There was a photographer who followed her around every day for a week just before she died. It was part of the promo for her new show. The theater burned down, so no star, no show. He never got paid for the work and couldn’t sell the pictures. I found his estate and bought them.”

  “How did you ever learn about the obscure event?”

  I pulled another picture from my box and handed it to him. It showed two boys standing arm in arm and grinning like the silly kids we were.

  “How old were we then?” he asked.

  “Thirteen. We had just won our first high school physics contest.”

  “Yeah, we won every one of them four years straight. I think they were happy to get rid of us so others might get a chance to compete.”

  “Maybe.”

  “And I bet we were the only kids in our class to actually get advanced degrees in physics. Most of them were just playing.”

  “No, Barb Jansen get her degree,” I said.

  “Yeah, but it was in astrophysics.”

  “Close enough. And her projects were damn good. Good enough to get her a great scholarship. She’s at JPL now, if you care to e-mail her sometime.”

  He ignored me as I finished placing my pictures. Most, I placed on the table by the windows. Within an easy roll of my desk’s chair.

  Ky motioned to the display. “A dozen photos of Arnora.”

  “I bet you’ve got at least that many of your dog on your desk. And not a single one of a girl.”

  Ky’s smile was back. “Actually, I’ve got several pictures of girls.”

  “Any of them not of your three nieces?”

  “Hum, well, no. But they are of some very cute girls.”

  “Are you going to show me my new lab now? I want to be back here to direct the placement of my books and notes. When I want something, I don’t want to
have to first phone some kid to ask them where they put it.”

  “Maybe you will. This kid’s cute and available. And every bit as blonde and petite as Amora. Her name’s Rebecca Lanza.”

  “You haven’t asked Becky out?” I asked.

  “Can’t. I’m her boss. By the way, it’s Rebecca. Never Becky. But you could, you would just be a coworker.”

  “Why do I have the distinct feeling I’m being set up? Again?”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it! And I’m going to show you the entire complex, not just your lab.” He waved me out the door ahead of him.

  “I don’t need to see it all. Moving has left me away from my work for way too long.”

  “Yes, you have to see it all. It might inspire you to think about time travel for something more important than getting a girl.”

  “Getting a girl?”

  “Yes. We do some very important work with endangered species.”

  “I know and I very much approve of it. Okay, maybe just the barns.”

  “We have pandas,” Ky said softly with his usual understated smile.

  “Pandas? What kind of pandas?”

  “Giant pandas. We have six from last year’s efforts and five from this year’s.”

  “How did you get so many breeding adults outside of China?”

  “We didn’t. They’re all clones born to black bears.” He grinned at my open mouth. “We already shipped nine youths to be introduced to the wilds in China.”

  “How many individuals do they represent?”

  “Only five, but China is so happy with the cubs we sent over, they’re sending us new tissue samples so we can expand our clone base. You want that compete tour now?”

  “Yep,” I said as I followed him down the hallway.

  Northern Escapes! It still sounded like a vacation service. It looked like a resort. A large complex of buildings, nestled into a valley carpeted by lush grasses. Forests covered the upper slopes and hilltops. A pristine trout stream rushed through the middle of the complex. One of the complex’s many tunnels passed under the stream and had a glass roof, so you could observe the underwater world. I was assured by several grad students that this was a great place to take a date on nights with full moons. I smiled at the information and wondered if it was so popular how they dealt with crowd control?