My heart pounded as she took this in, her eyes never leaving my face. Finally, she shot me a venomous look. “Tell him he’s late for the rent.”
“I will,” I promised. Without a word, she slammed the door and I wiped beads of sweat from my brow as I made my way into Dr. Schumann’s apartment.
I slinked inside, wrinkling my nose; the apartment reeked of alcohol. I blinked for a moment before moving any further, my eyes getting used to the low light. “Greetings, doctor,” I said to a still silhouette on an armchair while hanging my coat on a nail by the door. No reply came. Like my intel had suggested, Dr. Schumann lay in his favorite corner of the room, dead as a lanky doornail, the victim of chronic liver failure. His half-open eyes reflected the soft light coming from outside through the dingy, tattered curtains. I padded over to close them, avoiding his lifeless stare.
The soft music coming from the huge radio facing him came to an abrupt end, followed by a yelling announcer. As my heart skipped a beat, I wondered if I should keep the radio on, then decided that my nerves were too fraught for sudden sounds and I turned the knob, welcoming the ensuing quiet.
A thin beam of pale light cut through the middle of the tall window overlooking the small plaza where Hitler would arrive in less than an hour. As I headed towards it, I tripped over an empty bottle and kneeled to plonk it onto a table.
I considered turning on a light as I pried the window open to glance outside. Chances were no one was looking up, but I had already maxed out my luck for one night, and did not want to take any risks. Pulling a nearby chair by the window, I drew my gun out to examine it under the streetlamp’s soft glow. The laser sight whirred and turned as it calculated distance, a red dot pointing at the ceiling.
I lost track of time staring at the twin barrels, until a car sped into the plaza and four dark-clad men jumped out. I instinctively drew back into the room’s shadows as they studied the surrounding buildings. After a moment, they disappeared towards the plaza’s four corners, while the driver parked the car under my building. It won’t be long now.
I rubbed sweat off my palms and pulled a pair of gloves from my pocket. The last thing I wanted was to have the gun slip through my fingers as I pulled the trigger; I only had one chance at this. I stared with disdain at my sweaty, shaking fingers as I pushed them into their soft constraints.
The sound of more cars screeching outside made me hurry up, snapping the gloves on my hands. I stole a look outside; three cars had stopped before the City Hall’s entrance. I had no idea what the Fuehrer wanted there at this late hour; my intel did not extend that far. Nor did I need to know, of course. Like countless Jews before me, all I wanted was a shot at the man who had nearly destroyed my people.
With a flick of my thumb, I switched the laser off and stared down the laser sight, focusing on the car in the middle. I almost slammed the trigger as its door flew open and a bodyguard stepped out to glance around, then forced myself to stand still, any sudden movement certain to draw attention to me. When the man stepped to the side, holding the door open, I had him in my sights.
The monster who had been responsible for millions of deaths sprang out of the car with an agility that caught me off guard. I cursed silently, flicking the laser sight on with my thumb. A tiny red dot, clearly visible through the laser sight, danced on the stone steps, trying to lock onto the short man rushing towards the yawning doors of the building. Realizing that in a few seconds he would disappear through them, I panicked and my finger twitched. The bullet exploded against one of the columns adorning the building’s entrance, sending stone splinters to rain against the startled men.
Shit! I drew a deep breath, trying to slow down my pounding heart. I squeezed the trigger a second time, just as the Fuehrer spun around to face me. His moustached lip quivered as he stared at me, bug eyed. Then his head exploded into countless tiny fragments, spraying warm droplets over his stunned bodyguards. Blood flew onto the steps below like swirling scarlet raindrops, baptizing the marble in his blood, as the Fuehrer’s knees buckled, sending his body to crash against the stone.
Loud yells and shouts shot from outside. A woman screamed as I brought my hand to my mouth to drown a cackle, pulling back into the safety of the dark apartment. I did it! My heart filled with a primal joy as my pulse pounded on my temples. A countdown started in my head; I had to let Zion know I had succeeded. Rotating the buckle on my belt to reveal a small indentation, I clicked it with my finger. The buckle split open and I pressed the inconspicuous button inside, before releasing the breath of relief that had caught in my throat.
Within a few seconds, an agent would travel back in time to stop me from entering the time machine, thus undoing the assassination. It did not matter; I had succeeded. Even better, I had the recording on my weapon, protected by a weak paradox field, to prove it. I shut my eyelids as the room started to spin and fade away.
When I cracked them open again, I was in the middle of a sparsely decorated room, lying down on a silky chair. A warm light filled the white room to reveal my instructor’s smiling face. He stepped out from behind an undersized desk with nothing but a glowing, transparent screen on top.
“Congratulations, son, you did it,” he said, and palmed my shoulder. I looked up at him, a wide grin on my face. He wore his usual khakis. A blue beret stuck out from his right shoulder strap.
“Thank you,” I said. “It’s a pity he can’t stay dead.”
He lifted his broad shoulders. “You know we can’t change the course of history. By stopping you before you enter the time stream, we prevent that from happening. Only after you’ve had your fun, though.”
I had to laugh; the man was right. I did have a great time killing Hitler. “But they let JFK stay dead,” I complained, not for the first time.
“You know that’s different. That prevented a nuclear war.”
I scoffed, but did not insist; I was too exhilarated for that. “Now what?” I asked him, and his smile disappeared, his face turning serious. I mirrored his expression as he handed me my own blue beret.
“Now you’re one of us,” he said. “Wear it with pride.”
Tears welled up in my eyes as my fingers caressed the soft fabric. “I will,” I promised, and rushed to my feet. A wave of nausea crashed over me, sending me to collapse back onto the chair.
“Easy now,” my instructor said. “You just came back. Give it a minute.”
I nodded and allowed him to help me to my feet after a moment. “Are you coming?”
“And miss all this paperwork?” He nodded towards the screen on the desk.
I shook his hand. “Thank you. For everything.”
His amber eyes studied me. “Was it all you hoped it would be?”
I never knew my grin could grow even wider. “And more.” I staggered to the door.
“I’ll catch you later,” he said as he slumped behind the desk.
The door hissed open and I waved my thanks. I stepped outside on unsteady legs, almost crashing into a nurse.
“Easy there,” he said, jumping back.
“I’m sorry, I’m just back—”
“From assassinating Hitler, I know.” He pointed at a sign outside the room with the words Post-mission Recovery Room. His eyes met mine and he opened his mouth, then hesitated. “Can I…” he stammered. I raised my eyebrows questioningly and waited. “Mind if I ask you something?” he finally blurted out.
“Sure.” I leaned with my back on the wall.
“Oh, I’m sorry, are you still recovering?”
“No, I’m fine,” I assured him. “Just catching my breath. What did you want to know?”
He pursed his lips. “Why do you do it?”
“Excuse me?”
He cocked his head to examine me. “I don’t get it. Thousands of people traveling back in time to kill Hitler, when you know you can’t really change anything. What’s the point?”
Realization hit me and my lips curled upwards. “You’re not Jewish, are you?”
He shook his head. “No, Arab.”
“What’s your name?”
“I’m sorry, where are my manners?” He extended his hand. “I’m Hasan.”
I squeezed his fingers. “Have you made your Hajj yet, Hasan?”
His face beamed. “Yes. I went last year.”
“Did you perform the stoning of the devil?”
“Ramy al-Jamarat? Of course.”
“Can you describe it for me?”
He shrugged. “We throw stones at the devil, to remember Abraham’s defiance of him.”
“Does that hurt the devil?”
A soft laugh escaped Hasan’s lips. “I guess not.”
“Well, our devil walked this earth, so we don’t throw pebbles at him. We fire bullets.”
“I…” His voice trailed and he chuckled. “I think I understand. Thank you.” He frowned as a siren blared above us. “I’m sorry, I have to go. We have another assassination in five minutes.” He rushed off, waving his goodbyes.
“No problem.” Placing my new beret on my head, I watched him disappear into a lift. He waved at me one last time, then the doors slid shut.
I shut my eyes and the image of Hitler’s skull exploding filled my head. Yes, it was everything I dreamed it would be. I wished I was allowed to relive the experience of killing him, but consoled myself with the thought that nothing could top that experience. Then a wide grin crept onto my face as I remembered my appointment with the Roman Department next week.
In six months’ time, once my training was complete, Lucius Flavius Silva would be met with more than Zealots in Masada.
Honest Fibs
My jaw hangs. “Time-travelling Nazi hunters? That was the first thing in your head?”
“I’m a complex man,” he says with a shrug.
Before I have a chance to respond, the drag screams for a second. The can slips through my fingers and crashes on the deck. Beer bleeds onto the wood, but I ignore it. I grab the rod and start the familiar game of pulling and releasing.
“Okay,” I say after a while, still continuing my tussle with the fishing rod. “My turn.”
Little Star Corvette
“You don’t mind if we meet at Sirrah, do you, hon?” Kate asked. “I can be there in a couple of days.”
“Aw, come on. You know I hate driving alone.”
“Something’s come up.”
I keep my voice calm. “You promised to meet me at the Andromeda Junction. Said you couldn’t wait.”
She stifled one of her signature yawns. The ones that signified she no longer cared for our conversation. I’d got enough of those when we broke up to recognize them anywhere. “Sorry.”
I knew I’d already lost the argument. I tapped my glasses to close the connection. Punched them, more like it. If she asked—which she wouldn’t—I’d just say the connection got cut off. Always a risk with subspace communication, after all. Not that she’d believe me. She knew me too well for that.
Having a Star Corvette Mark Nine and no one to share it with was no fun. When the company handed her over for a test drive, I thought I’d be picking up a different babe on each space station. But the unholy schedule they gave me meant there were no hot women when I arrived to each of my destinations; just unshaven, half-asleep groups of mechanics with soiled uniforms and grease under their nails.
“Great,” I mumbled. Now even Kate, my failsafe ex, had bailed on me. Supposedly to meet her girlfriends, but I knew the truth: She hated waking up before noon. She was probably already asleep by the time I cut off the connection.
I shoved my hands into my pockets and paced in front of the slender, eight-foot-long ship hovering above the extended arm of the space dock. She was the prettiest thing I’d ever driven, all nimble and sexy, with the new warp drive purring softly in her underbelly and a ride so smooth it could be a limo. No other ship around matched her elegant beauty—not that there were many at this hour. What’s the point of all that, though, with no one gawking at me in jealousy? I’d already been flying this baby all around the galaxy for a week now, and had nothing to show for it save two speeding tickets. Even worse, this was the last day before I had to take her back. She wouldn’t hit the market for another six months, which meant I wouldn’t be able to lay my hands on another one of these beauties for at least that long. Not that I could ever afford one, of course.
I kicked its smooth red surface. Not too hard, just to vent off. As expected, the coating, specially designed for both subspace and normal space, bent under my foot, then sprang back to its original shape.
“That will show it,” a nasal, professorial voice behind me said.
I whirled around to find a short, balding man in worn tweed staring with admiration at the ship. Not only does he sound like a professor, he looks like one, too. Instead of the augmented reality eyewear everyone wore, a pair of plain plastic spectacles covered his beady eyes. Is that tape holding the bridge together? My gaze scanned his clothes. Even the suede elbow patches matched the voice. His jacket sagged, as if he had been caught in a shrinking ray and now all his clothes were two sizes too large. I chuckled. That would explain how thin he is.
He scratched the threadlike stubble on his chin and pointed politely at the Corvette. “Nice ship.”
“Thanks.”
“A prototype, is it?”
A proud grin parted my lips, which was silly. The ship wasn’t mine. I was just one of many test drivers, barely making minimum wage. Still, there it was: someone was finally ogling her. I grinned like a child licking the only ice cream in the neighborhood, all of his friends watching with envy. “Yep. Mark Nine, and .07 warp. Could take you to Alpheratz and back in six hours.”
The man let out a slow whistle. “I’ve read about them. Thought they weren’t due this year.”
I shrugged. “They aren’t. I’m test driving this one.”
He licked his lips. “I’ve never been on a Star Corvette. Wonder if you’d like some company?”
“I don’t…” I trailed off. Why the hell not? Kate had just blown me off. And I had to go to Sirrah anyway. He was hardly the hot blonde I was hoping for, but at least I wouldn’t be alone. “I’m headed to Sirrah,” I said with a resigned sigh.
“I thought you said Alpheratz?”
“Figure of speech. No, I have to return this to the Sirrah space station by tomorrow.”
“That’s perfect. Been meaning to visit some friends there.” He gave me a pleading look. “So?”
My lips twitched upwards. “Fine. Hop aboard.”
To my surprise, he did just that. No luggage, no nothing. He literally hopped into the airlock and reappeared a second later inside the cockpit. He thumped the thick glass that framed it. “Are you coming?” he mouthed, and pointed to the driver’s seat.
With a shrug, I ambled inside and sank into the velvet softness of my seat with a contented sigh.
He was gawking at the leather-like material, running his fingers up and down the armrest. “That’s some sweet fabric,” he said, marvel in his voice. “Smooth like a baby’s bottom.”
The last baby’s bottom I’d seen was my own, so I just shrugged and started the preflight sequence. “It’s okay,” I said, trying to sound nonchalant.
His eyes bulged behind those thick lenses. “Just okay? It’s awesome, man!” With his finger, he pressed his glasses up his nose, as if his bulging eyes had pushed them away.
I chuckled, the contrast between his clothes and demeanor amusing me. “Yeah, all right,” I said and ran a finger along the seat’s rim. “It’s pretty sweet.”
He rapped his fingers against the glass and bounced up and down on his seat, like an eager five-year-old with a full bladder. I ignored him while I finished the preflight checklist and navigated away from the Andromeda Junction.
Once we were away from the station, he jumped on his seat to face me again. “So, what’s next?”
“Sirrah.” I keyed in the coordinates and the subspace drive hummed to life. I held on to my ar
mrests. No matter how many times I’d done this, it still felt wrong. Like punching a hole into the fabric of time and space, just because humanity couldn’t wait to move from point A to point B fast enough. The glass around us darkened for a split second, then a light like a thousand suns exploding blinded us. Every molecule in my body did a little jiggle as we slipped into subspace. Then, everything went dark again.
I checked the instruments. A rapidly accelerating number shone on the monitor. Within ten seconds, it steadied. We were traveling at one fifth the speed of light. “Point oh two,” I said with unwarranted pride.
He let out a whistle. “Damn, that’s impressive. I hardly felt it.”
“It’s the new inertia dampers. They’re twice as smooth as anything before them.”
“That is so cool.” He pointed at the speed, a cheeky grin on his face. “Is that the fastest she can go?”
I scrunched up my nose as I instinctively checked the monitor. The number two blinked leisurely in a glowing red. “I’ve already got two citations on this trip. Another one and I lose my license.”
“Sorry to hear that. Speeding?”
I clicked my tongue. “Stupid cops. Subspace is vast. I don’t understand why they even need to monitor traffic here. You have fewer chances of running into another ship than lightning striking you in the middle of a zombie apocalypse as you win the lottery.”
He laughed; a hearty, genuine chortle. “Politicians. They have to pass laws to make themselves useful. Even if they make no sense.”
Nodding my agreement, I made sure all systems were a go before leaning back in my chair. “So, what did you say you do?”
He pursed his lips for a moment, as if considering his answer. “I’m a techsmith.”
“A what?”
“A techsmith,” he repeated with conviction.
My brow furrowed. “Never heard of it. What’s that?”
He did a little twirl with his thumbs as he stared into the glass ceiling. “What do you call someone who has a way with words?”
“A writer?”
The Ultimate Collection of Science & Speculative Fiction Short Stories (Short SSF Stories Book 5) Page 12