Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Acknowledgements
Introduction
The Authentic Touch
Timeless Lisa
Been a Long Time
Unsolved Histories
Limited Time Offer
The Shaman
A Portrait of Time
But I’m Not the Only One
It’s Just a Matter of Time
Time Sharing - Jody Lynn Nye
Two Tickets to Paradise
The World of Null-T
Bruck in Time
Memories of Light and Sound
A Night to Forget
A Passion for Time Travel
No Man’s Land
By Our Actions
Spoilers
ABOUT THE EDITORS
The man in the shadows calls his name.
Something hits him hard from behind. He hears two quick pops—some part of his brain tells him it is gunfire, but it doesn’t sound nearly as loud as he’d imagined—and glass breaking. Yoko whips around, screaming.
“I’m shot,” he gasps.
“No,” says a voice in his ear. “You’re not. Not this time.”
He realizes then that the thing that hit him was a man, another lurker who must have sprung out of the darkness and tackled him like an American footballer, right before the gunshots started. The pain and breathlessness aren’t from bullets in his chest, but because this big man is lying on top of him, covering him with his body. Protecting him. “Who are you?” he grunts.
“A fan,” says the voice in his ear. “For forty years, ever since I was a boy. It’s an honor to meet you, Mr. Lennon.”
John has just enough time to think: that doesn’t make sense. I’m only forty. Then blue lightning flashes and his mouth floods with acid and his stomach drops ten miles into the earth and all of it—the Dakota, the madman with the gun, Yoko—it all disappears.
—from “But I’m Not the Only One” by Chris Pearson
Also Available from DAW Books:
Zombie Raccoons and Killer Bunnies, edited by Martin H. Greenberg and Kerrie Hughes
The fifteen tales included here range from chilling to humorous, from fairy-tale settings to high-tech situations. What they share is originality and critters. From an ongoing conflict between chickens and killer bunnies, to a raccoon ready to defend its own at any cost . . . from a look at a true book wyrm to the adventures of ninja rats . . . from a Siamese cat in league with a super squirrel to a story about the white bull of Tara—you’ll find tales about both the creatures you see around you every day, and those you should hope never to meet. With stories from Jody Lynn Nye, Anton Strout, Fiona Patton, Nina Kiriki Hoffmann, Richard Lee Byers, P.R. Frost and others.
The Trouble With Heroes, edited by Denise Little
This anthology is all about the other side of heroism. From what it’s like to be Hercules’ wife, to the trials of H. P. Lovecraft’s house-keeper, to the perils of being a giant ape’s girlfriend, to the downside of dating a shapeshifter, to getting too up close and personal with the Greek gods, here are the behind-the-scenes stories that give heroism some entirely new twists. So before you start daydreaming about days of old and knights so bold, take a look at what it could really mean to live out the fantasies in stories by author such as Jean Rabe, Nina Kiriki Hoffmann, Phaedra Weldon, Laura Resnick, Peter Orullian, Janna Silverstein, Kristine Katherine Rusch and others.
Spells of the City, edited by Jean Rabe and Martin H. Greenberg
Cities can be magical places to visit, with so many things to see and do. But what if there are true magic-workers and magical beings in the cities of our world—under bridges, lurking in alleyways, hiding in subway tunnels, or perhaps living in the apartment next door? So venture now where a troll may be your toll collector on the George Washington Bridge . . . Harry the Book will be happy to place your bets in a spellbinding alternate New York . . . while a gargoyle finds himself left to a lonely rooftop existence when he’s forced to live by his creator’s rules . . . and leprechauns must become bank robbers to keep up with the demand for their gold. And these are just a few of the denizens you’ll meet in a multitude of urban centers that have been touched by the fantastic, in stories by Timothy Zahn, Mike Resnick, C.J. Henderson, Linda P. Baker, Michael A. Stackpole, Brian M. Thomsen and more.
Copyright © 2010 by Tekno Books and Jean Rabe
All Rights Reserved.
DAW Book Collectors No. 1504.
DAW Books is distributed by Penguin Group (USA).
All characters and events in this book are fictitious.
All resemblance to persons living or dead is
coincidental.
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First Printing, March 2010
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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
“A Timely Introduction,” copyright © 2010 by Jean Rabe
“The Authentic Touch,” copyright © 2010 by Word Fire, Inc.
“Timeless Lisa,” copyright © 2010 by Robert E. Vardeman
“Been a Long Time,” copyright © 2010 by Matthew P. Mayo
“Unsolved Histories,” copyright © 2010 by Greg Cox
“Limited Time Offer,” copyright © 2010 by Dean Leggett
“The Shaman,” copyright © 2010 by Annie Jones
“A Portrait of Time,” copyright © 2010 by Kelly Swails
“But I’m Not the Only One,” copyright © 2010 by Chris Pierson
“It’s Just a Matter of Time,” copyright © 2010 by James M. Ward
“Time Sharing,” copyright © 2010 by Jody Lynn Nye
“Two Tickets to Paradise,” copyright © 2010 by Vicki Steger
“The World of Null- T,” copyright © 2010 by Gene DeWeese
“Bruck in Time,” copyright © 2010 by Patrick McGilligan
“Memories of Light and Sound,” copyright © 2010 by Steve Saus
“A Night to Forget,” copyright © 2010 by C.A. Verstraete
“A Passion for Time Travel,” copyright © 2010 by Donald J. Bingle
“No Man’s Land,” copyright © 2010 by Allister Timms
“By Our Actions,” copyright © 2010 by Michael A. Stackpole
“Spoilers,” copyright © 2010 by Linda P. Baker
A Timely Introduction
If it was truly possible to vacation in time, I would visit early America on the off chance I’d meet Benjamin Franklin. I always thought it would be great to share a meal with him and talk about politics and electricity. Maybe fly a kite together. George Washington could join us—I’m still curious about the whole wooden teeth thing. And I’d like to chat with Thomas Jefferson about his recommended authors. After all, Jefferson wrote one of my all-time favorite quotes: “I cannot live without books.”
So early America for me.
But just for one of my timely sojourns.
Then there’s Rome in the time of Caesar—I could spend a week or two there. I studied Latin in high school and have kept up with it enough that on a good day I just might be able to make it through a marketplace to sample the wines and wares. I’ve no interest in wa
tching whatever bloody act would be taking place in any arena.
Or maybe I’d go back to see the very first football game ever. I am a football junkie. That would be a seriously delicious kick, especially if I could get a seat on the 50-yard line.
I think I’d even give prehistoric Africa a try, just to see the dinosaurs. Real dinosaurs, not the skeletons on display in museums or the cinematic ones of Jurassic Park and the like.
Yeah, now that I’m thinking about it, if I was going to take a vacation in time it would have to be for the dinosaurs.
Up close and personal with a stegosaurus first, then a meet-and-greet with Ben Franklin.
Fortunately for you, the authors in this collection went to all manner of interesting places not on my list—a veritable whirlwind tour across the globe and through the centuries. They opened my eyes to some interesting possibilities.
Allister Timms took a risky vacation during World War I. Robert Vardeman went looking for a costly work of art, Jody Lynn Nye discovered a classic romance, and Vicki Steger found paradise. Greg Cox’s traveler found danger, Chris Pierson’s found John Lennon, and Michael Stackpole’s found Jesus.
Each vacation in this anthology will stir your imagination and make you think about your own possible Timeshares journey.
Where would you go?
Or, more precisely, when would you go?
Enjoy the trips Timeshares offers up in this collection.
Me? After reading all of the tales I’m thinking paradise might not be so bad. Maybe I could take John Lennon and Leonardo da Vinci with me.
—Jean Rabe
The Authentic Touch
Kevin J. Anderson
Kevin J. Anderson is the author of more than one hundred novels, forty-seven of which have appeared on national or international bestseller lists. He has more than twenty million books in print in thirty languages. He has won or been nominated for numerous prestigious awards, including the Nebula Award, the Bram Stoker Award, the SFX Reader’s Choice Award, the American Physics Society’s Forum Award, and the New York Times Notable Book Award.
Mainz, Germany, 1452
All these dirty, crowded medieval towns looked the same to him. He double-checked the small glowing screen on his locator/communicator/emergency signal. Yes, Mainz, Germany. 1452. Right on target.
He was no historian and had no aspirations to become one. To him, historical settings were to be studied on an entertainment screen or read in a novel, not to be experienced firsthand. But a job was a job . . . and the job had taken him here.
His name was Bill—“Bill the PR Man.” Not a very memorable name, but his parents had given him little to work with. Bill Smith, not even a middle name. When he’d started his career, talking himself up to various corporations and showing off his skills, Bill had considered changing his name. Maybe something that would leave a more distinctive and powerful impression—“Brom Zanderley”—or stuffy and imposing—“P. Jason Higgenbotham”—but he was Bill, and he felt like Bill, and so he turned the disadvantage into a focus, making the very simplicity his calling card. Bill, the PR Man.
Honesty, veracity, authenticity. “I want your clientele to remember you, not me,” he told his customers. The name and that attitude had served him very well.
And now it had taken him across the centuries just to do a simple brochure. But it was perhaps the most important contract job in his career.
In Mainz, he drew a deep breath, driving back the dizziness and the slight nausea that always resulted from traveling through time. For some reason, though no other travelers had mentioned it, Bill always tasted vinegar in the back of his throat during a transport. Other people experienced severe waves of diarrhea for the first hour; given the alternative, he preferred the vinegar taste.
The night was dim, and fog seeped along the streets, but the swirling mists did little to lessen the stench. Once a person traveled back more than a few decades, Bill had found that all historical places carried a definite and oppressive odor. Not surprising, considering the lack of hygiene, the garbage and sewage, even dead bodies lying around. He couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to vacation under conditions like this. But he certainly wouldn’t call attention to the unpleasantness in the promotional literature. Rose-colored glasses, soft focus, a bit of license with descriptive language . . . while still keeping that authentic touch.
From a tavern at the other end of the alley he could hear loud Germanic voices singing and arguing. High overhead, a thick-armed woman opened the shutters of a window and poured the contents of a chamber pot down into the street, missing Bill by only a few yards. He hurried away, shouting up at the impolite person, “Watch what you’re doing!” But of course she did not understand modern English, and he received a volley of curses right back.
Bill moved out of the alley toward a wider street, getting his bearings. He wore period costume—scratchy fabric, rough and uncomfortable seams. Surreptitiously, he glanced down at the screen of his locator again. The techs had missed the target by two blocks. Not bad, considering the centuries crossed but they would have to fine-tune their skills before large waves of customers signed up for the Timeshares service. It would really ruin a vacation if a customer materialized through time on the wrong side of a cliff . . . or in the middle of a crowded square in colonial New England where people might be inclined to point and cry out, “A witch! A witch!”
Scouts had gone ahead to chart all the locations, as they would for any approved vacation. Bill consulted the photos and saw what he was looking for—a nondescript print shop, although it wasn’t exactly called a “print shop” yet. Nobody in 1452 Mainz was going to run down to the corner to make quick copies.
All the cramped businesses on the street were closed up and shuttered for the night. Timeshares headquarters had chosen the late hour intentionally, but night watchmen prowled up and down the streets carrying lanterns, and Bill did not want to bump into the medieval equivalent of a street gang.
Walking along, studying the buildings in the dim light, he compared the doors of the shops to the photo taken by the scouts. It was a very distinctive place. He found the correct door. He paused, looking up at the half-timbered structure, the window box cluttered with dead flowers, water stains and moss on the plaster. Not much to look at. Sooner or later, there would probably be a placard hanging outside, but so far no one knew what Johannes Gutenberg was doing in there and printing that enormous Bible, at forty-two lines per page, was going to take him a while.
The thick iron padlock hanging from the door latch was the height of medieval security, but with a screwdriver, a lock pick, and a little trial and error, Bill easily removed it and slipped inside a darkened workshop that smelled of ink, wood shavings, and cat urine. Now there was one detail the history books hadn’t included.
He clicked on his bright and totally anachronistic flashlight so he could look around, then opened his leather satchel to remove the stack of tan, rough-surfaced sheets of papyrus. They were still moist and still smelled a little rotten from the manufacturing process; they had been made only two days ago, back at the Nile Delta in the first century A.D.
Bill had traveled back to ancient Egypt to obtain the actual papyrus—again, for the authentic touch. He had, however, underestimated how difficult it was just to pick up some paper. Since papyrus was a common substance in Egypt at the time, he thought he could just go down to a marketplace and pick up a ream.
Though Bill did not speak the difficult language, the ancient Egyptians along the Nile were accustomed to strange merchants coming from far-off lands. Near the open-air, reed-roofed shop, workers harvested the tall green sedge from the swamp, peeling the stalks to take out the pith, laying down strips, crisscrossing them, pounding them, pressing and drying the sheets, then scraping them smooth with a well-worn seashell.
Bill had paid the papyrus maker well and had received fifty rough-cut sheets, enough for the first printing of the Timeshares brochure. Since the Timeshares Travel Agency advertized
authenticity above all things, they couldn’t do any less with their promotional materials. He had already told Rolf Jacobsen, the mysterious and wealthy head of the agency, that these brochures must be used for only the most elite potential clients. He didn’t intend to go through all this hassle for a second printing.
Even more difficult than obtaining genuine papyrus had been securing the original artwork. It had sounded like a good idea. He’d gone to prehistoric France to track down a Neanderthal tribe, and he had commissioned original drawings from one of the cave painters. Attempting to art-direct a Neanderthal had been a challenge unlike anything else in his career, but Bill had gotten his sketches, daubed and chalked onto flat pieces of slate, which he’d then taken back to the present and the headquarters of Timeshares, where the art could be scanned and incorporated into the brochure layout.
The final materials would also include photos of the time-travel facility, its high-tech interior with spindle-shaped apparatus topped by silvery spheres haloed by crackling static electricity. Rolf Jacobsen wanted it to look sleek, futuristic, high-tech, but in a “Jules Verne” sense rather than a “neon, hard-edged, Hong Kong” sense. So far the interior of Timeshares had undergone numerous face-lifts and retoolings. Bill had no idea what the final interior was going to look like; it might even change weekly. In his opinion, the time-travel device looked more like something out of Dr. Frankenstein’s lab than a comforting and safe gadget, but he didn’t say anything. His only priority was the sales brochure.
Bill had already written the text: “We’re not just a travel agency—we’re a time travel agency. We offer excursions into the past and future. Take a vacation wherever and whenever you like.”
Jean Rabe & Martin Harry Greenberg Page 1