Incarnations of Immortality

by Anthony, Piers

  "Sning, are there other ways to affect my status?" he asked the ring.

  Squeeze.

  "Even though there are no physical controls on the Hourglass?"

  Squeeze.

  Whatever would he have done without the little snake! Orlene had given him a greater gift than he had realized at the time—and there, of course, had been the earliest true indication other love. She would always be with him while Sning was with him—and he had no intention of parting with the ring, ever.

  But back to business! "But how? Do I just will it to do what I want?"

  Squeeze. Oh. Well, he would find out. Let me travel swiftly in time! he thought grandly.

  The sand in the Hourglass turned bright blue. The world outside became a gray void. He was traveling—somewhere. Swiftly.

  Stop! he thought, alarmed.

  Abruptly the scene was stationary. The sand in the Hourglass was now black.

  He stood in a dusky glade. Before him was something like a large cabbage-palm, and monstrous ferns were everywhere. There were bottle-brush things, but no grass. This was definitely not familiar territory!

  He walked, examining the scenery. The only really familiar thing he spied was a distant fir tree. He saw no animal life—though of course any animals would hide from a strange creature like himself, so that was not in itself abnormal. He listened, but heard no buzzing of insects. Where was he? Had he moved in space rather than in time?

  "Sning, did the Hourglass malfunction?"

  Squeeze, squeeze.

  "It moved me in time?"

  Squeeze.

  "Which direction? Forward?"

  Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

  Hmm, a problem there. Had his question been imprecise? Perhaps so. Which direction was "forward"? The way he lived, or the way the world went?

  "Did it move me into the world's future?" That worried him, because it was evident that human life had been eliminated, or at least greatly restricted here, and perhaps all mammalian life too. War or other disaster?

  But Sning reassured him: squeeze, squeeze.

  "Into my future—the world's past?"

  Squeeze.

  Back on track! He had it now. Forward, to the Hourglass, had to be his forward. Since he hadn't specified direction in his thought command, the Hourglass had simply accelerated him in the direction he had been going. Instead of moving backward at the rate of one minute per minute, or one year per year, he had moved much faster and farther. Obviously years, for the city was gone; it had not yet been built. How long had this spot been inhabited by man? Decades, surely! In fact, it could be centuries, for even the local vegetation had changed radically. "How many years into Earth's past have I gone?"

  Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze. "That's not three years, is it?"

  Squeeze.

  Norton smiled. That meant yes—that it was not three years. The three squeezes had been the signal of Sning's inability to answer.

  "Is the answer better expressed in centuries?"

  Squeeze—squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

  That was a new one! Four squeezes, for a yes-no answer. But there had been a pause after the first. That translated to yes-can not answer.

  "Centuries are better than years—but still not enough?"

  Squeeze. He was getting better at this! "How about millennia?"

  Four squeezes, with the pause after the first. This was getting serious. "Units of a million years?"

  Four squeezes. Serious indeed! "Units of a billion years?"

  Squeeze, squeeze. "So it's not a billion years back—but a lot of millions?"

  Squeeze. "How many hundred million—to the nearest unit?"

  Squeeze, squeeze.

  "What do you mean, 'No'? That was a numbers question!"

  Squeeze. Oh. "Two hundred million, approximately?"

  Squeeze. "The time of the dinosaurs?"

  Squeeze.

  "Then how come I don't see any dinosaurs? No, cancel that; like most naturalists, I have a passing interest in paleontology. This is obviously along about the Triassic period; I should have recognized it before. No grasses, no flowering plants, but plenty of palms and pines and cycads. I'll rephrase my question: are there dinosaurs here—or rather, the pre-dinosaurs, the developing lines?"

  Squeeze. "But not right at this spot. I'd see some if I walked around enough, or waited here long enough, if my appearance or smell or noise didn't keep them away?"

  Squeeze.

  Now Norton noticed that there was no wind, no movement of fern or frond, not even when he brushed against them. In fact, he had no contact with them; his hand passed right through them. "Ah, I get it—time is frozen! The way Thanatos froze it—I'm Chronos now, so I can do that trick too! I ordered the Hourglass to stop, so it stopped me—absolutely, right where I was at the moment." He contemplated the black sand in the Hourglass. It still flowed from upper to lower chamber, measuring out his life with its silken thread of motion; he was not frozen, just the world. "So black is the color of absolute stasis—of everything except me."

  Squeeze... squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

  Another qualified yes. He had better run it down; Sning did not squeeze just for the fun of it. "The world is in stasis?"

  Four squeezes.

  "The world seems in stasis?"

  Squeeze.

  Fair enough. He was way out of his own time; he couldn't go around stopping the clock of the universe incidentally. Probably Thanatos hadn't really stopped the world, either—but the appearance was as useful as the reality. Perhaps Norton was in a special state of acceleration, so that the world seemed still by comparison. He stretched out his arm to view his watch—and saw that it had stopped.

  Now, wait! He had not stopped, and he was wearing his watch. Was it broken? He brought it close to his eyes—and found it was moving, after all, forward.

  He stretched out his arm again—and the watch stopped. Experimenting, he discovered that when the watch was more than a foot out from his torso, it reflected the world's time; when it was closer, it kept his own personal time. That was a worthwhile discovery! His ambience was limited, so that he himself could reach out of it. And of course that had to be; otherwise he would be carrying chunks of the world backward with him, and that wouldn't do. He verified by further experiment that his time frame stopped at the level of the soles of his feet and the top of his head, and spread out like an aura between; actually, the white cloak pretty well defined it.

  Then he remembered that his watch had been running backward when he had checked it before. But he had been holding it out from his body then, so that was the world's time. His time was forward.

  "So black sand means stasis—that can affect me also, if I so choose," he said aloud. "Partially, anyway; my blood flow does not reverse in my hand when I reach out, but my watch does change. So it's a kind of compromise state."

  Squeeze.

  "Thank you for alerting me about this, Sning. I'm awfully glad to have your advice."

  The little snake did not squeeze, but turned a darker shade of green, evidently with pleasure.

  Norton reviewed another aspect. "And when the sand is blue—that's the color of accelerated motion in time?"

  Squeeze.

  "So I can tell what's going on by the color-coding of the sand. But how can I be here at all? This is far outside my timeline! No, don't give me three squeezes; I'll figure it out in a moment. I'm here—but not solidly. I'm like a ghost here. I can't touch anything, and probably no creature can touch me or even perceive me. So it's like looking at a holo—the world is a holograph, less real for me than it seems, and it is not aware of me at all."

  He paced along the paleontological terrain. "I can travel anywhere in time, probably, forward and back. But I can't do anything; it's just a visit, a sightseeing tour. Only in my own time span—the span of my living life—can I actually affect the world. Once I figure out how."

  Squeeze.

  "Good enough. Let's go home now." He concentrated. Back to star
ting point—but not as fast.

  The Hourglass glowed a little more brightly. The black sand changed color, becoming pink. The world moved.

  The sun traveled across the sky, picking up speed as the sand darkened. Night came—and passed in a minute. Day and night, of course! He saw an animal, in the day, but it was gone so quickly he had only a fleeting impression of something reptilian. The creature might have taken half an hour to pass, but that would have been mere seconds to Norton. Rain came, making the herbiage sparkle momentarily.

  The pace picked up. Now it was like an old-fashioned motion picture, the frames flickering; he was able to tune out the dark intervals and see the land as a continuing thing, the plants growing and aging and disappearing. The seasons passed, but there seemed to be no winter here, just a browning of some plants; this was before the day of deciduous trees. Overall, there was very little change.

  Faster, he thought. The sand became a brighter red, and the world buzzed through its paces at accelerated velocity. A fir tree sprouted near him, grew in seconds to a robust specimen, stabilized—and was abruptly gone. A bolt of lightning? Root rot? Life ended so suddenly for plants! But, of course, a century or more had passed.

  A hundred million years, he discovered, was a long time, even at the rate of a century a minute; he would have to watch, at this rate, for a couple of years, his time. Full speed, he directed, and the grayness of impossible temporal velocity returned.

  Then he remembered: he had changed his position! He had walked away from his starting point, looking at vegetation. He would land a similar distance away—perhaps in the middle of a building. In the middle of a wall!

  Before he could correct his error, the world firmed. He stood in the vacant lot, on the X. The two figures remained nearby.

  "But I moved!" he protested, relieved.

  Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

  Again he worked it out. He had moved—but he had been outside his bailiwick, unable to affect that world. So apparently he had not affected himself, either. It might have been a different story, had he traveled only a year or two and walked about. He would have to be very careful in future. Past. Or whatever. This time the nature of the system had saved him from his own folly, but that might not always be so.

  "Well, at least I'm learning how to use this thing!"

  Squeeze.

  "But I still don't know my job or how to relate to people here. Do you know?"

  Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

  "That's what I thought. You know a lot, but you've had no experience with the Hourglass itself. Well, I'll figure it out." He smiled. "In time." Actually, this challenge appealed to his wanderlust; what better form of travel could there be than through time? The horizons were unlimited!

  He studied the Hourglass again. The sand was now dull white. He had learned what white, blue, and black meant—and red. Red meant traveling backward, or opposite his normal route. It was like the red shift in astronomy. Now, if he could just find the other colors and understand what they signified—

  The two figures began to move. They retreated from the X spot, walking backward. Surprised, Norton watched them until they were out of sight. Now he was alone.

  Of course—Norton-normal and Gawain the Ghost had arrived about fifteen minutes before the rendezvous. That time had now expired, backward. His jaunt to the distant past had taken several minutes, his time, which might have passed here, too; he wasn't sure yet how that worked. But what was he to do, now that he was alone?

  He found it awkward carrying the Hourglass constantly, so he set it on the ground. Then he locked his hands behind him and paced in a circle, much the way Gawain had done. Did he really want to take on the immense complexities of this office? He had agreed to it almost casually, but he saw now that it was a most unusual commitment. The chance of a lifetime, as the ghost had said—but also the challenge of a lifetime. It was not too late to reverse the Hourglass and travel back to the time of acquisition; presumably someone else would turn up to take the office if he bounced it. Did he want that?

  He turned to look back at the parked Hourglass—and found it right behind him, exactly in the position he had left it—except that it was within easy reach, not several paces behind. Had he paced in a full circle and returned to it? He didn't think so.

  He walked straight away from the Hourglass and turned again. There it was, right in reach.

  He paced backward next, watching the Hourglass. It slid along with him, not rolling or jumping, just remaining exactly in position relative to him.

  "You mean I can't leave it behind?" he asked aloud.

  Squeeze.

  The question had been rhetorical, but Sning had answered.

  Norton picked up the Hourglass, held it a foot above the ground, and let it go. It hung there in the air. When he stepped away, it followed him. When he stepped into it, it retreated. Only when he moved it directly with his hand did it change its position with respect to himself. It was like a satellite, except it did not rotate.

  Suddenly frustrated and rebellious, he grasped it and hurled it violently from him. But the moment it left his hand, it stopped, remaining in the air at shoulder height. It had no inertia, no momentum.

  He could not, literally, lose it.

  "But I don't want the thing following me all the time like a hatchling," he remarked aloud. "People will stare."

  Sning squeezed three times, not having any suggestions.

  Then a new figure appeared. It was a middle-aged woman. She was walking forward, toward him, from the opposite direction in which the other two figures had departed. She carried a roll of paper.

  Forward? Could she be in his time frame?

  She waved to him. She saw him! Excited, Norton waved back-but there was no reaction from the woman. Why was that?

  "Hello," Norton said cautiously.

  The woman came to stand a few feet from him. She unrolled her scroll. There were words printed on it. HELLO, CHRONOS.

  "Hello," he said again. "Can't we talk verbally?"

  She passed her arm across the scroll, and it went blank. Then new words appeared. WE CAN INTERACT—BUT YOU MUST LEARN HOW.

  "I'm trying to!" he exclaimed. "But no one perceives me!"

  She changed her sign again. I AM LACHESIS—AN ASPECT OF FATE.

  Fate! Gawain had mentioned her. This was an important contact! "How can I talk to you?" he asked. "Can you understand me?"

  Her new sign explained, I AM DOING THIS BACKWARD. FOLLOW MY INSTRUCTIONS, AND WE SHALL RELATE.

  "I'll follow them!" Norton agreed. He realized now that she was only partially aware of him, perhaps could not see him at all, but knew he was there. So she was following a routine to help him, trusting that he was responding. Once they managed to establish a genuine interaction, he would find out why Fate, in whatever aspect, was doing this. For now, he was grateful for her help.

  YOU ARE LIVING BACKWARD. I AM LIVING FORWARD. WE ARE BOTH INCARNATIONS, BUT WE DO DIFFER IN THIS AND OTHER RESPECTS. WE MUST ALIGN.

  "I agree!" he said uselessly.

  THE HOURGLASS IS THE TOOL. YOU CONTROL IT WITH YOUR WILL.

  "I realize that," he said as she changed the page.

  IT IS VERY STRONG MAGIC. MISJUDGMENT CAN WREAK HAVOC.

  "So I discovered! I've been to the Age of Dinosaurs!"

  THE COLOR OF THE SAND IS THE KEY.

  "That, too, I have already ascertained."

  WILL IT TO BE BLUE FOR AN INSTANT, THEN GREEN.

  "Okay," he agreed. He concentrated. Blue briefly, then green. It hadn't occurred to him before to control the Hourglass by orienting directly on the sand color.

  The grayness closed as the sand changed color, but altered almost immediately. Now the sand was green.

  "Congratulations, Chronos," Lachesis said.

  "Hey, this time I hear you!" he exclaimed.

  She smiled. She was perhaps in her forties, her hair nondescript brown and bound in a bun, her face developing lines. She was somewhat heavy-set and
generally unimpressive, but her eyes had a timeless, colorless quality that made him know that this was indeed a creature of incalculable power and subtlety. "And I hear you, Chronos, and see you clearly at last. We are now in phase."

  "Because the sand is green?"

  "Come with me, Chronos, and I'll explain." She stepped forward and took his arm. "It's the least I can do, after what we've been to each other."

  He suffered himself to be drawn along with her. "We have?"

  She laughed. "Of course you don't remember! It's in your future. My past. I envy you! But I mustn't hold you in phase too long this time; no sense wasting your magic. Ah, here we are." She paused at a piece of string dangling by a building. "Take my hand, Chronos."

  He obeyed. She tugged on the string—and suddenly they were in a comfortable room, with elegant scenic murals on the walls that looked almost real enough to step into. He remembered Orlene's puzzle pictures with sharp nostalgia. This was the kind of apartment he would have liked for himself. "Nice place you have, Lachesis."

  "Oh, it isn't my place," she said quickly. "It's yours."

  "Mine?"

  "This is your mansion in Purgatory. Here in this edifice time travels your way always; no need to strain the Hourglass. Let it go normal again."

  "Normal?" But as he looked at it, the falling sand turned from green to white.

  "When you turned the sand blue for a moment, you jumped backward, in real-world terms, a couple of days." She glanced at him alertly. "You did do that? It will be two days before the office changes hands, and I have every intention of being there with my signs to get you started, but that's in my future."