Incarnations of Immortality

by Anthony, Piers

  Next she put her hand to her lips and spat out a few indelicate crumbs. Then she opened her mouth wide and ejected a bite of coffee cake. This was followed by another, and another, until the full cake was there. She stared at it with odd horror. "?gniod I ma tahW" she asked out loud.

  "It's all right," Norton answered, closing the door behind him so the demons wouldn't see him. "Time is backward."

  Startled, she looked at him. "?uoy era ohW" she demanded, drawing her housecoat open to reveal her bosom. Her reactions were, of course, reversed; she had intended to conceal herself.

  "Don't be concerned," Norton said. "I'm hiding from—" But he paused as he realized that his words were gibberish to her, as hers were to him. Each was living backward relative to the other, though they moved in time together. She could see him and hear him, but could not understand him.

  The woman scrambled from her chair—and almost fell, again because of her backward reactions. Norton hurried across to steady her, and this alarmed her even more. "!em hcuot t'noD" she cried, colliding with the wall. A dish rose from the floor, where it had evidently shattered, and nudged back to the jostled shelf with its companions.

  He had to reassure her! Norton found a pad of notepaper on the table, and a pencil; she had perhaps intended to make out a grocery list. I AM A FRIEND, he wrote.

  She stared at the sheet. He knew what her problem was: in a normal time sequence, his reassurance would have occurred before her fright that caused him to write it, and this cause-after-effect was difficult for her to accept. But she was living backward now, so his actions changed her reality. She was remembering what had happened in the immediate future.

  Best to take her mind off the incipient paradox. I'M HIDING FROM DEMONS, he wrote on the sheet.

  ",snomeD" she repeated doubtfully.

  "Snomed," he agreed, imitating her pronunciation. It was amazing how alien ordinary human speech sounded when pronounced backward. Then, on paper: I'M UNDER A SPELL. I SPEAK BACKWARD.

  ",hO" she said, her face brightening with comprehension. ".drawkcaB"

  "Drawkcab," he agreed, aware that he was mangling the pronunciation and punctuation. He wrote: THE WORLD IS GOING BACKWARD.

  She nodded agreement, her glance flickering warily past the unconsumed coffee and cake. Perhaps, he realized, she had thought she was being sick. Now she knew it was merely a different reality.

  "?yhW" she asked.

  Norton tried to phrase an answer she would be able to understand and accept, but found himself at a loss. How could he tell her that he was responsible, and be believed? To prove it, he would have to reverse the effect—and that he refused to do.

  He was spared the awkwardness of answering by the arrival of another person. A man ambled into the kitchen backward, tilting a bottle of beer in his mouth. He was evidently the woman's husband, for she evinced only boredom at his presence. He was in baggy trousers and undershirt, his hair tousled, his face unshaven for this day. What he was doing home at this hour Norton didn't know; maybe this was one of the intermittent periods of underemployment the society suffered, so this family was subsisting on state funds while waiting for the economy to improve. The man unpoured the last drop of beer into the bottle as the final bubble descended into his mouth, then capped it and set the bottle into the refrigerator. Then he noticed Norton.

  Norton held up his last sign: THE WORLD IS GOING BACKWARD, hoping to forestall a jealous-husband reaction. The woman tried to pull herself together again, and again succeeded only in further displaying her private flesh. ",drawkcab gnivil er'eW" she said.

  "?eh si Ueh eht ohW" the man demanded, glaring at Norton.

  ",snomed morf gnidih s'eH" she explained.

  "—lleW" he began, then paused. "?drawkcaB"

  ",drawkcaB" she agreed firmly.

  "!top eht ffo tog tsuj I tuB" he said, annoyed.

  The woman looked at her unconsumed repast. "?did uoY" she asked, making a connection. "—snaem taht nehT"

  "!taht toN" he exclaimed. "!t'nseod ti ,on ,hO"

  Norton had by this time figured out what "top" translated to. He repressed a smile, remembering the dog in the alley.

  "!ereh fo tuo gnitteg m'I" the man cried, charging backward out of the kitchen. But his reflexes, like those of the woman, betrayed him. Their dialogue had evidently been in sensible order for them, but their actions remained reversed. And though their individual phrases or sentences were backward, their separate verbal exchanges seemed to be more in the order of present consciousness. Norton's presence altered their reality to a degree, but not enough to reverse them totally or to provide them true self-determination. The man, despite his horror, was backing toward what looked to be the bathroom.

  Well, Norton thought, this was a necessary consequence of reverse biology. What was ejected from the body in the form of coffee, cake, or whatever had to be taken in, in some other fashion. The biology of men and animals did not differ that much.

  "!oN !oN" the man screamed from the hidden room. There was the sound of a toilet flushing backward. A pause, then a scream of sheer horror and outrage. It seemed the job had been done—or undone, as the case might be.

  Norton decided to vacate the premises before the man returned to the kitchen, as he might be in an ugly mood after taking on that ugly load. Norton cracked the door open and peeked.

  The demons were gone. He had slipped their net. He slid out, leaving the family to its adjustments. The last thing he saw as he glanced back inside was the woman's face as she looked toward the bathroom. She wore a somewhat smug expression, as if she thought the man had gotten what he deserved.

  Norton made his way across the street, then walked carefully backward to a small park. There he selected an isolated bench and sat on it. That way, he seemed no different from the normal people and did not attract unwelcome attention.

  Perhaps an hour had passed; it was now, according to the park clock, just after 10 A.M. Norton watched the clock click back to the hour and heard it bong ten times. Even the bongs were in reverse: !GNOB ,GNOB He saw the squirrels leaping backward from branch to branch and assembling nuts from scattered shells and regurgitated interiors. Periodically a person would back past, attracting the whole peanuts to his swinging hand and depositing them in a bag.

  A young couple backed past Norton and into the bushes behind his bench. They were not aware of him, intent on their liaison. But they became conscious of the reversal, and this seemed to affect their lovemaking. Norton listened unashamedly, trying to visualize what was happening. To experience the gratification first, followed by the buildup—that might be unsettling. Sure enough, after a while the couple backed away from the bushes with perplexed expressions.

  The sun moved slowly eastward. Morning was arriving. Rush-hour traffic developed on the street, the cars and carpets crowding crazily backward at a hazardous velocity. People hurried back past the park without noticing it, paying no attention to Norton. He was just a character on a bench, not rating either a backward or a forward glance.

  But he became aware of another problem. The progress of time was not perfect. At first he thought it was his own boredom stretching things out, but when he checked his watch, which measured his personal time, against the park clock, he discovered that the clock was taking a minute and a half to back up one minute. What was wrong?

  The question prompted the answer: the magic was weakening. The Hourglass was powerful but not omnipotent, and the reversal of the whole world was a considerable chore. After two hours, the Hourglass was losing its edge, processing the enormous magic less efficiently.

  He concentrated, willing the magic back to full potency. This was effective; the normal pace of time resumed. But now he had to keep his mind on it, because, when his attention slipped, so did time. He could not simply wait for the key moment to arrive; he had to will its arrival. Fortunately, this was not difficult; it was like holding on to a suitcase. It did require effort, but the effort became automatic.

  The clock bonged pa
st nine and started toward eight thirty. Then it bonged nine again. Norton jumped up, alarmed. He had started nodding, and time had not only slowed, it had resumed forward progress. That was no good! He concentrated again, and the clock bonged nine a third time and proceeded safely on backward.

  Norton paced around the park, afraid to sit down again, lest he lose concentration. He had several hours to go and he meant to see it through.

  He started into an intersection of paths near a backward spouting fountain—and saw a demon on the intersecting path. The creature was approaching backward, so didn't see Norton; that was the second time he had been in luck this way. He was walking forward when others were not near to see, pausing when they were. But if he paused here, the demon would come back far enough to spy him, and that could not be allowed. Norton retreated hastily the way he had come. He hid behind a tree and watched the demon pass. Surely the thing was looking for him; Satan did not send his minions out in public without good reason, for people tended to react negatively to demons. It wasn't that Satan cared how human beings felt, but he did not like them getting jolted back to righteous living that would cost him souls. So he kept his operators covert, except for his continual ad campaign to convince people that Hell was in fact a fun place. No one with any sense believed that—but there were a lot of stupid people in the world. Satan also maintained discreet recruitment stations, but no demons were ever in evidence there; it was strictly soft sell.

  But all this walking and skulking about was making Norton tired. He wanted to rest his feet—but didn't dare. Then his eyes fell on his ring. "Sning!" he said happily. "Will you warn me if I start to lose concentration?"

  Squeeze.

  Gratefully he sank onto a bench. Oh, that relaxation felt good to his legs!

  Fifteen minutes later, Sning gave him a good, hard double squeeze. He snapped alert. "Thanks, Sning," he said. "I needed that. Stay on the job."

  In this manner he endured till 8 A.M. Then he got up and walked some more. He had to make it to just after five in the morning; he was halfway there.

  He spied another demon and avoided it. They were really cruising the area! Fortunately, they were handicapped by having to proceed backward. But they would probably be thickest at the time and place of the capsule nullification; how would he get there without being caught by them?

  It was getting harder to keep time on track. He had to concentrate more intently, making up for the slowly fading power of the Hourglass. He felt as if he were running a marathon; the miles were passing, but his strength was depleting. Would he be able to make it to the end? He had to! But it was not going to be easy. He had not practiced willing before; he had no muscles for the purpose and wasn't sure even how to tell the nature of fatigue of the will.

  He went to the public facility for a routine call of nature. His own biology was forward, but the other men were retreating from the urinals with distinctly uncomfortable expressions. They had no real choice about using the facilities, but he couldn't blame them for not liking what happened there. Normal processes did not seem aesthetic when reversed. There was probably some philosophy to be gleaned from that realization, but right now he was too busy keeping time moving to cogitate on that. He used the facilities, hoping no one would notice that he was not reversed, then backed away, adopting the appropriate disgruntled expression.

  Sning squeezed his finger more frequently, but he made it to 7 A.M. without significant incident. Two more hours!

  Now doubt was seeping in, clogging the channels of his concentration. Could he make it to 5 A.M.? His effort of will was not the same as a physical effort, yet he felt himself tiring. The Hourglass continued to fade, so that he had to fill in with more will, and his will was becoming exhausted. The park clock began wavering again, and the people and vehicles performed a strange kind of dance, moving backward and forward and backward again as the flow of time fluxed. Sning's squeezes were almost continuous, and these, too, were losing effect. Norton was sweating, though he was standing still. This was awful!

  "Sir, may I pleh uoy?"

  Norton looked dully at the speaker. It was an attractive young woman who leaned toward him and away from him as time wavered. "No, I—" he began, then felt a surge of dizziness.

  She caught his arm, steadying him. "?era you ill" she asked solicitously. "Here, tis nwod. m'I a nurse."

  Her speech was phasing backward and forward, too, as time changed. He had to get it back on track! He put forth a special effort, and the normal backflow resumed.

  "?ytilaer degnahc siht ti sI" she inquired, ".sselmrah s'ti tub ,ot tsujda ot drah s'ti wonk I"

  Norton was getting better at comprehending backward speech, though this was far from perfect. The woman had caught on to the fact of the backward flow of time and was trying to reassure him. She assumed that it was the shock of reversal that was making him ill. Well, in a way it was.

  "Thank you," he said.

  She glanced at him, startled. "?aisahpA" she inquired.

  Oops—he had dazzled her with his own backward speech. She thought it was aphasia. Well, again it was close enough. "Yes," he said.

  "!suoires si sihT !nam roop uoY" she exclaimed.

  Norton scraped a section clear in the dirt beside the bench and leaned down to scratch a message with his forefinger. IT'S ONLY VERBAL, he wrote.

  She rummaged in her purse for some paper and a pen. CAN YOU READ THIS? she wrote.

  He nodded yes.

  ",thgir lla er'uoy sseug I nehT" she said. She stood, ready to depart.

  Then Norton spied another demon. The creature was walking rapidly backward; no chance to avoid it.

  Norton put his face in his hands, hoping he would not be recognized.

  "!kcis er'uoy, hO" the girl exclaimed, bending to assist him. She had a nice figure, and her body helped conceal him from the gaze of the demon. But time wavered again as he lost concentration. He corrected that, and the demon retreated on past.

  ",uoy evael dluohs I kniht t'nod I" the woman said.

  The truth was that he appreciated her help, misguided as it was. He borrowed her pencil and paper. WHAT'S YOUR NAME?

  ".agleH ?eman yM"

  "Agleh," he repeated carefully, and she smiled. He was conquering his verbal aphasia!

  Agleh took him to her apartment at the edge of the park and made him comfortable on her couch, from where he could see her wall clock. She was perplexed by his being so intent on the clock when he had a watch of his own, but she humored him. She was, it developed, a single girl, working at a local hospital, and this was her day off. She had a tender heart and could not refrain from helping people who were in trouble. He told her his name, Norton, and explained that he wasn't really sick, but was pursued by demons. She looked at him with increased sympathy and didn't argue. He wasn't sure that was a good sign, but let it go.

  She offered him breakfast at quarter to seven. Norton tried to demur, but She insisted, certain that food would be good for him. But she had for the moment forgotten the new reality of eating.

  She brought dirty dishes from the sink and set them on the table, then sat down and delicately disgorged a poached egg and a glass of milk.

  Norton did not eat. He could not, for she had given him nothing. Why should she? She had adjusted nicely to living backward and was replaying in reverse her morning meal; she expected him to do likewise.

  Norton sighed. He had not intended to deceive her about this matter or his nature. Words were unlikely to persuade her, so action would have to do.

  He took her pristine egg and milk before she could prepare them and return them to her refrigerator, and he consumed them both. They were very good, for he was indeed hungry.

  Agleh stared. Then she laughed. "!drawkcab er'uoY" she exclaimed.

  "I'm backward," he agreed.

  "?—woH"

  He wrote it on her pad. I AM CHRONOS, THE INCARNATION OF TIME. MY LIFE PROCEEDS BACKWARD.

  She looked again at the empty dishes, and again at him. She shrugged. "
—siht tub ,yad ym ni cigam nees d'l thguoht I" she exclaimed. "!esle gnihtemos er'uoY"

  "Sey," he agreed, again speaking carefully to get it right. He brought out the Hourglass, with its white sand flowing upward, and showed her how the instrument followed him when he set it down in mid-air.

  "?taht ees I yaM" she asked.

  He handed her the Hourglass—but when she tried to take it, she could not. Her hand passed right through it. To her, it was a ghost-object.

  That surprised him as much as it did her. He remembered how the Bem had grabbed it in the globular cluster. Had it been in a different state then?

  Agleh looked at the empty dishes. He knew what she was thinking: where had that food come from? She had uneaten it and he had eaten it; when time went forward again, it would be the other way around. When and how was that meal ever prepared?

  She glanced again at the shining Hourglass. "...xodaraP"

  I AM IMMUNE FROM PARADOX, he reassured her in writing. Then, in the course of the next half hour, he clarified his nature for her, including the manner in which his presence changed reality. She was not reversing her life precisely now, for he had not been with her on her forward living through the morning. Now she was living backward, but interacting with him. She could remember her recent future—since meeting him.

  "!thgir s'tahT" she exclaimed. "!rebmemer od I"

  He explained how he was trying to balk Satan's ploy, but had run low on willpower to keep the reversal going. Now, thanks to her support, he was doing better; time wasn't wavering.

  I'M IN YOUR REALITY, she wrote, getting it straight. Actually, she put a new sheet of paper on the pad, with the words already there, then went over them from right to left with her pencil, and they disappeared as she did so. When the sheet was blank, she brought another to set over it, with new words. At first she had been startled, watching herself do this, but now she accepted it as a matter of course. Norton realized that his way of writing must appear similarly strange to her.