Bearing an Hourglass

by Piers Anthony

  The saurhopper bounded forward—just as the pursuing Bem sailed up on its antigrav saucer. The two crashed together.

  "This way!" Dursten cried, taking charge of the situation, undismayed by the sheer coincidence of their escape. He ran for the alien ship that now rested in a small glade to the rear.

  "But suppose there are other Bems inside?" Norton asked.

  "I'll plug 'em," the spaceman said confidently. He was, of course, a man of action and quick decision.

  Sure enough, a second Bem loomed in the irising door aperture. Dursten drew and fired in a single motion—but his blaster made a little, stupid pfft! and sagged in his hand. Its charge was gone.

  The Bem had no hands, so it didn't carry a blaster. But it started to change shape.

  "We'd better hide," Norton said cautiously.

  But stalwart Dursten was already charging the ship. Norton had to follow or let him go alone. He followed.

  The Bem had sprouted half a dozen tentacles by the time they reached the ship. Dursten made a flying tackle that knocked the monster off its nether tentacles. Norton came up and shoved the mass out of the door-iris to the ground. He caught hold of one of the spaceman's legs and hauled him inside the ship.

  "Thanks, pardner," Dursten drawled as he got up and thumbed the button to close the iris. "Next time I'll get me a six-shooter blaster so it don't poop out so fast." He forged to the control section of the ship. "Good thing I studied how to operate Bemships too," he remarked.

  To Norton, the controls looked similar to those of the needleship. He could probably operate them himself. Perhaps the Bems weren't, after all, so different from humans.

  The acceleration couches were like saucers. Dursten and Norton seated themselves within them, and automatic safety harnesses came out to secure the men. Dursten punched buttons, and the ship lifted from the ground and hovered over the purple tree.

  Another Bemball loomed close. Dursten's hand struck the firing button. A wart spat a shot of something—and the other ship exploded.

  "Did you have to do that?" Norton demanded. "We're in a Bemship now; maybe the other one was just being neighborly."

  "The only good Bem is a blasted Bem," the spaceman said, hawking and looking for a spittoon. As usual, there was none; this was, after all, the space age.

  "Maybe if you just got to know a Bem, you'd find it pretty similar to our own kind. They speak our language and chase our women and breathe the same kind of air we do."

  Dursten scratched his head as he piloted the ship offplanet. "Never thought of it that way. Got to admit that one on the needle was interesting when she took Femme form."

  That wasn't precisely what Norton had meant, but he let it pass. At least he had made progress.

  Dursten glanced down at the dwindling disk of the planet. "Well, I reckon it's time." He slapped a red button.

  "Time for what?"

  "Time to blow up the planet, of course."

  "Blow up the planet!" Norton exclaimed, horrified.

  "That's what we came for, you know, Nort."

  "But it would be so much better to—to conquer it and exploit its resources! Or to make a peace treaty with the Bems so they won't bother human planets any more. Maybe they could teach us how to shape-change."

  "There is that," the spaceman agreed. "Maybe I shouldn't have let that bomb drop."

  "Bomb?"

  "Sure, the planetbuster bomb. It'll blow any moment now."

  "Any—?" Norton said, freshly appalled.

  Then the bomb detonated. There was a burst of light. The planet split into two halves that flew apart.

  Norton stared, sheeriy horrified. "The planet's broken!"

  "Sure," Dursten drawled carelessly. "Bems make good bombs, I'll say that for 'em."

  "But why would one of their own ships carry such a devastating weapon?"

  Dursten shrugged. "Guess they planned to use it on one o' ours. Now let's get on home, mission accomplished."

  Norton turned away, grief-stricken for the death of an entire world and all the wilderness on it. He spied something behind them, in the ship, and blinked.

  It was another Bem. But this one was small, with rather cute little tentacles and prettily shining eye facets. The spaceman was preoccupied by his task of setting course for home, so Norton unbuckled himself quietly and got out of his dish. He went to meet the little Bem. "What are you doing here?"

  "I'm Baby Bem," the creature piped from a mouth that formed in the top part of its globe. As if to illustrate the point, it started sucking on a tentacle.

  "You mean those were your folks who—" Norton stopped.

  "We're going on a family picnic," Baby Bem said, blinking two or three wide eyes.

  Not any more, Norton thought grimly. There was no longer a planet to picnic on, and no other Bems to picnic with. This baby was an orphan. "Just a moment. Baby," he said.

  He turned to Dursten. "How do you feel about orphans?"

  "Poor things need a foster parent or something," the spaceman said promptly. '"Specially orphans o' the void."

  "Would you take care of an orphan child?"

  "Me? I ain't no family man!"

  "But you are a spaceman, embodying the best and brightest and noblest qualities of the human species."

  "There is that," Dursten agreed.

  "So if an orphan of any type needed protection—"

  "Aw, shore, I reckon so."

  "Well, turn around and meet the orphan."

  Bat Dursten, the pride of the space fleet, started to turn.

  Norton abruptly sailed through the wall of the ship and out into space. Helplessly he accelerated, feeling no physical discomfort. He zoomed between the stars of the globular cluster and on out into deep space, heading for the Galaxy-proper.

  He was, he realized, on his way back to Earth; his sample excursion was over.

  Chapter 8 - CLOTHO

  Satan was awaiting him back in his mansion. "Did you enjoy your visit, Chronos?"

  It took Norton a moment to collect himself. "I confess it was quite an experience! I did not realize your power extended so far!"

  "My power is damn near universal," the Prince of Evil said smugly.

  "But one thing perplexes me. You know I live backward, so outside my mansion here I have to make a special effort to align myself with normal people, if I want to interact with them. But in the Glob that was not the case."

  "Astute of you to notice," Satan said.

  "But how, then—?"

  The Father of Lies smiled winningly. "Elementary, My dear associate. That is a CT globular cluster."

  "Cee Tee?" Norton asked blankly.

  "Contraterrene. Antimatter. Where the atoms are made up of negatrons in the nucleus and orbiting positrons, the precise opposite of the local persuasion."

  "Oh. I've heard of it. But isn't such matter instantly annihilated by contact with normal matter?"

  "Not when it's isolated. In a CT galaxy, our type of matter is abnormal. This happens to be a CT globular cluster orbiting our terrene-matter galaxy. No actual contact."

  "Very interesting. But since I belong to this galaxy—"

  "You are a special case, Chronos. A very special case. You are an Incarnation, and not just a garden-variety one at that. You are the Incarnation of Time."

  "Yes, and I live backward. Which is why—"

  "But you see, My dear sir, contraterrene matter, being opposite in charge, is also opposite in time. Therefore its frame is yours. That is why you, alone of all of us, are able to relate normally there."

  "Oh." Norton would have to think about that. "You mean that human beings have evolved there, just like us, though there has never been any connection between us? With the same language and everything?"

  "It is called convergent evolution," Satan said. "And this is what I offer you, sir: a pleasant visit there whenever you choose."

  "A pleasant visit!" Norton exploded. "I almost got wiped out!"

  "Oh? I doubt it. As an Incarnation, you
are fairly comprehensively protected from incidental mischief."

  "A Bem was going to eat me!"

  "Bem?"

  "Bug-Eyed-Monster, as if you didn't know! I was lucky to escape with my feet intact!"

  "Oh, that kind of Bem. I assure you, you could not have been in genuine danger. The worst that could have happened would have been a premature termination of your visit. You would have returned here when your situation there became unplayable. I thought you understood that."

  "Now he tells me," Norton muttered. But he had to admit, to himself, that it had indeed been an exciting adventure and change of pace. His wanderlust had always taken him to new sides of new mountains, and that CT Glob had been a really different mountain! "You have other visiting spots?"

  Satan gestured expansively. "An entire universe of them, sir! A good many of them CT, aligned with your natural inclination, perfectly safe for you. Some are scientific, some fantastic, some mixed like our present world. There is some very nice material in the Magic-Lantern Clouds. And all I ask in return is this one trifling little favor."

  Norton still did not trust the motive of the Father of Lies, but found himself tempted. An entire CT framework to explore, with all types of people and cultures and planets, and no problem about reversed time! In retrospect, he discovered he had enjoyed the little adventure with Bat Dursten and the Bems, though it helped to know that he had not actually been in danger. If he ever returned there, he might use his power as Chronos to go back to the instant before Dursten released the planetbuster bomb and save the Bem planet from destruction. The least he could do now was listen to Satan's plea. "Do you care to provide a little detail on that favor?"

  "Certainly," Satan said briskly. "I would like to do a favor for a man about twenty years ago. I am in a position to know, because of hindsight, that a single choice of his had profound effects on his life. He made the wrong choice, and it led to his early demise. Had he made the right choice, it would have led to love and life with a beautiful and wealthy heiress, and phenomenal well-being for him. So now I would like to correct My error of omission and send a minion back to advise that man of the correct choice."

  "Why should you, the Prince of Evil, care to do a good deed for a mortal man?" Norton asked suspiciously.

  Satan grinned disarmingly. "I have My favorites, too, Chronos. I try to reward those who help Me, and I am generous when pleased. In death, this man impressed Me favorably and rendered good service; now I wish to reward him by granting him, retroactively, the one thing he thought forever beyond his reach—an excellent life. He will probably go to Heaven thereafter, and so I shall lose him—but as I said, I am generous and I keep My promises."

  Norton wasn't sure he believed that, but he doubted there was any percentage in arguing with the Father of Lies. "Give me his spacetime address."

  "Certainly!" Satan conjured a scroll on which was written neatly in blood a place and time.

  "Kilvarough," Norton read, taking the scroll. "The Mess o' Pottage shop." He looked up. "What's that man's name?"

  Satan scratched his head, a bit like Bat Dursten. "Did I omit that detail? How silly of Me! The name escapes Me at the moment—I do have countless clients, you know—but I will have My minions research it before we meet again. You will, of course, want to verify the situation yourself before you act on this and you can find the shop with the present information."

  "Yes," Norton agreed. "Understand, Satan—I'm making no promise. If I don't like the deal, I won't take your minion."

  "Understood, of course. I know better than to attempt to deceive a person of your perspicacity." Then Satan raised his finger, marking an afterthought. "But until I locate that specific name, there could be confusion. Allow Me to provide you a ready way to contact Me, in case of need." He curved his fingers, and abruptly a thin chain was there, anchored to an amulet. "Accept this, sir, and blow it to summon Me. I will hear it, wherever and whenever, and come to your aid."

  "Well, I really don't think—" But already Satan was pushing it into his hand. The amulet was a little horn with a flared rim, made of brass. Norton shrugged and put the chain on over his head. He didn't anticipate needing Satan's aid in anything, but there was no point in antagonizing him. He could simply ignore the amulet.

  Sning squeezed twice, not liking even this gesture, but Norton felt that in this case expedience was preferable to affront. Let it be, he thought, and, reluctantly, Sning shut up.

  Satan stood and saluted with one hand. "Farewell, sir!" He vanished in a small puff of smoke.

  Before Norton could organize his thoughts, the butler appeared. "Another visitor, sir."

  "Who?" Norton asked shortly. He did not seem to be physically tired from the adventure in the CT Glob, but a great deal had happened recently, and he was about ready to call it a day.

  "Clotho, sir."

  "Who?"

  "An aspect of Fate, sir."

  "Oh." Now it registered. He had seen only a flash of the youngest form of Fate and had been impressed, but the name had not made the same impression her body had. "Show her in." Fate was a remarkable woman, with her three forms.

  Clotho stepped daintily in. She was not only young, she was lovely. She had done something to her hair so that it fell loosely to her shoulders in a gleaming cascade, and her dress was alluring. It was bright blue, with a peeka-boo bodice that offered a startlingly intimate peek. "Ready for this day's work, Chronos?" she asked.

  "I think I've already had a day's work," he replied.

  "Oh? Will we do this tomorrow? It's my future and your past, remember. I assume I'm doing things in proper order for you, but it's easy to get confused."

  Norton laughed, relaxing. "No, it's my confusion, not yours. You introduced me to my office and showed me how to function, and now we'll do more substantial work together as I learn the details of my job. I'm sure I'll get it all straight in due course. What I meant was that Satan has been here this morning—it is morning?"

  "Midday," she said. "Time is normal for you, here in your mansion. But when I depart here, it will be earlier than I arrived. I'll have to avoid meeting myself, to prevent needless confusion."

  "I know the feeling!" Then something else occurred to him. "It was afternoon when Satan came to visit me, and then—why did I think it was morning? It should be evening."

  "Probably you have spent the night," she suggested. "I plan to come to orient you tomorrow, in my Lachesis aspect, as that is your last day of office."

  "Yes, then a day has passed for me," he agreed. "But I don't remember it! Satan sent me to an—an alternate universe for an adventure, but—"

  "How long were you there?"

  "It's hard to tell. It seemed like an hour, but things fuzzed out when I was traveling, so—"

  "So it could have been a day," she finished. "Satan is the master of deception. He can make an instant seem like an eternity, and vice versa. It is illusion, of course; only you can truly control time. But Satan's illusions can be doozies."

  "Yes, that must be it. I spent a day there, all told, and returned here. Anyway, Satan wants a favor, and—"

  "Don't trust Satan!" Clotho said. "He is the most sinister and devious of the Incarnations! He is always concocting mischief."

  "I don't plan to take anything he tells me at face value. But he has been helpful, so I will at least give him a hearing."

  "Well, leave me out of it," Clotho said. "I suppose we all have to learn about Satan in our own fashions. Now—let's get to work. Do you know how to use your Hourglass to read individual threads?"

  "Not yet," Norton admitted.

  "Well, you were good enough at it yesterday, so I know you'll catch on readily." She proceeded to teach him how to orient on the particular life-thread of a person, and how to fix on the exact place that thread had to be started, kinked, and cut. He was interested, but he kept being distracted by her peek-a-boo display that served as a backdrop for the threads as she held them up between her hands, and feared he seemed inattentiv
e at times.

  The start of each thread was a mortal birth, each kink was a key event in that life, and the cut end marked the termination of that life. These were only the special lives, Clotho explained; his staff and hers did most of the routine planning. Norton found it confusing at first, but soon he had the Hourglass ticking off indications rapidly. Each minuscule grain of sand, it seemed, was something like a mortal life, matching each of Fate's fine threads.

  He glanced at his Hourglass with new appreciation. All those fine grains of sand—all of humanity, represented in this one instrument! Each single grain too small to perceive by itself, yet of total significance for its person. Did the cosmos care about any single grain of life-sand? About when or where it flowed, or the satisfaction of its tiny existence?

  After several hours, Clotho paused and stretched, flexing the peek-a-boo. "All work and no play," she said and moved into his arms.

  Startled, Norton froze. "Is something wrong?" he asked.

  "Oh, haven't we done this before, in your scheme?" she asked. "I keep forgetting—you're coming from the other direction. This is new to you, isn't it?"

  "Everything is new to me," he agreed.

  "Well, I think this is the time to begin, then, because in the recent past we have—" She paused. "But why should I spoil it for you by my memories? Come on, I'll lead you through."

  "Through what?"

  "Silly boy! Why do you think I came as Clotho? I am the young man's—"

  "Oh. You—Lachesis—did say something about—"

  She cut him off with a kiss. She was a most attractive woman in this guise, but his painful memory of Orlene remained, and he wasn't ready for this. He drew away. "I hardly know you!" he protested.

  She laughed, unrebuffed. "With any other person, I'd say you were joking! But that's all in your future, isn't it? Very well—what do you think is holding you back?"

  Norton pondered. "I don't suppose you'd care to believe anything about my not being a casual sort of person?"

  She laughed merrily. "You? You forget that I measured your thread before you assumed this office! You're fully casual with women!"