Read Asimov's Science Fiction: October/November 2013 for Free Online

midnight.
    "Are you sure you want to do this?" Jerboa said. "It's not too late to call it off."
    "I'm the only one this suit sort of fits," Lydia said. "And I'm the most expendable. And yes. I do want to be the first person to travel through time."
    After putting so many weird objects into that cube, thousands of them before they'd managed to get a single one back, Lydia felt strange about clambering inside the cube herself. She had to hunch over a bit. Malik waved and Jerboa gave a tiny thumbs up. Betty the Cyborg from the Dawn of Time checked the instruments one last time. Steampunk Fred gave a thumbs up on the calculations. And Madame Alberta reached for the clunky lever. Even through her helmet, Lydia heard a greedy soda-belch sound.
    A thousand years later, Lydia lost her hold on anything. She couldn't get her footing. There was no footing to get. She felt ill immediately. She'd expected the micro-gravity, but it still made her feel revolting. She felt drunk, actually. Like she didn't know which way was up. She spun head over ass. If she drifted too far, they would never pull her back. But the tiny maneuvering thrusters on her suit were useless, because she had no reference point. She couldn't see a damn thing through this foggy helmet, just blackness. She couldn't find the Sun, or any stars, for a moment. Then she made out stars. And more stars.
    She spun. And somersaulted. No control at all. Until she tried the maneuvering thrusters, the way Jerboa had explained. She attempted to turn a full three-sixty, so she could try and locate the Sun. She had to remember to breathe normally. Every part of her wanted to hyperventilate.
    When she'd turned halfway around on her axis, she didn't see the Sun. But she saw something else. At first, she couldn't even make sense of it. There were lights blaring at her. And things moving. And shapes. She took a few photos with the camera Malik had given her. The whole mass was almost spherical, maybe egg-shaped. But there were jagged edges. As Lydia stared, she made out more details. Like, one of the shapes on the outer edge was the hood of a 1958 Buick, license plate and all. There were pieces of a small passenger airplane bolted on as well, along with a canopy made of some kind of shiny blue material that Lydia had never seen before. It was just a huge collection of junk welded together, protection against cosmic rays and maybe also decoration.
    Some of the moving shapes were people. They were jumping up and down. And waving at Lydia. They were behind a big observation window at the center of the egg, a slice of see-through material. They gestured at something below the window. Lydia couldn't make it out at first. Then she squinted and saw that it was a big glowy sign with blocky letters made of massive pixels.
    At first, Lydia thought the sign read, "WELCOME TIME TRAVEL CLUB." Like they knew the Time Travel Club was coming, and they wanted to prepare a reception committee.
    Then she squinted again, just as another rift started opening up to pull her back, a purple blaze all around her, and she realized she had missed a word. The sign actually read, "WELCOME TO TIME TRAVEL CLUB." They were all members of the Club, too, and they were having another meeting. And they were inviting her to share her story, any way she could.
    Thanks to Dr. Dave Goldberg for trouble-shooting the physics. Thanks also to Rochelle Underwood, Bruce White, Karen Burnham, and David Calkins for advice on aerospace issues. And thanks to Naamen Tilahun and Liz Henry for feedback!
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GROUNDED
    Meg Pontecorvo | 9330 words
     
    A writer and artist who sees no contradictions in her dedication to multiple genres, Meg Pontecorvo grew up in the Midwest and now lives in San Francisco with her partner and cats. She earned an MFA in Poetry Writing from Washington University in St. Louis and is a 2010 graduate of Odyssey Workshop. Meg has published a book of poetry, and her artwork in collage and pen has been featured in