Read The Cutting Room: A Time Travel Thriller for Free Online Page B
Authors: Edward W. Robertson
reversed time's arrow, and the Pod had had to dig deep to match his new face to anything in its system. It alerted local authorities while I examined the file. Prince's real name was Joee Holtz and he'd been an overseas chipcaster. Explained his interest in early computers. I didn't much care about the rest. Evil is warped biology, that's all.
I was just closing his file and opening the boy's when Mara entered the room.
"Still here?" I said.
"Working late," she smiled tightly. "So are you."
"I like to come at it while it's fresh."
"This one doesn't sound like anything to get lost in. Your report's done. Why not come have a drink?"
I was interested, but the fact she appeared to be as well set off a whistle in my head. "What's up?"
She shrugged and leaned against the wall, crossing her legs at the ankle. "You been offtime for a week straight. A trip that long should be buffered by a drug or two before you leap back into Primetime."
"Is that a medical opinion?" I searched her face. My jaw dropped at what I saw there. "No way. I got him home safe."
"Blake. You don't always have to know."
"Then what's the point?"
"To give them a chance."
I shook my head and turned back to the monitor. The Pod's spiders had already pulled up the revised timeline. Nothing deep, just newspaper reports and a few public records, but it was enough. In middle school, Stephen had reached the playoffs with his soccer team. High school, he pulled a couple of regional academic medals, gold in math, a silver in physics. Graduated salutatorian. Would attend a university called MIT in the fall, except he died in a car crash in August of his 18th year.
I turned around. Mara was still watching me. She sighed, angry. "Blake, I told you."
"Did he die in the original timeline? Before Prince got to him?"
"I don't know that."
"He didn't, did he? Not at 18. I saved him, but I changed things, too."
She held out her palms. "So what?"
"All I'd have to do is go back for a few minutes. Drop him a letter. 'August 22, do not get in your car.'"
"You know that's not how it works."
I gazed into the empty space between us. The room smelled like plastic. "He wasn't supposed to die. So what if it was accidental or on purpose?"
"The timeline played out the moment you left." She gave me a small and sympathetic smile. "Go back again, and you'd change billions of lives. Maybe for the worse. You have no way to know."
"I know I could make his better." I slammed my palms on the table twice, rattling my tablet computer. Mara's shoulders jumped but her face stayed calm. I let out my air. "Do you still want a drink?"
"You think this made me want one less?"
I laughed hollowly. We left together. I'd only been away for a few minutes of real-time and so I had nothing to catch up on. After a couple drinks, one laced, I told her the Jaso kid had been special, a difference-maker. She asked if it made any difference. I thought it did, but I couldn't explain myself well. I might have been able to go home with her, but it would have been a pity thing on her part. The tube took me back by myself and I stood in my apartment and watched the city glimmer.
It looked perfect, because it was. People were still miserable—there's no such thing as infinite resources, and even if there were, we'd find a way to make each other's lives hell nonetheless—but there's no greater power than the power to control your own past.
Protocol insists that, after a trip, we spend at least twice as much time back in Primetime as we did in the other stream. It's meant to avoid feeling lost between whens, a particular affliction known as Timeless or Untethered or The Dream. At home, I delved into my best sims of the latter half of the 20th century. Research. Training. The best way to forget the Jaso boy's face.
After two weeks, I returned to the CR and did pretty much the same thing, but with access to the physical facilities as well. It was quiet for a few days. I didn't expect a new assignment for a
I was just closing his file and opening the boy's when Mara entered the room.
"Still here?" I said.
"Working late," she smiled tightly. "So are you."
"I like to come at it while it's fresh."
"This one doesn't sound like anything to get lost in. Your report's done. Why not come have a drink?"
I was interested, but the fact she appeared to be as well set off a whistle in my head. "What's up?"
She shrugged and leaned against the wall, crossing her legs at the ankle. "You been offtime for a week straight. A trip that long should be buffered by a drug or two before you leap back into Primetime."
"Is that a medical opinion?" I searched her face. My jaw dropped at what I saw there. "No way. I got him home safe."
"Blake. You don't always have to know."
"Then what's the point?"
"To give them a chance."
I shook my head and turned back to the monitor. The Pod's spiders had already pulled up the revised timeline. Nothing deep, just newspaper reports and a few public records, but it was enough. In middle school, Stephen had reached the playoffs with his soccer team. High school, he pulled a couple of regional academic medals, gold in math, a silver in physics. Graduated salutatorian. Would attend a university called MIT in the fall, except he died in a car crash in August of his 18th year.
I turned around. Mara was still watching me. She sighed, angry. "Blake, I told you."
"Did he die in the original timeline? Before Prince got to him?"
"I don't know that."
"He didn't, did he? Not at 18. I saved him, but I changed things, too."
She held out her palms. "So what?"
"All I'd have to do is go back for a few minutes. Drop him a letter. 'August 22, do not get in your car.'"
"You know that's not how it works."
I gazed into the empty space between us. The room smelled like plastic. "He wasn't supposed to die. So what if it was accidental or on purpose?"
"The timeline played out the moment you left." She gave me a small and sympathetic smile. "Go back again, and you'd change billions of lives. Maybe for the worse. You have no way to know."
"I know I could make his better." I slammed my palms on the table twice, rattling my tablet computer. Mara's shoulders jumped but her face stayed calm. I let out my air. "Do you still want a drink?"
"You think this made me want one less?"
I laughed hollowly. We left together. I'd only been away for a few minutes of real-time and so I had nothing to catch up on. After a couple drinks, one laced, I told her the Jaso kid had been special, a difference-maker. She asked if it made any difference. I thought it did, but I couldn't explain myself well. I might have been able to go home with her, but it would have been a pity thing on her part. The tube took me back by myself and I stood in my apartment and watched the city glimmer.
It looked perfect, because it was. People were still miserable—there's no such thing as infinite resources, and even if there were, we'd find a way to make each other's lives hell nonetheless—but there's no greater power than the power to control your own past.
Protocol insists that, after a trip, we spend at least twice as much time back in Primetime as we did in the other stream. It's meant to avoid feeling lost between whens, a particular affliction known as Timeless or Untethered or The Dream. At home, I delved into my best sims of the latter half of the 20th century. Research. Training. The best way to forget the Jaso boy's face.
After two weeks, I returned to the CR and did pretty much the same thing, but with access to the physical facilities as well. It was quiet for a few days. I didn't expect a new assignment for a
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