äÜ×ÉÄ çÅÒÒÏÌØÄ. óÌÏÖÉ×ÛÉÊÓÑ ÞÅÌÏ×ÅË(engl) --------------------------------------------------------------- The man who folded himself. David Gerrold. OCR by Quentin J. Tarantino (October 2005) --------------------------------------------------------------- This book is for Larry Niven, a good friend who believes that time travel is impossible. He's probably right. Oh wad some power the giftie gie us To see oursels as others see us! It was frae monie a blunder free us, An foolish notion. Robert Burns To a Louse, stanza 8 * * * In the box was a belt. And a manuscript. * * * I hadn't seen Uncle Jim in months. He looked terrible. Shrunken. His skin hung in wrinkled folds, his complexion was gray, and he was thin and stooped. He seemed to have aged ten years. Twenty. The last time I'd seen him, we were almost the same height. Now I realized I was taller. "Uncle Jim!" I said. "Are you all right?" He shook off my arm. "I'm fine, Danny. Just a little tired, that's all." He came into my apartment. His gait was no longer a stride, now just a shuffle. He lowered himself to the couch with a sigh. "Can I get you anything?" He shook his head. "No, I don't have that much time. We have some important business to take care of How old are you, boy?" He peered at me carefully. "Huh? I'm nineteen. You know that." "Ah." He seemed to find that satisfactory. "Good. I was afraid I was too early, you looked so young" He stopped himself. "How are you doing in school?" "Fine." I said it noncommittally. The university was a bore, but Uncle Jim was paying me to attend. Four hundred dollars a week, plus my apartment and my car. And an extra hundred a week for keeping my nose clean. "You don't like it though, do you?" I said, "No, I don't." Why try to tell him I did? He'd know it for the lie it was. "You want to drop out?" I shrugged. "I could live without it." "Yes, you could." he agreed. He looked like he wanted to say something else, but stopped himself instead. "I won't give you the lecture on the value of an education. You'll find it out for yourself in time. And besides, there are other ways to learn." He coughed; his whole chest rattled. He was so thin. "Do you know how much you're worth right now?" "No. How much?" He pursed his lips thoughtfully; the wrinkled skin folded and unfolded. "One hundred and forty-three million dollars." I whistled. "You're kidding." "I'm not kidding." "That's a lot of money." "It's been properly handled." One hundred and forty-three million dollars ! "Where is it now?" I asked. Stupid question. "In stocks, bonds, properties. Things like that." "I can't touch it then, can I?" He looked at me and smiled. "I keep forgetting, Danny, how impatient you were are." He corrected himself, then looked across at me; his gaze wavered slightly. "You don't need it right now, do you?" I thought about it. One hundred and forty-three million dollars. Even if they delivered it in fifties, the apartment wasn't that big. "No, I guess not." "Then we'll leave it where it is," he said. "But it's your money. If you need it, you can have it." One hundred and forty-three million dollars. What would I do with it what couldn't I do with it? I had known my parents had left me a little money, but One hundred and forty-three million / I found I was having trouble swallowing. "I thought it was in trust until I was twenty-five," I said. "No," he corrected. "It's for me to administer for you until you're ready for it. You can have it any time you want." "I'm not so sure I want it," I said slowly. "No I mean, of course, I want it! It's just that " How to explain? I had visions of myself trapped in a big mansion surrounded by butlers and bodyguards whose sole duty was to make sure that I dusted the stacks of bills every morning. One hundred and forty-three million dollars. Even in hundreds, it would fill several closets. "I'm doing okay on five hundred a week," I said, "All that more " "Five hundred a week?" Uncle Jim frowned. Then, "Yes, I keep forgetting There's been so much Danny, I'm going to increase your allowance to two thousand dollars a week, but I want you to do something to earn it." "Sure," I said, delighted in spite of myself This was a sum of money I could understand. (One hundred and forty-three million I wasn't sure there was that much money in the world; but two thousand dollars, yes, I could count to two thousand.) "What do I have to do?" "Keep a diary." "A diary?" "That's right." "You mean write things down in a black book every day? Dear diary, today I kissed a girl and all that kind of stuff?" "Not exactly. I want you to record the things that seem important to you. Type out a few pages every day, that's all. You can record specific incidents or just make general comments about anything worth recording. All I want is your guarantee that you'll add something to it every day or let's say at least once a week. I know how you get careless sometimes." "And you want to read it ?" I started to ask. "Oh, no, no, no " he said hastily. "I just want to know that you're keeping it up. You won't have to show it to me. Or anyone. It's your diary. What you do with it or make of it is up to you." My mind was working two thousand dollars a week. "Can I use a dictation machine and a secretary?" He shook his head. "It has to be a personal diary, Danny. That's the whole purpose of it. If it has to pass through someone else's hands, you might be inhibited. I want you to be honest." He straightened up where he sat, and for a moment he looked like the Uncle Jim I remembered, tall and strong. "Don't play any games, Danny. Be truthful in your diary. If you're not, you'll only cheat yourself. And put down everything everything that seems important to you." "Everything," I repeated dumbly. He nodded. There was a lot of meaning in that nod. "All right," I said. "But why?" "Why?" He looked at me. "You'll find out when you write it." As usual, he was right. * * * I'm not fooled. Uncle Jim is trying to teach me something. This isn't the first time he's thrown me into the deep end of the pool. * * * Okay, this is it. At least this is todayôs answer: There's a point beyond which money is redundant. This is not something I discovered just this week. I've suspected it for a long time. Five hundred dollars a week "spending money" ( like what else are you going to do with it? ) gives a person a considerable amount of freedom to do whatever he wants. Within limits, of course but those limits are wide enough to be not very restricting. Increase them to two thousand dollars a week and you don't feel them at all. The difference isn't that much. Not really. Okay, so I bought some new clothes and records and a couple of other fancy toys I'd had my eye on, but I'd already gotten used to having as much money as I'd needed (or wanted), so having that much more in my pocket didn't make that much more difference. I just had to start wearing bigger pockets, that's all. Well I like to travel too. Usually, about once or twice a month I'd fly up to San Francisco for the weekend, or something like that. Palm Springs, Santa Barbara, Newport, San Diego. Follow the sun, that's me. Since Uncle Jim increased my allowance, I've been to Acapulco, New York, and the Grand Bahamas. And I'm thinking about Europe. But it's not all that fun to travel alone and nobody I know can afford to come along with me. So I find I'm staying home just as much as before. I could buy things if I wanted but I've never cared much about owning things. They need to be dusted. Besides, I have what I need. Hell, I have what I want and that's a lot more than what I need. I have everything I want now. Big deal. I think it's a bore. * * * So that's what Uncle Jim wanted to teach me. Money isn't everything. In fact, it isn't anything. It's just paper and metal that we trade for other things. I knew that already; but it's one thing to know it theoretically; itôs another thing to know it from experience. Okay. So, if money isn't anything, what is? * * * I didn't exactly drop out of the university I just sort of faded away. It was a bore. I found I had less and less to say to my classmates. I call them my classmates because I'm not sure they were ever my friends. We weren't talking on the same levels. Typical conversation: " can I borrow five bucks, is she a good lay, does anyone know where I can score a lid, can you spare a quarter, did you hear what he said in class, I couldn't get my car running, do you know anyone who's had her, my ten o'clock class is a bitch, lend me a buck willya, what're we gonna do this weekend " They couldn't sympathize with my problems either. "Problems? With two thousand dollars a week, who's got problems?" Me. I think. I know something is wrong I'm not happy. I wish I knew why. * * * I wish the other shoe would drop. Okay, Uncle Jim. I got it about the money. Where's the rest of the lesson? * * * I think I will tell this exactly as it happened and try to do it without crying. If I can. Uncle Jim is dead. I got the phone call at eleven this morning. It was one of the lawyers from his company, Biggs or Briggs or something like that. He said, "Daniel Eakins?" I said, "Yes?" He said, "This is Jonathan Biggs-or-Briggs-or-something-like-that and I have some bad news for you about your uncle." "My uncle " I must have wavered. Everything seemed made of ice. The man was trying to be gentle. And not doing a very good job of it. He said, "He was found this morning by his maid " "He's . . . dead?" Iôm sorry. Yes. Dead? Uncle Jim? "How ? I mean " "He just didn't wake up. He was a very old man." Old? No. It couldn't be. I wouldn't accept it. Uncle Jim was immortal. "We thought that you, as next of kin, would like to supervise the funeral arrangements " Funeral arrangements? " on the other hand, we realize your distress at a time like this, so we've taken the liberty of " Dead? Uncle Jim? The telephone was still making noises. I hung up. * * * The funeral was a horror. Some idiot had decided on an open-casket ceremony, "so the deceased's family and friends might see him one more time." Family and friends. Meaning me. And the lawyers. No one else. I was surprised at that. And a little disappointed. I'd thought Uncle Jim was well known and popular. But there was nobody there apparently I was the only one who cared. Uncle Jim looked like hell. They had rouged his cheeks in a sickly effort to make him look like he was only asleep. It didn't work; it didn't disguise the fact that he was a shriveled and tired old hulk. I must have stared in horror. If he had seemed shrunken the last time I had seen him, today he looked absolutely emaciated. Used up. No. Uncle Jim wasn't in that casket. That was just a piece of dead meat. Whatever it was that had made it Uncle Jim, that was gone this empty old husk was nothing. I bawled like a baby anyway. The lawyers drove me home. I was moving like a zombie. Everything seemed so damnably the same it had all happened too fast, I hadn't had time to realize what it might mean, and now here was some dark-suited stranger sitting in my living room and trying to tell me that things were going to be different. Different ? Without Uncle Jim, how could they be the same? Biggs ã or ã Briggs ã or ã something ã like - that shuffled some papers and managed to look both embarrassed and sorrowful. I said, "I think I have some idea. I spoke with Uncle Jim a few weeks ago." "Ah, good," he said. "Then we can settle this a lot easier." He hesitated. "Dan Daniel, your uncle died indigent." I must have looked puzzled. He added, "That means poor." "What?" I blurted. "Now, wait a minute that's not what he told me " "Eh? What did he tell you?" I thought back. No, the lawyer was right. Uncle Jim hadn't said a word about his own money. Carefully, I explained, "Uncle Jim said that I had a bit of money . . . and he was supposed to administer it. So naturally, I assumed that he had some of his own or that he was taking a fee " Biggs-or-Briggs shook his head. "Your uncle was taking a fee," he said, "but it was only a token. You haven't got that much yourself." "How much?" I asked. "A little less than six thousand." "Huh?" "Actually, it's about five thousand nine hundred and something. I don't remember the exact amount." He shuffled papers in his briefcase. I stared at him. "What happened to the hundred and forty-three million?" He blinked. "I beg your pardon ?" I felt like a fool, but repeated, "A hundred and fortythree million dollars. Uncle Jim said that I had a hundred and forty-three million dollars. What happened to that?" "A hundred and forty-three mill " He pushed his glasses back onto his nose. "Uh, Mr. Eakins, you have six thousand dollars. That's all. I don't know where you got the idea that you had anything like " I explained patiently, "My Uncle Jim sat there, right where you're sitting now, and told me that I was worth one hundred and forty-three million dollars and that I could have it any time I wanted." I fixed him with what I hoped was my fiercest look. "Now, where is it?" It didn't faze him at all. Instead he put on his I'dbetter-humor-him expression. "Now, Daniel Dan, I think you can understand that when a person gets old, his mind starts to get a little well, funny. Your Uncle Jim may have told you that you were rich he may even have believed it himself! but " "My Uncle Jim was not senile," I said. My voice was cold. "He may have been sick, but when I saw him, his mind was as clear as as mine." Biggs-or-Briggs looked like he wanted to reply to that, but didn't. Probably he was reminding himself that we'd just come from a funeral and I couldn't be expected to be entirely rational. "Well," he said. "The fact remains that all you have in the accounts that we're administering is six thousand dollars. To tell the truth, we were a little concerned with the way you've been spending these past few weeks but your explanation clears that up. There's been a terrible misunderstanding " "Yes, there has. I want to see your books. When my parents died, their money was put in trust for me. It couldn't all be gone by now." "Mr. Eakins " he said. I could see that he was forcing himself to be gentle. "I don't know anything about your parents. It was your Uncle Jim who set up your trust fund, nineteen and a half years ago. He hasn't added to it since; that hasn't been necessary. His intention was to provide you with enough money to see you to your twenty-first birthday." He cleared his throat apologetically. "We almost made it. If he hadn't instructed us to increase your allowance two months ago, we probably could have made it stretch " I was feeling a little ill. This lawyer was making too much sense. When I thought of the spending I'd been doing ouch! I didn't want to think about it. Of course, I hadn't spent it all I hadn't been trying. I started going over in my mind how much I might have left in cash and in my checking account. Not that much, after all. Maybe a few hundred. And six thousand left in trust. No hundred and forty-three million But Uncle Jim had said I stopped and thought about it. If I'd really been worth a hundred and forty-three million dollars, would I have grown up the way I did? Brought up by a trained governess in Uncle Jim's comfortable but not very big San Fernando Valley home, sent to public schools and the State University? Uh-uh. Not likely. If I'd been worth that big a pile, I'd have been fawned over, drooled over, and protected every day of my life. I would have had nurses and private tutors and valets and chauffeurs. I would have had butlers for my butlers. I would have had my own pony, my own yacht, my own set of full-size trains. I would have had my pick of any college in the country. In the world. I would have been spoiled rotten. I looked around my three-hundred-dollar-a-month apartment. There was no evidence here that I was spoiled rotten. Well . . . not to the tune of a hundred and fortythree million dollars. You can get spoiled on five hundred a week, but that's a far cry from butlers for your butlers. Ouch. And ouch again. I'd thought I'd never have to worry about money in my life. Now I was wondering if I would make it to the end of the year. " of course," Biggs-or-Briggs was mumbling, "if you still feel you want to check our books, by all means we don't want there to be any misunderstandings or hard feelings " "Yeah . . ."I waved it off. "I'll call you. There's no hurry. I believe you, I guess." Maybe Uncle Jim hadn't been thinking straight that day. The more I thought about it, the odder his behavior seemed. Oh, Uncle Jim! How could you have become so addled? A hundred and forty-three million! I wasn't sure whom I felt sorriest for, him or me. The lawyer was still talking. " Now, of course, you're not responsible for any of his financial liabilities, and they aren't that much anyway. The company will probably cover them " "Wasn't there any insurance?" I blurted suddenly. "Eh? No, I'm sorry. Your uncle didn't believe in it. We tried to talk to him about it many times, but he never paid any attention." I shrugged and let him go on. That was just like my Uncle Jim. Even he believed he was immortal. "You're entitled to his personal effects and " "No, I don't want them." " there is one item he specifically requested you to have." "What?" "It's a package. Nobody's to open it but you." "Well, where is it?" "It's in the trunk of my car. If you'll just sign this receipt " * * * I waited until after what's-his-name had left. Whatever it was in the box, Uncle Jim had intended it for me alone. I hefted it carefully. Perhaps this was the hundred and forty-three million I wondered could you put that much money into a box this small? Maybe it was in million-dollar bills, one hundred and forty-three of them. (I don't know do they even print million-dollar bills?) No, that couldn't be. Could you imagine trying to cash one? I shuddered. Uh-uh, Uncle Jim wouldn't do that to me. . . . Well, let's see, maybe it was in ten-thousand-dollar bills. (That would be fourteen thousand, three hundred of them.) No, the box was too light If it was my fortune, it would have to be in some other form than banknotes. Rare postage stamps? Precious gems? Maybe but I couldn't imagine a hundred and forty-three million dollars' worth of them, at least not in this box. It was too small. There was only one way to find out. Tripped away the heavy brown wrapping paper and fumbled off the top. It was a belt. A black leather belt. With a stainless-steel plate for a buckle. A belt. I almost didn't feel like taking it out of the box. I felt like a kid at Santa Claus's funeral. This was Uncle Jim's legacy? I took it out. It wasn't a bad-looking belt in fact, it was quite handsome. I wondered what I could wear it with almost anything actually; it was just a simple black belt. It had a peculiar feel to it though; the leather flexed like an eel, as if it were alive and had an electric backbone running through it. The buckle too; it seemed heavier than it looked, and well, have you ever tried to move the axis of a gyroscope? The torque resists your pressure. The belt buckle felt like that. I looped it around my waist to see what it would look like. Not bad, but I had belts I liked better. I started to put it back in the box when it popped open in my hand. The buckle did. I looked at the buckle more closely. What had looked like a single plate of stainless steel was actually two pieces hinged together at the bottom, so that when you were wearing the belt you could open it up and read the display on the inside of the front. It was a luminous panel covered with numbers. Great. Just what I needed. A digital belt buckle. Clock, calculator, and musical synthesizer all in one. And wasn't that just like Uncle Jim. He loved these kinds of toys. But the only thing that looked like a trademark said TIMEBELT. Everything else was display. Two of the rows of numbers kept flickering, changing to keep track of the tenths of seconds, the seconds, and the minutes. Also indicated were the hours, the day, the month, the year Not bad, but I already had a watch and that was good enough. Besides, this seemed such a silly idea, putting a clock in a belt buckle. You'd feel embarrassed every time you opened it. Fine. I had the worlds only belt buckle that told the time. I started to close it up again Wait a minute not so fast. There were too many numbers on that dial. There were four rows of numbers, and a row of lights and some lettering. The whole thing looked like this: [clr] Wednesday [act] D 1975 May 21 13:06.43.09 00 0000 000 00 00:00.00.00 F 0000000000000000000000000 T AD 1975 May 21 13:06.43.09 B D 1975 May 16 17:30.00.00 hol] TIMEBELT [ret] dd. What were all those numbers for? The date on the bottom, for instance: March 16, 1975 what was so special about that? What had happened at 5:30 on March 16? I frowned. There was something I went looking for my calendar. Yes, there it was. March 16: Uncle Jim coming at 5:30. The date on the bottom was the last time I had seen Uncle Jim. March 16. He had knocked on the door at precisely 5:30. Uncle Jim was always punctual when he made appointments. On the phone he had said he would be at my place at 5:30 sure enough, he was. But why, two months later, was that date so important as to still be on his calendar belt? It didn't make sense. And there was something else I hadn't noticed. The other part of the buckle the side facing the clock was divided into buttons. There were four rows of them, all square and flush with each other. The top row was cut into two; the second row, six; the third row, three; and the bottom row, six again. My curiosity was piqued. Now, what were all these for? I touched one of the top two. The letter B on the lower right side of the panel began to glow. I touched it again and the letter F above it winked on instead. All right but what did they mean? I put the belt around my waist and fastened it. Actu- ally, it fastened itself; the back of the clasp leaped against the leather part and held. I mean, held. I tugged at it, but it didn't slip. Yet I could pop it off as easily as separating two magnets. Quite a gimmick that. The buckle was still open; I could read the numbers on it easily. Almost automatically my hand moved to the buttons. Yes, that was right the buttons were a keyboard against my waist, the panel was the readout; the whole thing was a little computer. But what in hell was I computing? Idly I touched some of the buttons. The panel blinked. One of the dates changed. I pressed another button and the center row of lights flickered. When I pressed the first button again, a different part of the date changed. I didn't understand it, and there was nothing in the box except some tissue paper. Maybe there was something on the belt itself I took it off. On the back of the clasp, it said: TIMEBELT TEMPORAL TRANSPORT DEVICE Temporal Transport Device ? Hah! They had to be kidding. A time machine? In a belt? Ridiculous. And then I found the instructions. * * * The instructions were on the back of the clasp when I touched it lightly, the words TIMEBELT, TEMPORAL TRANSPORT DEVICE winked out and the first "page" of directions appeared in their place. Every time I tapped it after that, a new page appeared. They were written in a land of linguistic shorthand, but they were complete. The table of contents itself ran on for several pages: OPERATION OF THE TIMEBELT Understanding Theory and Relations Time Tracking The Paradox Paradox Alternity Discoursing Protections Corrections Tangling and Excising Excising with Records Reluctances Avoidances and Responsibilities FUNCTIONS Layout and Controls Settings Compound Settings High-Order Programming Safety Features USAGES Forward in Time By a Specific Amount To a Particular Moment Cautions Backward in Time By a Specific Amount To a Particular Moment Additional Cautions Fail-Safe Functions Compound Jumps Advanced High-Order Compound Cautions Distance Jumps Medium Range Long Range Ultra-Long Range Special Cautions Infinity Dangers Entropy Awareness Timeskimming Short Range Long Range Ultra-Long Range Timestop Uses of the Timestop Stopping the Present Stopping the Past Stopping the Future Special Cautions on the Use of the Timestop Multiple Jumps Programming Usage Cautions and Protections on Multiple Jumps Emergency Jumps Returns Timestops Timeskims Height and Motion Compensations (moving vehicles and temporary heights) Other Compensations (ordinary and specific use) General Cautions Summary ACCLIMATIZATIONS Cultures Determinations Languages Clothing Shelter Currency Living Patterns and Customs Religions and Taboos Health Protocols Timestop Determinations Additional Acclimatizations Cautions ARTIFACTING Transporting Special Cases Cautions I was beginning to feel a little dazed of course this couldn't be for real. It couldn't be. . . . I sat down on the couch and began reading the directions in detail. They were easy to understand. There was a great deal about the principles of operation and the variety of uses, but I just skimmed that. The readout panel was easy enough to understand. The top row of numbers was the time now; the second row was the distance you wished to travel away from it, either forward or back; and the third row was the moment to which you were traveling, your target. The fourth row was the moment of your last jump that is, when the belt had last come from. (Later I found that it could also be the date of the next jump if you had preprogrammed for it. Or it could be a date held in storage one that you could keep permanently set up and jump to at a moment's decision.) The letters F and B on the right side, of course, stood for Forward and Back. The letters J and T on the left side stood for Jump and Target. The lights in the center of the panel had several functions; mostly they indicated the belt's programming. In each corner of the readout was a lettered square. These were references to four buttons on the face of the buckle itself. (I closed he buckle and looked there weren't any obvious buttons, but in each corner was an area that seemed to depress with a slight click.) CLR stood for Clear, HOL meant Hold, RET was Return, and ACT was Activate. Each button had to be pressed twice in rapid succession to function; that way you wouldn't accidentally change any of your settings or send yourself off on an unintended jaunt, CLR was meant to clear the belt of all previous instructions and settings. HOL would hold any date in storage indefinitely, or call it out again. RET would send you back to the moment of your last jump, or to any date locked in by HOL. ACT would do just that act. Whatever instructions had been programmed into the belt, nothing would happen until ACT was pressed. Twice. There were more instructions. There was something called Timestop and something else called Timeskim. According to the instructions, each was an interrupted time jump resulting in a controlled out-of-phase relationship with the real-time universe. Because the rate of phase congruency could be controlled, so could the perceived rate of the timestream. What that meant was that I could view events like a motion picture film. I could speed it up and see things happening at an ultra-fast rate via the Timeskim, or I could slow them down I could even freeze them altogether with the Timestop. The Timeskim was necessary to allow you to maintain your bearings over a long-range jump; you could skim through time instead of jumping directly. The movement of people and animals would be a blur, but you would be able to avoid materializing inside of a building that hadn't been there before. The Timestop was intended to help you get your bearings after you arrived, but before you reinserted yourself into the timestream, especially if you were looking for a particular moment. With everything seemingly frozen solid, you could find an unobserved place to appear, or you could remain an unseen observer of the Timestopped still life. Or you could Timeskim at the real-time rate without being a part of real-world events, again an unseen observer. I guessed that the Timestop and Timeskim were necessary for traveling to unfamiliar eras especially dangerous ones. There were other functions too, complex things that I didn't understand yet. I decided to leave them alone for a while. For instance, Entropy Awareness left me a bit leery. I concentrated on the keyboard instead. If I was going to use this thing, I'd better know how to program it. The top two buttons controlled Jump and Target, Forward and Back. The second row of six controlled any six digits of the date; the third row of three was for programming they determined the settings of the second and fourth rows. The fourth row had six buttons; used in combination with the third row, they determined ways of using the belt. Maybe more. Each of the buttons on the keyboard was multi-functional. What it controlled, and how, was determined by which other buttons it was used in combination with. Clearly this timebelt was not a simple device. There was a lot to learn. * * * I felt like a kid with a ten-dollar bill in a candy store no, like an adolescent with a hundred-dollar bill in a brothel. I was ready but what should I do first? Possibilities cascaded across my mind like a stack of unopened presents. I was both eager and scared. My hand was nervous as I fumbled open the buckle. I eyed the readout plate warily. All the numbers had been cleared and were at zero; they gazed right back at me. Well, lets try something simple first. I touched the third button in the third row, setting the second row of controls for minutes, seconds and tenths of seconds. I tapped the first button in the second row twice: twenty minutes. I set the top right-hand button for Forward, the top left-hand button for Jump. I double-checked the numbers on the panel and closed the belt. Now. All I had to do was tap the upper right-hand corner of the buckle twice. The future waited. I swallowed once and tapped. POP! I staggered and straightened. I had forgotten about that. The instructions had warned that there would be a slight shock every time I jumped. It had something to do with forcing the air out of the space you were materializing in. It wasn't bad though I just hadn't been expecting it. It was like scuffing your shoes on a rug and then touching metal, that kind of shock, but all over your whole body at once. Aside from that, I had no way of proving I was in the future. Oh, wait. Yes, I did. I was still wearing my wristwatch. It said 1:43. I strode into the kitchen and looked at the kitchen clock. It said 2:03. If the kitchen clock was to be believed, then the belt was real, and I had just traveled through time. Twenty minutes forward. Assuming the kitchen clock hadn't suddenly No! This had to be real. It was real. I had actually done it! I'd been sort of treating the whole thing as a game; not even the jump-shock had convinced me. That could have been faked by a battery in the belt. But this I I knew my watch and I knew that kitchen clock; they couldn't have been faked. I actually had a time machine. A real live, honestto-God working time machine. I took a deep breath and forced myself to be calm. I tried to force myself to be calm. I had a time machine. A real time machine. I had jumped twenty minutes forward. The room looked just the same, not even the quality of the afternoon sunlight had changed, but I knew I had jumped forward in time. The big question was what was I going to do next? I had to think about this no problem, I had all the time in the world. I giggled when I realized that. Hmm. I knew. Suddenly I realized what I could do. I opened the belt and reset the control for twentyfour hours. Forward. I would pick up a copy of tomorrow's paper, then bounce back and go to the race track today. I would make a fortune. I would MIGOD! Why hadn't I realized this ? I could be as rich as I wanted to be. Rich ? The word lost all meaning when I realized what I could do. Not just the race track Las Vegas! The stock market! Anything! There were boxing matches to bet on and companies to invest in, new products from the future and rare objects from the past my head swam with the possibilities. I wanted to laugh. And I'd been worried about a mere hundred and forty-three million dollars! Uncle Jim had been right after all! I was rich! I wanted to shout! I felt like dancing! The room twirled with wealth and I spun with it until I tripped over a chair. Still gasping and giggling, I sat up. It was too much too much! Before before I had proven that the belt really worked all those possibilities had been merely fantasies: fun things to think about, but not taken seriously. Now, however, they were more than possibilities. They were probabilities. I would do them all. All of them! Because I had all the time in the world! I was hysterical with delight. Giddy with enthusiasm I forced myself to stop. Be serious now, I told myself. Let's approach this properly. Let's think these things out; take them one at a time Tomorrow. I grinned and touched the button. Pop! * * * This time the shock wasn't so bad, I There was somebody in the room. Then he turned to face me. For a moment it was like staring into a sudden mirror "Hi," he said. "I've been waiting for you." It was me. I must have been staring, because he said, "Relax, Dan " and I jumped again. The sound of his voice it was my voice as I've heard it on tape. The look in his eyes I've seen those eyes in the mirror. His face it was my face the features, everything: the nose, short and straight; the hair, dark brown with a hint of red and with the wave that I can't comb out; the mouth, wide and smiling; the cheekbones, high and pronounced. "You're me " It must have sounded inane. He was a little flustered too. He held out something he had been holding, a newspaper. "Here," he said. "I believe we were going to the races." "We?" "Well, it's no fun going alone, is it?" "Uh " My head was still spinning. "It's all right," he said. "I'm you I'm your future self. Tomorrow you'll be me. That is, we're the same person. We've just doubled back our timeline." "Oh," I said, blinking. He grinned with the knowledge of a joke that I hadn't gotten yet. "Okay, let's do it this way. I'm your twin brother." I looked at him again; he stared unabashedly back. He was almost delighting in my confusion, and he had hit on one of my most secret fantasies of course. He couldn't help but know, he was me. When I was younger, my greatest desire had been the impossible wish for an identical twin a second me, someone who understood me, whom I could talk to and share secrets with. Someone who would always be there, so I would never be alone. Someone who I gaped helplessly. It was all happening too fast. He reached out and took my hand, shook it warmly. "Hi," he said. "I'm Don. I'm your brother." At first I just let him shake my hand, but after a second of his silly grinning at me, I returned his grip. (Interesting. Some people shake my hand and their grip is too hard. Others have a grip that's too weak. Don's grip was just right but why shouldn't it be? He's me. I have to keep reminding myself of that; it's almost too easy to think of him as Don.) The touch of his hand was strange. Is that what I feel like? We went to the races. Oh, first we bounced back twenty-eight hours; both of us. He flashed back first, then I followed. We both reappeared at the same instant because our target settings were identical. He was wearing a timebelt too well, of course; if I could be duplicated, so could the belt.) I couldn't shake the feeling that this fellow from the future was invading my home even though it was meaningless but he seemed so sure of himself that I had to follow in his wake. When I glanced at the kitchen clock, I got another start. It was just a little past ten why, I was still at Uncle Jim's funeral! I'd be coming home in an hour with the lawyer. Maybe it was a good thing that Don had taken the lead; there was still too much I didn't know. As we walked out to the car, Mrs. Peterson, the old lady in the front apartment, was just coming out of her door. "Hello, Danny " she started, then she stopped. She looked from one to the other of us confusedly. "This is my brother," said Don quickly. "Don," he said to me, a gentle pressure on my arm, "this is Mrs. Peterson." To her: "Don will be staying with me for a while, so if you think you're seeing double, don't be surprised." She smiled at me. I nodded, feeling like a fool. I knew Mrs. Peterson but Don's grip on my arm reminded me that she didn't know. She looked back and forth, blinking. "I didn't know you were twins " "We've been living separately," said Don quicky, "so we could each have a chance to be our own person. Don's been up in San Francisco for the past two years." "Oh," she said. She turned on her smile again and beamed politely at me. "Well, I hope you'll like it in Los Angeles, Don. There's so much to do." "Uh yes," I said. "It's very exciting." We made our goodbyes and went on to the car. Abruptly, Don started giggling. "I wish you could have seen your face," he said. "Well, you will tomorrow." Still laughing, he repeated my last words, "Uh yes. It's very exciting. You looked as if you'd swallowed a frog." I stopped in the act of unlocking the passenger-side door. (It seemed natural for him to take the drivers side; besides, I was unsure of the way to the track.) "Why didn't you let me explain?" I asked. "She's my neighbor." "She's my neighbor too," he replied, giggling again. "Besides, what would you have said? At least I've been through this once before." He opened his door and dropped into the drivers seat. I got in slowly and looked at him. He was unlatching the convertible top. He didn't notice my gaze. I realized that I was feeling resentful of him he was so damned sure of himself, even to the way he was making himself at home in my car. Was that the way I was? I found myself studying his mannerisms. Suddenly he turned to me. "Relax," he said. He turned to look me straight in the eye. "I know what you're going through. I went through it too. The way to do this is at least, I think so is the first time you go through something, just watch. The second time, you know what's going to happen; that's where the arrogance comes from. Only it isn't arrogance. It's confidence." "I guess this is happening a little too fast for me." "Me too," he said. "I know this is a weird thing to say, but I missed you. Or maybe I missed me. Anyway, it'll work better this way. You'll see." He pushed the button on the dashboard and the convertible top lifted off and began folding back. "Put on a tape," he said, indicating the box of cassettes on the floor. He started to name one, then stopped himself. "Want me to tell you which one you're going to choose?" "Uh no, thanks." I studied the different titles with such an intensity I couldn't see any of them. It would be impossible for me to surprise him no matter what tape I chose, no matter what I did, he would already know, he would have done it himself. Of course, he had been through all this before. He had every reason to be sure of himself. When I became him, I'd probably be cocky too. Perhaps a little giddy you couldn't help but feel powerful if you knew everything that was going to happen before it happened. Of course he should be the one to do the talking. Later I'd get my turn; but right now I was feeling a little unsure, both of myself and of the situation. I could learn by following his lead. I put on a tape of Petrouchka and concentrated on the road. I'd never been to the race track before. It was bigger than I'd expected. Don steered his way into the parking lot with surprising familiarity and arrowed immediately toward a space that shouldn't have been there, but was. Instead of seats in the bleachers, as I had expected, he bought a private box. Grinning at me, he explained, "Why not? We deserve the best." I wanted to point out that it wasn't necessary; besides, it cost too much. Then I realized he was right; the money made no difference at all. We were going to make a lot more than we spent, so why not enjoy? I shut up and let myself be awed by the great expanses of green lawn. Under the bright sun, the wide sweeping track seemed poised in midair, a curve of stark and simple elegance. The stands loomed high above us and I was properly impressed. We ordered mint juleps from the bar nouveau riche I thought, but didn't protest and made our way to our seats. Don made a great show of studying the paper, which I thought was funny it was today's race results he was poring over. "Yes, yes . . ."he muttered in loud tones of feigned thoughtfulness. "I think Absolam's Ass looks pretty good in the first." He looked up. "Danny, go put a hundred dollars on Absolam's Ass. To win." "Uh " I started fumbling in my pockets. "I only have sixty " And then I broke off and looked at him. "A hundred dollars ?" On a horse? A hundred dollars? He was eying me with cool amusement. There was a crisp new bill in his hand. "You want to get rich?" he asked. "You have to spend money to make money." I blinked and took the bill. Somehow I found my way to the betting windows and traded the money for ten bright printed tickets. The clerk didn't even glance up. Absolam's Ass paid off at three to one. We now had three hundred dollars. Don ordered two more mint juleps while I went to collect our winnings and put them on Fig Leaf. This time the clerk hesitated, repeated the bet aloud, then punched the buttons on his machine. Fig Leaf paid off at two to one. We now had six hundred dollars. And another mint julep. Calamity Jane also paid off at two to one. We were up to twelve hundred dollars, and the clerk at the window was beginning to recognize me. Finders Keepers came in second, and I looked at Don in consternation. He merely grinned and said, "Wait " I waited, and Harass was disqualified for bumping Tumbleweed. Finders Keepers paid eight to one. Ninety-six hundred dollars. The betting official went a little goggle-eyed when I tried to put it all on Big John. He had to call over a manager to okay it. Big John came in at three to one. Twenty-eight thousand, eight hundred dollars. I was getting a little goggle-eyed. The track manager personally took my next bet; with that much money at stake, I couldn't blame him. I made a little show of hesitating thoughtfully as if I couldn't make up my mind, partly to keep him from getting curious about my "system" and partly because I was getting nervous about all the people who were watching me to see which way I would bet. Apparently they were betting the same way. Word of my "luck" seemed to have spread. (I didn't like that I'd heard somewhere that too much money on one horse could change the odds. Well, no matter. As long as I still won. . . .) As I climbed back to our seats, I thought I saw Don leaving, but I must have been mistaken because he was still sitting there in our box. When he saw me, he folded the newspaper he'd been looking at and shoved it under his seat. I started to ask him about the odds, but he said. "Don't worry about it. We're leaving right after this race. We're through for the day." "Huh ? Why?æ He waited until the horses broke from the gate; the crowd roared around us. "Because in a few minutes we're going to be worth fifty-seven thousand, six hundred dollars. Don't you think that's enough?" "But if we keep going," I protested, "we can win almost a milllion dollars on an eight-horse parlay." He flinched at that. "There are better ways to make a million dollars," he said. "Quieter ways. More discreet. " I didn't answer. Evidently he knew something I didn't. I watched as Michelangelo crossed the finish line and paid off at two to one. Don scooped up his two newspapers and stood. "Come on," he said. "You go get the money. I'll wait for you at the ear. I was a little disappointed that he didn't want to come with me to collect our winnings; after all, they were as much his as they were mine. (I'm getting my tenses confused they were all mine, but it seemed like ours.) Didn't he care about the money?" No matter. I found my way down to the windows to turn my tickets in that is, I tried to turn my tickets in. There were some forms to be filled out first, and a notification for the Bureau of Internal Revenue. And I had to show my drivers license for identification and my credit cards too. The track manager was beaming at me and kept shaking my hand and wanting to know if I would please wait for the photographers and reporters. At first I was pleased with the idea, but something inside me went twang just a warning sensation, that's all, but it was enough. "I don't want any publicity," I said; now I knew why Don had beaten such a hasty retreat. I shook off the track manager and collected my check for $57,600 as quickly as possible. It felt like a mighty powerful piece of paper; I was almost afraid to put it in my pocket. I must have walked out to the park- ing lot like my pants were on fire. I was that nervous and excited. Don was sitting on the passenger side, looking thoughtful, I was too giddy to notice. "You want to see the check?" I asked, waving it at him. He shook his head. "I've already seen it." Then he pulled it out of his pocket to show me his check for $57,600. He'd had it with him all the time! I blinked from one to the other. They were identical, even down to the last curlicue on the signature. "Hey!" I said. "Two checks!" Why don't we cash them both?" Don looked at me. "We can't. Think about it. If you cash yours, how do I get it back so I can cash it?" He was right, of course. I wanted to hit myself for being so stupid. It was the same check. He I we just hadn't cashed it yet. He slipped it back into his pocket; I did the same with mine. Well, at least it was nice to know I wasn't going to lose it. * * * I drove home. Don was strangely quiet; I noticed it almost immediately because I had gotten used to letting him do all the talking. (There wasn't much point in my saying anything; he already knew it, and anything I needed to know, he would tell me.) But now he had lost his former exuberance. He seemed almost brooding. I was still too excited by the whole experience. I couldn't stop talking. But after a bit I began to realize it was a one-sided conversation. I trailed off, feeling foolish. (He'd heard it all before, I had to remind myself After all, he'd said it too.) "Well," I said. "What happens now? Do you go back to your time?" He looked at me, forced himself to smile. "Not yet. First we go out to celebrate. Like rich people." Of course. Its not every day you make $57,600. We stopped at home to change clothes. (There was a bit of hassling over who was going to use the bathroom first and who was going to wear whose favorite sport jacket, but eventually we compromised. Even so, this was something I might have trouble getting used to sharing my life. I like to live alone, and this business of another person even when it's only yourself sharing your apartment, your clothes, your bathroom, your razor, your toothbrush, and even your clean underwear, can be unnerving. To say the least.) The restaurant was called simply The Restaurant. It was supposed to be one of the best places in the city, but I'd never been there before, so I didn't know. Don, of course, was quite familiar with the layout. He presented himself to the maitre d' and announced, "You have a reservation for Mr. Daniel Eakins . . .?" Yes, he did when had Don arranged that? and led us to a table on a balcony overlooking a splashing fountain. Fancy. We started off with cocktails, of course, and an hors d'oeuvre tray that was meal in itself, and then had another drink while we studied the menu and wine list. I went goggle-eyed at the prices, mostly out of habit, but Don merely announced, "Last night I had the steak. Today I'm going to try the lobster." His "last night" was my tonight. I had steak. It was still early in the evening. We were in a quiet and empty corner. Somewhere a violinist was teasing a Bach concerto until it giggled with delight. I sipped my drink and studied Don; I was beginning to find his selfassurance attractive. (I knew what that meant. I wanted to be the same way and I'd begun to imitate him.) He was studying me too, but there was a detached smile on his lips. I could tell his thoughts were not running the same course as mine and I wondered what he was thinking about. I kept looking at him and he kept looking back at me. Finally I had to break away. "I can't get used to this," I said. "I mean, I thought I'd be doing all this alone. I didn't realize that you'd be here " "But why should you have to be alone?" He'd started to answer my question before I'd finished asking it. "You'll never have to be alone again. You'll always have me. I'll always have you. It makes more sense this way. I don't like being alone either. This way I can share the things I like with somebody I know likes them too. I don't have to try to impress you, you don't have to try to impress me. There's perfect understanding between us. There'll never be any of those destructive little head games that people play on each other, because there canôt be. I like me, Danny; that's why I like you. You'll feel the same way, you'll see. And I guarantee, there are no two people in this world who understand each other as well as we do." "Um " I said. I studied the pattern of bread crumbs on the tablecloth. Don's intensity scared me. All my life I'd been a loner; I wasn't very good at talking to people, and when they tried to get too close to me, I backed away in a hurry. (Uncle Jim had arranged for me to visit an analyst once. It hadn't worked. I wouldn't open up to him. The most I would admit was a feeling that I wasn't living my life, only operating it by remote control.) So now, when Don opened his thoughts to me but I couldn't reject him. He was me. How could I put up a psychological barrier between myself? I couldn't, of course, but it was the candidness of Don's admissions that made me uncomfortable. Abruptly, he was changing the subject. "Besides, there's another advantage," he pointed out. "With me along, you'll never be taken by surprise. Whatever we do, I'll have been through it before, so I'll know what to expect, and you'll be learning it at the hands of an expert guide. Whatever we do." "I've always wanted to try parachute jumping," I offered. He grinned. "Me too." Suddenly he was serious again. "When you go, Dan, you have to take me. I'm your insurance so you can't be killed." "Huh?" I stared at him. He repeated it. "When you're with me, you can't be killed. It's like the check this afternoon. If anything happens to the earlier one, the later one won't be there beside it it won't exist. It's more than me just being able to warn you about things my sitting here across from you is proof that you won't be killed before tomorrow night. And I know that nothing happens to me" he thumped his chest to indicate which "me" he was talking about "because I've got my memories. I've seen that nothing will happen to me tonight, so you're my insurance too. I thought about that. He was right. "Remember the automobile accident we didn't have last year?" I shuddered. I'd had a blowout on the San Diego Freeway while traveling at seventy miles an hour. It had been the left front tire and I had skidded across three lanes and found myself the wrong way, with traffic rushing at me. And the motor had stalled. I just barely had time to restart the engine and pull off to the side. It had been fifteen minutes before my hands stopped trembling enough for me to attempt changing the tire. It was a mess. For weeks afterward I'd kept a piece of it on the dashboard to remind me how close a call I'd had. I still had nightmares about it: if traffic had been just a little bit heavier . . . the sickening swerve-skid-bumpety-bumpscreeeeeeech I figured I was living on borrowed time. I really should have been killed. Really. It was only a miracle that I hadn't been. I realized my hand was shaking. I forced myself to take a sip of my drink. I looked at Don; he was as grim as I was. "There's too much to lose, isn't there?" he said. I nodded. We shared the same memory. There was a lot we didn't have to say. "Dan," he said; his tone was intense, as intense as before. His eyes fixed me with a penetrating look. "We're going to be more than just identical twins. We can't help it. We're closer than brothers." I met his gaze, but the thought still frightened me. I'm not sure I know how to be that close to anybody. Even myself. * * * We ate the rest of our dinner in silence, but it wasn't an uncomfortable silence. No, it was a peaceful one, relaxed. I had to get used to the situation, and Don was letting me. He sat there and smiled a lot, and I got the feeling that he was simply enjoying my presence. I had to learn how to relax, that was the problem. Other people had always unnerved me because I thought they were continually judging me. How do I look? What kind of a person do I seem? Is my voice firm enough? Am I really intelligent or just pedantic? Was that joke really funny, or am I making a fool of myself? I worried about the impression I was making. If I was shy, did they think I was being aloof and call me a snob? If I tried to be friendly, did they find me overbearing? I was always afraid that I was basically unlikable, so I wouldn't give anyone the chance to find out; or I tried too hard to be likable, and thereby proved that I wasn't. And yet Here was this person, Don, sitting across from me ... he wasn't unlikable at all. In fact, he was quite attractive. Handsome, even. His face was ruddy and tanned (well, that was the sun lamp in the bathroom, but it looked good); his eyes were clear, almost glowing (that must be from the tinted contact lenses); his hair was carefully styled (that was the hair blower, of course) he was everything I was always trying to be. His voice was firm, his manner was gentle, and he was in good physical condition. Perhaps I had been too hard in judging myself. Yes, I liked the look of this person. He was capable, assured, and confident. He projected likability. Friendliness. And something else. There was that same kind of longing no, maybe desperation was the word in Don; that feeling of reach out, touch me, here I am, please that I so often felt in myself. Under his assurance was a hint of helplessness? need? And I could respond to that. I enjoyed his presence, but more than that, I sensed a feeling that he needed me. Yes, he needed to know that / liked him. I realized I was smiling. It was nice to be needed, I decided. I was glowing, but not with the liquor. Not entirely. I was learning to love no, I was learning to like myself. I was learning to relax with another person. No. I was learning to relax with myself. Maybe it was the same thing, actually. We spent a lot of time drinking and thinking and just looking at each other. And giggling conspiratorially. Our communication was more than empathic. We didn't need words he already knew what I was thinking. And I would know the rest, if I just waited. We simply enjoyed each other's existence. After dinner we went to a nearby bar and played a few games of pool. It was one of the few things we could do that wouldn't be boring the second time around. Most kinds of spectator entertainment, like a movie or a show or a baseball game, wouldn't work two nights in a row, but participation activities would work just fine. Swimming, sailing, riding; I could learn from watching my own technique. (I wondered if I could get a poker game going let's see, I'd need at least five of me. I doubted it would work, but it might be worth a try.) We got home about eleven-thirty; we were holding each other up, we were that drunk. Don looked at me blearily. "Well, good night, Dan. I'll see you tomorrow no, I'll see you the day after tomorrow. Tomorrow I have to see Don and you have to see Dan " He frowned at that, went over it again in his head, looked back to me. "Yeah, that's right." He flipped open his belt buckle, set it, double-checked it, closed it, and vanished forward into time. The air gave a soft pop! as it rushed in to fill the space where he had been. * * * ' i After he left I stumbled through the apartment, wondering what to do next another trip through time? No. I decided not. I was too tired. First I'd get some sleep. If I could. I paused to pick up the clothes that I'd scattered on the floor this afternoon when we'd changed for dinner; I realized I was picking up his clothes too wait a minute, that meant that he'd left wearing some of my clothes. I looked in the closet. Yes, the good sport jacket and slacks that he'd borrowed were missing. So was my red tie. But the sweater and slacks that he'd discarded were still there. No, they weren't they were in my hand! I blinked back and forth between the clothes I was holding and the clothes in the closet. They were the same! I'd lost a jacket and slacks, but I'd gained a sweater and a pair of pants identical to the ones I already owned. I had to figure this ' t. Ah, I had it. The jacket and slacks he'd borrowed had traveled forward in time with him. They'd be waiting there for me when no, that wasn't right. I'd be going back in time tomorrow that is, I'd be coming back to today, where I'd put them on and take them forward with me. Right. They'd just be skipping forward a few hours. And the sweater and the other pair of pants the duplicated ones obviously, that's what I'd be wearing tomorrow when I bounced back, leaving only one set in the future. The condition of having two of them was only temporary, like the condition of having two of me. It was just an illusion. Or was it? What would happen if I wore his sweater and slacks back through time? The sweater and slacks that he brought from the future would then be the clothes that I would leave in the past so that I could put them on when I went back to the past to leave them there for myself, ad infinitum . . . and meanwhile, my sweater and slacks would be hanging untouched in the closet. Or would they? What would happen tomorrow if I didn't wear either sweater or pair of slacks? But something else entirely? (But how could I? I'd already seen that I had worn them.) Would the pair that he brought back cease to exist? Or would they remain would I have somehow duplicated them? There was only one way to find out . . . I fell asleep thinking about it. * * * The morning was hot, with that crisp kind of unre- ality that characterizes the northern edge of the San Fernando Valley. I woke up to the sound of the air conditioner already beginning its days work with an insistent pressing hum. For a while I just stared at the ceiling. I'd had the strangest dream but it wasn't a dream. I bounced out of bed in sudden fear. The timebelt glittered on the dresser where I'd left it. I held it tightly as if it might abruptly fade away. All the excitement of yesterday flooded back into me. I remembered. The race track. The restaurant. Don. The check. It was sitting on the dresser too, right next to the belt $57,600! I opened the belt and checked the time. It was almost eleven. I'd have to hurry. Don would be arriving no, I was Don now. Dan would be arriving in three hours. I showered and shaved, pulled on a sport shirt and slacks and headed for the car. I wanted to go to the bank and deposit the check and I had to pick up a newspaper Actually, I didn't need the newspaper at all, I could remember which horses had won without it, but there was a headline on the front page of the Herald Examiner: FIVE-HORSE PARLAY WINS $57,600! Huh ? I hadn't seen that before. But then, Don hadn't shown me the front page. The story was a skimpy one and they'd misspelled my name; mostly it was about how much I had bet on each horse and how it had snowballed. Then there were some quotes from various track officials saying how pleased they were to have such a big winner (I'll bet!), because it helped publicize the sport (and probably attracted a lot of hopeful losers too.) Finally there was even a quote from me about what I was planning to do with the money: "I don't know yet, I'm still too excited. Probably I'll take a vacation. I've always wanted to see the world. I'd like to invest some of it too, but I have to wait and see what's left after taxes." Faked, of course. I hadn't spoken to any reporters at all; but apparently some editor had felt the story wouldn't be complete without a few words from the happy winner. I was both pleased and annoyed. Pleased at being a "celebrity." Annoyed that they were putting words into my mouth. Maybe today we'd do it differently. Could we? Suppose we didn't stop at $57,600 suppose we went after an eight-horse parlay. That would be worth almost $750,000! Hmm. I thought about it all during breakfast at the local coffee shop. Afterward I went to the bank and withdrew two hundred and fifty dollars from my savings account so we'd have some money for the track today. I couldn't deposit the big check yet, because I needed it to show to Danny, my younger self, this afternoon. I got home with time to spare. I decided to change into some cooler clothes then I remembered the sweater and slacks. What would happen if I wore something else instead? I went burrowing in the closet, found some lightweight trousers, a shirt and a windbreaker. They would do just fine. Now, what else was there I had to take care of? Nothing that I could see. I scooped up the check and put it in my pocket; I didn't want to leave it lying around. Dan would be arriving at There was a soft pop! in the air. I turned to see a startled-looking me. "Hi," I said. "I've been waiting for you." His eyes were wide; he looked positively scared. "Relax, Dan " I said. He jumped when I spoke. For a moment, all he could do was stare. His face was a study in amazement. "You're me " I suddenly realized how silly this whole tableau was. I thrust the newspaper at him. "Here. I believe we were going to the races . . . ? "We?" That's right he didn't know!! "Well, it's no fun going alone, is it? "Uh " "It's all right," I said. "I'm you I'm your future self. Tomorrow you'll be me. That is, we're the same person. We've just doubled back our timeline." He blinked. "Oh." He looked so confused, I wanted to touch him to reassure him, but I remembered how scared I had been. He'd probably jump right out of his skin. I smiled at him. "Okay, let's do it this way. I'm your twin brother." There was so much I wanted to explain. I wanted to tell him everything that Don had told me last night, but it wasn't the right time yet. He was still looking at me too hesitantly. Instead I reached out and took his hand, shook it firmly. "Hi," I said. "I'm Don. I'm your brother." After a bit he returned my grip. I knew how scared he was but I also knew how curious he was about to become. We bounced back in time in his "today." (I snuck a peek in the closet when he wasn't looking. There was only one sweater and slacks of course, I hadn't brought them back with me. But there were duplicates of the trousers, shirt and windbreaker I was wearing now. So you could change the timestream . . . !) On the way out to the car, old lady Peterson surprised us surprised Danny, I should say; I'd been expecting her. "This is my brother," I said quickly. "Don," I touched his arm. "This is Mrs. Peterson." To her: "Don will be staying with me for a while, so if you think you're seeing double, don't be surprised." She smiled at us. "I didn't know you were twins " "We've been living separately," I answered, remembering quickly how my Don had explained it. "So we could each have a chance to be our own person. Don's been living up in San Francisco for the past two years." "Oh," she said. She beamed politely at Dan. "Well, I hope you'll like it in Los Angeles, Don. There's so much to do." He went kind of frog-faced at that. He managed to stammer out, "Uh yes. It's very exciting." I couldn't help myself. I started giggling; when we got to the car I couldn't hold it in any longer. "I wish you could have seen your face " I said. Then I realized. "Well, you will tomorrow." He was half glaring at me. "'Uh yes. It's very exciting,'" I mocked. "You looked as if you'd swallowed a frog." He stopped in the act of unlocking the passenger- side car door. "Why didn't you let me explain?" he asked. "She's my neighbor." "She's my neighbor too," I pointed out. "Besides, what would you have said? At least I've been through this once before." I opened my door and got into the car. I could see this twin business was going to take some getting used to. Already I was noticing the differences between the Dan of today and the Don of yesterday. Sure, it was only me but I was beginning to realize that I would never be the same person twice in a row. And I would never be viewing myself through the same pair of eyes either. Dan seemed so uncertain; it was as if he was a little cowed by me. It showed in little things his easy acquiescence of the fact that I would drive, for example. All I had done was point him at the passenger side of the car while I headed toward the driver's side myself, but he had accepted that. Not without some resentment, of course; I could see him eyeing me as I unlatched the top, preparatory to putting it down. "Put on a tape," I said, pointing at the box of cassettes. I started to name one, then stopped. "Want me to tell you which one you're going to choose?" I realized that was a mistake as soon as I'd said it. "Uh no, thanks," he muttered. He was frowning. I could have kicked myself. I'd let myself get carried away with this wild sense of power. I hadn't been considerate of Dan at all. Belatedly, I remembered how I had felt yesterday. Resentful, sullen, and most of all, cautious. Poor Dan here he was, flush with excitement, filled with a feeling of omnipotence at the wondrous things he could do with his timebelt and I had stolen it all from him. By my mere presence, my know-it-all attitude and cocksure arrogance, I was relegating him to second fiddle. Of course he wouldn't like it. As he put on the tape of Petrouchka, I resolved to try and be more considerate. I should have realized how he would feel no, that was wrong, I did know how he felt; I simply hadn't paid it any mind. Thinking back, I remembered that as Dan, my arrogance had bothered me only at first later, as I had gotten used to the idea of "Don," I had begun to see the wisdom of following his lead. Or had that been my reaction to Donôs suddenly realized consideration of me? It didn't matter. There was bound to be some confusion at first, on both sides. What counted would be what happened later on, over dinner. I remembered how good I had felt last night in Don's presence and I looked forward to it again tonight. I would make it up to Dan. (The reservations I hadn't made them yet! No, wait a minute; it was all right. I could make the reservations any time. All I had to do was flash back a day or so; I could do it later. Boy, I could get used to this ) I found my way to the track easily enough; I'd been watching Don yesterday. Today Dan was watching me. Now, if I remembered correctly, there should be a parking place, right over . . . here. There was, and I pulled neatly into it. I bought a private box and had no trouble finding it. Dan was properly impressed with how well I knew my way around; actually, I was trying not to be so cocksure, but it wasn't easy. He was such a perfect audience to my newly discovered self-confidence. After we'd gotten our drinks, I remembered how Don had pretended to study the newspaper yesterday and how funny I thought that had been. So I did the same thing. I frowned and muttered thoughtfully, and Danny giggled in appreciation. Maybe he was starting to warm up to me. "I think Absolam's Ass looks pretty good in the first," I announced. "Danny, go put a hundred dollars on Absolamôs Ass. To win." He started fumbling in his pockets. I pulled out some bills from mine. "Here," I said impulsively, "make it two hundred." He blinked and took the two hundred-dollar bills I was holding out. "You want to get rich?" I said. "You have to spend money to make money." He went off to place the bet, leaving me to wonder what I had just done. Don had given me only one hundred dollars. I had given Dan twice as much. I had changed the past again! First the sweater and slacks, now the amount of the first bet, yet I remembered it happening the other way Paradox? A pair of paradoxes? I finished my drink thoughtfully, then finished Danny's. Absolam's Ass paid off at three to one and we had six hundred dollars. I went and got two more drinks while Danny went to bet on Fig Leaf. I found myself wondering if I could change the past so easily, maybe it wasn't as fixed as I thought it was, maybe Fig Leaf wouldn't win this time. But on the other hand, I hadn't done anything that should have had any effect on that, had I? Fig Leaf paid off at two to one. We now had twelve hundred dollars. I had another drink. Ginger ale. For some reason, this was getting scary. Calamity Jane came in on schedule too. We doubled our money again. The next race was the fun one. I'd forgotten about Harass bumping Tumbleweed. When Finders Keepers came in second, Dan looked at me in confusion. "Wait " I grinned. After Harass was scratched, we were worth nineteen thousand, two hundred dollars. I felt great. We could keep this up all afternoon and we would end up with $750,000 no, twice that; I had doubled our original bet. We'd take home a million and a half! "Go put it all on Big John," I said. I must have been getting a little dizzy. Dan went off, but almost immediately, he was back. No I stood up in surprise this was Don. "What are you doing here?" I asked. "Sit down," he said. He looked grim. "What's the matter?" He handed me a newspaper. It looked like todays Herald Examiner. I opened it up The headline blared: IDENTICAL TWINS TAKE TRACK FOR $1,500,000! And in smaller type: Track Officials Promise Full Investigation. I looked at Don. Confused. He looked back. Angry. "Don't be greedy," he said. "Quit before it gets too big." "I don't understand " I started to stammer. "I've come from the middle of next week," he whispered. "Only in that future, we're in trouble. Big trouble. We won too much money here at the track today, so I've come back to tell you not to win any more. They're going to get suspicious." "How about one more bet?" I asked. "Michelangelo will make us worth a hundred and fifteen thousand, two hundred dollars." He frowned. "Even that might be too much." His eyes blazed; he gripped my arm. "Dan, listen to me you don't want publicity! None at all! Don't let them take any pictures and don't talk to reporters." He looked at his watch. "Dan will be back any minute. I've got to go. Read the newspaper if you have any doubts " Then he left. I watched him as he strode away, then I looked at the Examiner. The story was pretty ugly. I folded up the papers and shoved them under my seat just as Danny returned. He started to ask me something about the next race, but I cut him off. "Don't worry about it. We're leaving right after this. We're through for the day." "Huh ? Why?" I waited till after the horses broke from the gate. Sure enough, Big John broke first to take an early lead. I said, "Because in a few minutes we're going to be worth fifty-seven thousand, six hundred dollars. Don't you think that's enough?" ,"But if we keep going," he protested, "we can make a million and a half dollars on an eight-horse parlay." I winced. I thought of the newspapers under my seat. "There are better ways to make a million and a half dollars," I said. "Quieter ways. More discreet." He didn't answer. I waited till Big John crossed the finish line and paid off at three to one. I scooped up my newspapers and stood. "Come on," I said. "You go get the money. I'll wait for you at the car." I think he wanted me to go with him, but I had to be alone for a while. I had a lot to think about and I was suddenly in a very, very bad mood. Oh, it wasn't the money I'd already realized that if I could make fifty-seven thousand, six hundred dollars in one day at the races, I could easily turn that into more in the stock market. And there were other ways I could make a fortune too It wasn't the money. It was the implications of the visit from Don. This Don, the new one, the one who had given me the newspaper where had he come from? The future obviously, but which future? His world was one that no longer existed no, never would exist. We were leaving the races without taking the track for a million and a half dollars. I reached the car and got in on the passenger side. I didn't feel like driving back. I started to toss the papers into the back seat, then stopped. I looked at them again. One had a small story on page one: FIVE-HORSE PARLAY WINS $57,600! The other: IDENTICAL TWINS TAKE TRACK FOR $1,500,000! A banner headline. Both newspapers were dated the same, yet they were from two different alternate worlds. The $57,600 world was mine; I knew the events in it because I had lived them. The $1,500,000 world was Don's, but he had talked me out of the actions that would eventually produce his future. Where had that future gone? Where had that Don gone? Had they both ceased to exist? No. I still had the newspaper. That proved something. Or did it? I had the paper in my hands it was real. But you couldn't take it back I mean, forward to the future it came from because that future no longer existed. Shouldn't the newspaper cease to exist too? The "Don" who had come back in time to talk me out of the actions that had produced the time he had come from what had happened to him? Where was he now? If he stayed here like the newspaper he wouldn't disappear. (Were there actually two of me now?) In fact, he couldn't disappear, unless he could get back to his own future, except that future didn't exist anymore, so he couldn't do that. Now, wait a minute. . . . If he bounced forward from now, where would he end up? His world's future? Or this world's future? If he went back to his world, he'd have to disappear with that world, wouldn't he? Or would he? But if he disappeared, then he wouldn't exist and couldn't come back to warn me. So, he had to exist. Where was he? Unless maybe his original world didn't disappear at all. Maybe it just got left behind. So, where was Don? Was he waiting for me in tomorrow? If so, then he wouldn't be my future self anymore. He'd be a different duplicate. No. The whole thing didn't make sense. It didn't seem logical that every time I went back and talked myself out of an action that I would create a duplicate of myself But it seemed the only answer. Every time I changed the past, I was creating an alternate world My head was starting to hurt. Now, wait a minute I had already changed the past! I had worn different clothes and I had given Dan two hundred dollars to bet instead of one hundred. And the newspaper I had brought with me The newspaper, of course! It had been staring at me all the time. FIVE-HORSE PARLAY WINS $57,600! But it wasn't a five-horse parlay not anymore! It was only a four-horse parlay! We hadn't stayed to bet on bet on Michelangelo. We'd doubled the first bet. It was only coincidence that we'd ended up with the same amount. But the important thing was: I had changed the past. Just as Don had come back in time to change his past, so I had done the same thing to my past, though not on so large a scale. I remembered my past differently I remembered different clothes, a different bet and a five-horse parlay. I remembered it the way it had happened to me and then I had changed it. So where was my Don the one I had gone to the races with? Where was he? The situation was exactly the same: I had changed the past and destroyed the future. So where was he? Well, that was silly. He was me. He hadn't disappeared he was right here. I had simply done things differently this time around. Ouch. That meant that the Don who had come back in time with the newspaper was me too. (Of course but would I have to go back in time to warn myself? No, because I hadn't let the bets go that far.) Then, if he was me . . . there really was only one of me! He would go back to the future my future, our future with his memories, but But if his memories were different than mine, how could we be the same person? So the question was still unanswered: Where was the Don I had gone to the races with? The one who had worn a sweater and slacks and bet only a hundred dollars? Where was my good sport jacket?!! Danny showed up then, he was giddy and excited like he'd invented money. He waved the check at me. "You want to see it?" I took it thoughtfully and looked. I took my check out of my pocket and compared them they were not identical. The check number on Danny's was lower and the signatures were not quite the same. Of course, how could they be identical? We were leaving earlier in the day after a different set of bets. The situations were not the same why should the checks be? Then, this check I was carrying it was no longer any good, it was from a world that no longer existed. And it was the same situation with the disappearing Don; he was a canceled check in this world, wasn't he? But the canceled check hadn't disappeared. I still had it. (I remembered myself asking if we could cash them both.) I'd been fooled once by the illusion of the duplicated check, but this time the check had been duplicated! And if I could duplicate the check, then couldn't I have duplicated myself? There was another side to it too. I'd already eliminated two possible futures: the one where I'd worn slacks and a sweater and the one where I'd won a million and a half dollars. As far as I knew, both of those Dons had ceased to exist along with their futures. Neither seemed to be still around. And if I could eliminate them what was to keep some other Dan from eliminating me? Perhaps even now * * * No. There must be something I was misunderstanding. Danny drove. He babbled incessantly; he was like a schoolgirl. But I wasn't listening anyway. I was too preoccupied with my own thoughts. I knew there was an answer. There had to be. For one thing, paradoxes were supposed to be impossible. Oh, sure, I know time travel makes the most horrendous of paradoxes possible, even probable; but that's just not so. A paradox would be a violation of the laws of nature. By definition, they're the laws of nature. And inviolable. Therefore, paradoxes are impossible. Because if paradoxes were possible, then time travel would have to be impossible otherwise, we'd have people killing their grandfathers right and left. We'd have people seducing their mothers or kidnapping their fathers. We'd have time travelers killing the inventors of time machines. We'd have all manner of anachronisms and flukes, and the laws of nature would be violated in so many different ways, it would take the invention of a whole new science to catalog them all. But time travel was possible. I had proved it myself So paradoxes were impossible. It sounded all very neat when I explained it to myself that way. Paradoxes had to be impossible; therefore, they were. Everything could be worked out logically Then, dammit, why couldn't I work this one out? If this wasn't a paradox, it was still way ahead of whatever was in second place. * * * All right. Let's assume that paradoxes are impossible then where do I go from here? The checks, for instance. Obviously, Danny's check was the good one, the one we would have to cash in order to collect our winnings. But the question was how? Should I take it forward with me into the future? But then what would Danny have to show himself when he was Don? (Of course, I hadn't made a point of comparing the checks this time around, had I?) But if I left it here in the past, how would I get it in the future? My check shouldn't exist. It was from a canceled world. Danny's check was the only valid one here because I had done things differently from the way they had originally occurred. If I had done things the way Don had done, I would have had the "duplicate" of Danny's check. But I hadn't. I had tampered with the timestream and didn't have a valid check at all. And that meant that I was a canceled check too. Because whatever I did now, this Danny when he became Don and went back in time would not do exactly the same as me. It would be impossible for him to do so. Just as I had eliminated the Don preceding me, this Danny was going to eliminate the Don preceding him me! Did I still exist? Was I about to wink out? Was it just a matter of time? Yes of course it was a matter of time. Ha, ha. The joke's on me. No, this couldn't be right; I was thinking in paradoxes again. After all, I was here and alive I was me. I hadn't eliminated Don at all. I had become him and done things differently, that's all. Sure but I still couldn't stop asking myself what had become of my Don who had done things the other way and the Don who had given me the newspaper and told me not to be so greedy. ("Forget about them you simply won't become them, that's all," I told myself. "How would you know?" I answered.) Let's see . . . there must be a way to figure this out. Danny had to go back in time and become Don to his Dan. If he takes his check back with him, I won't have it to cash. On the other hand, if I take it forward with me, he won't have a check to show his Danny. (He'll be changing the timestream, just like me. Unless ) What if I gave Danny the false check to take back with him? Would that undo the damage? Or would it just make it worse? My mind began to boggle. But it was the answer, of course. This Danny would become my Don! That's why his check would match mine when he went back to meet me (and he'd test to see if he could change the past too! He'd try wearing different clothes than me: the slacks and sweater!) And I'd still end up with the money! Yes, of course. It had to be the answer. I'd been sitting and staring at the checks for the past ten miles. Now I handed Danny the false one and he slipped it into his pocket without even looking at it. (Ha-ha! I cackled gleefully to myself.) I realized Danny was saying something: " what happens now? Do you go back to your time? I grinned at him. "Not yet. First we go out to celebrate. Like rich people." This time, I won the argument over who was "gating to use the bathroom first. I don't mind sharing my razor, but at least I ought to get the first shave off a new blade. Danny seemed a little bothered by the pseudo-intimacy of us both dressing out of the same closet, so I compromised and let him wear the red sports jacket. While he showered, I reset my belt and flipped back to morning, phoned The Restaurant and made reservations for two, then flashed forward again, appearing at the exact instant I had disappeared and in the same spot. The air hadn't even had time to rush in. (That was one way to minimize the jump-shock.) It was at The Restaurant that I began to realize what Don had meant the night before and why he had said what he did. Danny looked so ... innocent. So unprotected. He needed someone. And I could be that someone I was that someone; I knew Danny better than anyone. He was my "little brother" I would watch out for him; and that would make him feel as secure as I felt when my "big brother" Don was around. It was a strange feeling exciting. "You'll never have to be alone again," I told him. (I knew how lonely he was; I knew how much he hated it.) "You'll always have me. I'll always have you. It makes more sense this way." (I would keep him from falling into those bitter, empty moods, those gritty moments of aching frustration. It would be good for both of us.) "I don't like being alone either. This way I can share the things I like with somebody I know likes them too." (No, I would never be lonely again; I would have my Danny to take care of. And my Don to take care of me. Oh, it was such a wonderful feeling to have how could I make him see?) "I don't have to try and impress you, you don't have to try to impress me. There's perfect understanding between us. There'll never be any of those destructive little head games that people play on each other, because there can't be." It all came spilling out, a flood of emotion. (I wanted to reach out and touch him. I wanted to hold him.) "I like me, Danny; that's why I like you. You'll feel the same way, you'll see. "And I guarantee, there are no two people in this world who understand each other as well as we do." * * * Life is full of little surprises. Time travel is full of big ones. My worrying about paradoxes and canceled checks had been needless. If I had thought to read the timebelt instructions completely before I went gallivanting off to the past and the future, I would have known. I was right that paradoxes were impossible, but I was wrong in thinking that the timestream had to be protected from them. After all, they were impossible. It wouldn't have mattered whether I had given Danny a check or not; changes in the timestream are cumulative, not variable. What this means is that you can change the past as many times as you want. You can't eliminate yourself. I could go back in time nineteen years and strangle myself in my crib, but I wouldn't cease to exist. (I'd have a dead baby on my hands though . . .) Look, you can change the future, right? The future is exactly the same as the past, only it hasn't happened yet. You haven't perceived it. The real difference between the two the only difference is your point of view. If the future can be altered, so can the past. Every change you make is cumulative; it goes on top of every other change you've already made, and every change you add later will go on top of that. You can go back in time and talk yourself out of winning a million and a half dollars, but the resultant world is not one where you didn't win a million and a half dollars; it's a world where you talked yourself out of it. See the difference? It's subtle but it's important. Think of an artist drawing a picture. But he's using indelible ink and he doesn't have an eraser. If he wants to make a change, he has to paint over a line with white. The line hasn't ceased to exist; it's just been painted over and a new line drawn on top. On the surface, it doesn't seem to make much difference. The finished picture will look the same whether the artist uses an eraser or a gallon of white paint, but it's important to the artist. He's aware of the process he used to obtain the final result and it affects his consciousness. He's aware of all the lines and drawings beneath the final one, the layer upon layer of images, each one not quite the one all those discarded pieces; they haven't ceased to exist, they've just been painted out of view. Subjectively, time travel is like that. I can lay down one timeline and then go back and do things differently the second time around. I can go back a third time and talk myself out of something, and I can go back a fourth time and change it yet again. And in the end, the timestream is exactly what I've made it it is the cumulative product of my changes. The closest I can get to the original is to go back and talk myself out of something. It won't be the same world, but the difference will be undetectable. The difference will be in me. I like the artist with his painting will be conscious of all the other alternatives that did exist, do exist, and can exist again. The world I came from is like my innocence. I can never recapture it. At best, I can only simulate it. , You can't be a virgin twice. (Not that I would, of course. Virginity seems like a nice state of existence only to a virgin, only to someone who doesn't know any better. From this side of the fence, it seems like such a waste. I remember my first time, and how I had reacted: Why, this was nothing to be scared of at all in fact, it's wonderful! Why had I taken so long to discover it? Afterward, all the time beforehand looked so ... empty.) According to the timebelt instructions, what I had done by altering the situation the second time around was called tangling. Mine had been a simple tangle, easily unraveled, but there was no limit to how complex a tangle could be. You can tie as many knots in a ball of yarn as you like. There really isn't any reason to unravel tangles (according to the instructions) because they usually take care of themselves; but the special cautions advise against letting a tangle get too complex because of the cumulative effects that might occur. You might suddenly find that you've changed your world beyond all recognition and possibly beyond your ability to live in, let alone excise. Excising is what you do when you bounce back and talk yourself out of something when you go back and undo a mistake. Like winning too much at the races. (How about that? I'd been tangling and excising and I hadn't even known it.) The belt explained the impossibility of paradoxes this way: If there was only one timestream, then paradoxes would be possible and time travel would have to be impossible. But every time you make a change in the timestream, no matter how slight, you are actually shifting to an alternate timestream. As far as you are concerned, though, it's the only timestream, because you can't get back to the original one. So when you use the timebelt, you aren't really jumping through time, that's the illusion; what you're actually doing is leaving one timestream and jumping to maybe even creating another. The second one is identical to the one you just left, including all of the changes you made in it up to the instant of your appearance. At that moment, simply by the fact of your existence in it, the second timestream becomes a different timestream. You are the difference. When you travel backward in time, you're creating that second universe at an earlier moment. It will develop in exactly the same way as the universe you just left, unless you act to alter that development. That the process is perceived as time travel is only an illusion, because the process is subjective. But because it's subjective, it really doesn't make any difference, does it? It's just as good as the real thing. Better, even; because nothing is permanent; nothing is irrevocable. The past is the future. The future is the past. There's no difference between the two and either can be changed. I'm flashing across a series of alternate worlds, creating and destroying a new one every time I bounce. The universe is infinite. And so are the possibilities of my life. * * * I am Dan. And I am Don. And sometimes I am Dean, and Dino, and Dion, and Dana. And more . . . There's a poker game going on in my apartment. It starts on June 24, 1975. I don't know when it ends. Every time one of me gets tired, there's another one showing up to take his place. The game is a twenty-fourhour marathon. I know it lasts at least a week; on July 2,1 peeked in and saw several versions of myself some in their mid-twenties still grimly playing. Okay. So I like poker. Every time I'm in the mood, I know where there's an empty chair. And when. Congenial people too. I know theyôll never cheat. I may have to get a larger apartment though. Five rooms is not enough. (I need more room for the pool table.) Strange things keep happening no, not strange things, things that I've learned not to question. For instance, once I saw Uncle Jim he looked surprised and vanished almost immediately. It startled me too. I was just getting used to the idea of his death. I hadn't realized that he would have been using the timebelt too. (But why not? It was his before it was mine.) Another time I heard strange noises from the bedroom. When I peeked in, there was Don in bed with well, whoever it was, she was covered by a blanket; I couldn't see. He just looked at me with a silly expression, not the slightest bit embarrassed, so I shrugged and closed the door. And the noises began again. I'm not questioning it at all. I'll find out. Eventually. Mostly I've been concentrating on making money. Don and I (and later, Danny and I) have made a number of excursions into the past, as well as the future. Some of our investments go back as far as 1850 (railroads, coal, steel). 1875 (Bell Telephone). 1905 (automobiles, rubber, oil, motion pictures). 1910 (airlines, heavy industry, steel again). 1920 (radio, insurance companies, chemicals, drugs). 1929 (I picked up some real bargains here. More steel. Business machines. More radio, more airlines. More automobiles). 1940 (companies that would someday be involved in computers, television, and the aerospace industry). 1950 (Polaroid and Xerox and Disney). 1960 (More Boeing stock, some land in Florida especially around Orlando). Turned out that 1975 was a good year for bargains too. It was a little too early to buy stock in something called Apple, but I could buy IBM and Sony and MCA shares. Oh, and Don said I should also pick up some stock in 20th Century Fox. There was a nifty little movie coming up in 1977 that would make a bit of money. Down through the decades, I bought a little here, a little there not enough to change the shape of the world, but enough to supply me with a comfortable lifelong fortune. It was a little tricky setting up an investment firm to manage it, but it was worth the effort. When I got back to 1975, I found I was worth one hundred and forty-three million dollars. Hmm. Actually, the number was meaningless. I was worth a hell of a lot more. It turned out I owned an investment monopoly worth several billion dollars, or let's say I controlled it. What I owned was the holding company that held the holding companies. By the numbers, its value was only one hundred and forty-three million, but I could put my hands on a lot more than that if I wanted. What it meant was that I had unlimited credit. Hell! If I wanted to, I could own the country! The world! Believe it or not, I didn't want to. I'd lost interest in the money. It was just so much numbers. Useless except as a tool to manipulate my environment, and I had a much better tool for that. Those frequent trips to the past had whetted my appetite. I had seen New York grow like a living creature, the city had swelled and soared; her cast-iron facades had become concrete; her marble towers gave way to glass-sided slabs and soaring monoliths. And beyond that, she became something enchanted: a fantasy of light and color. Oh, the someday beauty of her! I became intrigued with history I went back to see the burning of the Hindenburg. I was there when the great zeppelin shriveled in flame and an excited announcer babbled into his microphone. I was there when Lindbergh took off and I was there again when he landed. The little airplane seemed so frail. I was there when another airplane smacked into the è Empire State Building, shattering glass and concrete and tumbling to the horrified street below. It was unreal. I saw the Wright brothers' first flight. That was unreal too. And I know what happened to Judge Crater. I saw the blastoff of Apollo II. It was the loudest sound I've ever heard. And I witnessed the assassination of Abraham Lincoln. It wasn't dramatic at all; it was sad and clumsy. I was there (via timeskim) at Custer s last stand. I witnessed the completion of the first transcontinental railroad. (The guy who was