Connie Willis - Time Out

“It is,” he said. “So was my time machine. I wanted to go back in time and be young again.”

“You’re not that old. You caught the chicken pox, didn’t you?”

“Nothing happened, did you know that? All that energy released at once, and nothing. Carolyn slept through the whole thing.” He reached up with his mittened hand to scratch his face and then laid his hand back in his lap. She had never felt so sorry for anyone in her whole life.

“Would you like me to rub on some calamine?” she asked.

“Nothing happened to him either.”

“He caught the chicken pox.” She opened the bottle of calamine and dabbed some on his cheek. “Did you know when Carolyn had it in college, she was the only person in her dorm to get it? Nobody could figure out where she caught it from. Personally, I think she caught it from that poxy bunch of kids at her house. And now Andrew has the chicken pox, and nobody can figure out where he got it from.”

“He said he caught it from a little girl he sat next to on the plane.”

“Personally, I think he caught it from Carolyn.” She stood up and dabbed calamine on the top of his head.

“You mean—” he said, perking up noticeably.

“Your theory says that an entire hodiechron could be displaced. Including chicken-pox viruses. Suppose Carolyn caught the chicken pox from one of those kids she was taking care of and was contagious but she didn’t have any symptoms yet. Suppose she gave the chicken pox to Andrew when they were in college.”

“We could call the airlines and find out who the little girl was and if she came down with the chicken pox,” he said excitedly. He began trying to get the tape off his wrists with his mittened hands. “We can run the experiment again. Heidi Dreismeier’s mother scored a four-ninety, and we can surely find—” He stopped and laid his hands back in his lap. “We can’t run the experiment again. You were right. I had no business messing with people’s lives.”

“Who said anything about messing with people’s lives? Why can’t we run the experiment on ourselves? I worry about being old, I long for the past, and I’m about as desperate for sex as they come. I’d love to be shut in a cramped little room with you.”

Dr. Young took hold of her hands with his mittened ones. “I don’t think you’re old,” he said. He leaned forward to peck her on the cheek.

Bev came in carrying her thermometer. “Oops, sorry,” she said. “I’m obviously in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“We may be able to do something about that,” Dr. Lejeune said.