Jack Chalker - Downtiming the Night Side

“The suit will be a bit snug, but it will fit,” the scientist assured him. “We’ve had someone doing adjustments on it. The batteries transferred nicely and took a good quick charge to boot, so you will be going with over ninety percent of full power, which is more than they’ve got. The instruments show that they are now still in 1875, in London, and by this time they must know that the date is off. They have chosen to wait, it appears, and that is to our advantage. However, they are now in phase with the time frame, and that puts time at risk.”

“You’d better tell me what that all means,” the agent suggested. “What’s this ‘phase’ business?”

“Let’s start from the beginning. First of all, everything is in motion—Earth, solar system, galaxy, whatever. Remember our paint sliding down the glass? Each moment that the paint has passed over the glass is a real place, a physical point. What we do is put the brakes on you, so to speak. You remain motionless relative to here and now, and we slide past. Now you are, so to speak, out of phase with time. A gentle nudge, and you move from this frozen spot in time back along the temporal paint smear. A slight lateral nudge, and we wait for the point where you and the universe are both where we want you to be. Presto! You are in London, because the spinning Earth, the rotation, and solar movement have been calculated. When you are where and when we want you, we keep sufficient power to maintain you in that spot. Your motion and the motion of the time stream become identical. However, as long as you are in the suit and in the direct energy field, you will remain out of phase. You are not moving relative to point X, so time is standing still relative to you.”

“Clear as mud, but I think I have the general idea. I’m stuck in the moment, with everything frozen. Can I move around?”

“Not in the suit. So, the first thing you do is check your gauges here and make certain you are, indeed, where and when you are supposed to be. Our people have already gone over how to read and reset them?”

He nodded. “That’s simple arithmetic.”

“Good. Then you remove the suit, and you will find that you have some mobility. You will begin to accelerate relative to the Earth’s normal time speed. This can be disorienting, so prepare for it. You will have more than four hours to find some place to hide the suit. That is a tricky part, and we can only make vague suggestions on it. Remember, though, that the suit’s power pack is quite heavy; the suit’s systems will not be bothered by water or other routine elements, and sinking it tied to a small rope such as the one in the utility pouch works well.”

He nodded. “We’ve been through all that.”

“All right. Eventually, you will become somewhat ill. You will pass out—and awaken in phase. This is the easy part. You will, quite literally, be someone else. That someone can be very old or very young, male or female, but it will be someone rather insignificant and ordinary, and with a past. However, you will be in control. At the start it will be easy and fun. As the days pass, however, you will find it slightly but progressively more difficult to retain control. The other you, the new you, will become more real to you, while your own self will erode in little bits. That is where you will have an advantage. At your age, you will be able to remain in control longer than they. In nine more days, they will be hard-pressed to remain themselves, while you should have all your wits about you.”

“Wait a minute! Are you telling me that I might come out a woman ?”

“It’s quite common, really, although there seems to be no rule on it. It’s actually quite logical. In most of the past, women had less power and position and, therefore, were the least likely to make a major change.”

Moosic had another worry, almost as pressing as who he’d become. “This is going to make things nearly impossible for me,” he pointed out. “I don’t know who I’m looking for, or what. They may not even know each other. Both of ’em could be kids, or they might be fifty years old. If we’re wrong about Marx being their objective, there’s no real way I can find them.”

“That’s true. But I don’t think we have to worry about that so much. The passwords used for their program were related to Marx’s work of the time frame. Four German communists of the period, I think someone said. No, it’s Marx all right. You’ve memorized the pertinent details?”

“As much as we can guess is pertinent. I still think it’s impossible, though.”

“If it is, you’ve gained an experience I would love to have and it will have cost you nothing. At fifteen days, simply go back and put on the suit, and it will automatically bring you back. You will be your normal self once more, and the richer for the adventure. But I am convinced that anything important enough to cause even a minor ripple in time will be obvious. If you can see it, you can stop it. The odds there favor you. Time is always on the side of the least change.”

“I hope you’re right,” he said worriedly. “Well—let’s get on with it.”

They stripped him naked so he’d fit in the suit better. It didn’t matter, he was told—the only artifacts he would need would be carried in a pouch in the suit. Time, adjusting to his unnatural presence, would provide whatever else was necessary.

Even so, he had to be helped just to walk in the thing. The airlock looked even more imposing and final as it opened for him. The room itself was as cold and barren as it had looked from the command center, and the nature of the lighting made even the super-insulated glass panel before him seem dark and featureless, although he knew Silverberg and several technicians off-duty at the time of the invasion were there, checking on everything.

Silverberg had feared that Cline had somehow fouled up the computer programs. They all checked out O.K., but, taking no chances, he bypassed them and tied into computers with backup programming at the NSA’s headquarters at Ft. Meade.

Two white-clad technicians fastened on the space helmet, turned on the internal systems and checked them, then closed the seals. He had done it three times without them, of course, since he’d have to do it on his own to get back, but this was the first time out and they could check all the mechanical and electrical systems better than he.

Now he could hear nothing but his own breathing, which seemed nervous and labored to his ears. The suits contained no communications gear, since that would add to the anachronism of the suit itself and, of course, because there was no one really to communicate with to any purpose.

He was perspiring profusely, despite the small air conditioning unit in the suit. He turned his head and could barely make out that the airlock had been closed and the signal light on the door was now red. With the suit pressurized, the chamber became a near-perfect vacuum. There was no sense in expending already precious energy by also transporting back a lot of surrounding air.

Come on, come on, you bastards! he thought nervously. Let’s get this over with! He suddenly had the urge to back out, to hold up his hands and make for the airlock controls. This is insane! his mind shouted at him. How the hell did I get myself into this mess, anyway?

The room filled with a blinding light. The photosensors in the faceplate snapped on, but he could see nothing. Suddenly he felt a mild vertigo, as if he were falling— falling, but in slow motion—like Alice down the rabbit hole. He tried to move, but the suit was locked into position. All he could see, and that tempered by the tremendous faceplate filters, was the blinding nothingness, the awful sun that seemed all around him. Still, beyond that, there was only the sound of his breathing and that feeling of falling, ever so slowly…