Jack Chalker - Downtiming the Night Side

“There’s still the kids.”

Holly laughed sourly. “And what kind of Mama would I make now, huh? I don’t look or act like her—’cause I ain’t her. I’m a fucking ignorant whore. Doc!”

Talking by the others had stopped at this scene, and all attention was on them. Doc looked around for support. A big man beckoned him, and he went over and they briefly conferred; then Doc returned, still holding the belt.

“You know what happens to nightsiders, don’t you Holly?” he pressed, yet maintained a calm tone. “They make no mark and die young. You know what happens to young whores who don’t die young? They get old, and some new little chickie becomes the favorite. They get bought and sold by their pimps and wind up washed-up addicts wallowing in filth. You know that. You’ve seen it. You want that kind of life?”

She sighed. “You know I don’t. But if I die young, all the better. I won’t go that route, believe me. I’ll kill myself first.”

“So that’s your future, huh? A decade or two of whoring until one day you’re just so foul and so sick of yourself that you slit your wrists or jump off a roof or something? Unless one of the pimps or Johns kills you first.”

“Stop it! Damn your fucking soul! Stop it! There ain’t no choice!”

“Yes, there is. You got one chance, but you have to take it now. Every hour, every day, brings you closer to what you think you now are.” He held up the belt once again. “This is your way out. Take it. Use it now. Go where it sends you and listen to the other side of your life. I swear to you that, while I’ve preset it, it’s a free and clear belt and it won’t be taken from you without your permission. Just listen, for Christ’s sake! For your own sake!”

She was more Holly than any or all of the others she had been, but even Holly wanted a way out, if she could only believe in it. She hesitated, then took the belt and strapped it around her slender waist. “Where will this take me?”

“To your future,” Doc responded.

Hesitantly, her thumb went down to trigger the belt. It was probably going to be more misery and more lies, she thought, but Doc was right, as usual. When the known was unbearable, choose the unknown.

She pressed the stud and was suddenly falling into time.

The place was familiar. The same rock-like plastic walls, the same furniture, pretty much the same as when Ron Moosic had first seen it so many lifetimes ago. The only difference was that there seemed no one about; the computer complex far back in time was deserted.

Or was it? She stared, once again cursing her near-sightedness, and focused on a high-backed chair across the room. It was turned away from her, but there was the unmistakable smell of cigarette smoke in the air and it seemed to be coming from that direction.

“Hey! Anybody here?” she called out, her voice echoing.

A man got up from the chair and came over to her, smiling. He was middle-aged, with a deep tan, and had bushy contrasting white hair and a thick white moustache. He was rather handsome for one his age, and in obviously good physical condition. He wore casual clothing—a plaid work shirt, a pair of new-looking jeans, and boots. He towered over her.

“Pardon me, but I hadn’t more than a rough estimate of when you would arrive,” he said in a deep, rich baritone. His accent was some British one, but it had a slight additional sound of some Latin intonation. “My name is Ramon Cruz.”

She just stared at him, not knowing what to say or do next. “Are we… alone here?”

He chuckled. “Oh, yes—quite alone, except for the omnipresent computer, I’m afraid. Come. Sit down over here and get comfortable. Remove the belt if you like—I will not try to take it from you, I swear.”

There was something in his tone and manner that made her want to trust him. Against her better instincts, she removed the belt and put it on the floor, then sank tiredly into a chair.

He looked suddenly concerned. “Please forgive me! You are very tired, I can see. Would you prefer to go back to one of the rooms and get a good sleep? I can wait.”

She didn’t want to go to sleep in this place, at least not until she knew the score. “That’s O.K. I’ll live.”

He sat back in another chair, facing her, and took a cigarette from a pack. “Do you mind if I smoke?”

“Naw. In fact, I’ll take one myself.” She wasn’t hooked on them, but she smoked occasionally. He offered her one, then lit it for her in courtly fashion. “Now—what’s this all about?”

“Your welfare—and closing the last little bit of the noose on our targets.”

“I figured it was more their game than any feelin’ for me. What’s left to do?”

“Undo a terrible thing we have done to people who simply didn’t deserve it. That is the easiest way to put it. Think of the permanently nightsided. You are one such. When the cause of the condition is closed, the ones who are left, the leftover flotsam and jetsam from the shipwreck we prevented from happening, are thorns in the side of time. It wants to be rid of them. It often manages to do so gently, as in the case of your Dr. Cline, but if it’s up on the edge, there’s not as much leeway. You don’t assimilate on the edge any more than you do back here. Eliminate the cause of the nightsider on the edge and time will arrange to eliminate him from future consideration.”

“You mean he dies?”

“Usually. But consistently. I think, if indeed you are not too tired, that I might explain the last that you do not know.”

“You might say who you are, for a start.”

He looked apologetic. “Ah! I’m so sorry! I am generally called Father Ramon, although I am actually an archbishop—without portfolio from Rome, I fear.”

“You’re a priest ?”

“Yes. Does that bother you?”

“Yeah. It means I can’t even get a good fuck—and boy, do I need one now! Sorry, Father—but I am what I am and I ain’t Catholic anyway.”

He shrugged. “A few of your lives were, including your origin, if I recall correctly. It does not matter. My branch of the Church is a bit more liberal and less orthodox than the one you know, in any case. You see, my church is on Mars.”

She was suddenly wide awake. “Huh?”

“You understood me correctly. Mars.”

“But—that’s nuts! I know for a fact that them Outworlders are monsters—horrors.”

“That’s quite true, in a physical sense and from our vantage point as what we call ‘human beings,’ but it is only physical. Inside, they are humans, and so am I and so are you. Even outside, some have great grace and beauty, and can do many things that you and I cannot, as well as everything you or I can do.”

“You couldn’t live on Mars,” she said skeptically. “Hell, I may have forgot more’n I can ever learn, but I know there ain’t no air up there.”

“Not enough air, and not in the right mixture, but, nevertheless, it is true. I am a Martian. I was born and raised there.”

“You downtimed,” she guessed. “You tripped over before comin’ back here.”

He grinned. “See? You aren’t so dumb as you think you are. It is true that this is not my natural form, although I am a priest—and I’m fated to be a priest, no matter when in time I stop. I am certain I don’t have to explain that to you.”

“You can say that again.”

“So, Holly, tell me—am I human or not?”

“You are now .”

“So, tell me, Holly, what makes a human being? Is a human being this physical flesh or what is inside the head?”

She shook her head in irritation. “I don’t know. I ain’t smart enough no more to figure that one out.”