David Gerrold: The Man Who Folded Himself

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 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. Some-

one 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.”