John Cramer - Einstein's Bridge

“Yes, but it’s rather confusing,” said Roger. “The older leaders of the Japanese high-energy physics community support participation in the SSC, but the younger people are not so enthusiastic. They’re afraid that projects in their own laboratories will be sacrificed, and there is a developing opposition to SSC participation. And the Japanese science funding agencies have all made it clear that they have no money for SSC support.”

“No yen for the SSC?” George said. “That sounds hopeful.”

“Unfortunately, it’s irrelevant,” said Roger. “In Japan the big decisions are always handled personally at the topmost level. If there’s to be Japanese funding for the SSC, it will be decided by the Prime Minister himself. My contacts in Japan say that the Japanese Prime Minister, whoever that may be by the time Bush gets around to visiting Japan, might be willing to contribute a hundred billion yen or so to the SSC, but only if he is asked directly and personally by President Bush.”

“That’s exactly what happened in our universe,” said George. “There Bush would go to Japan next November, would ask Prime Minister Miyazawa directly for Japanese collaboration and support for the SSC project, and Miyazawa would agree and shake hands on it. The SSC project would get a billion dollars from that handshake.”

“We must do our best to prevent that handshake,” said Roger. “Bush must now have other things on his mind, what with the Gulf War.”

George smiled, then pointed to the newspapers spread on the broad rosewood conference table. “Yes, the Gulf War started last month, right on schedule,” he said. “In our world, that gave a big boost to the Administration, with Bush distinguishing himself as a tough international leader. It proved to be a key element in getting him reelected in 1992, so that Dole, Deutsch, and Bromley could work on Congress during the closest SSC votes in 1993 and 1994.”

“I know,” said Roger. “I recently used the holo-ROM history encyclopedia on my lapstation to analyze the history of the Gulf War. While it was in progress, there was a major internal debate over just when the Allied Forces should declare a victory and go home. In our universe, the Allies wiped out the Republican Guard in the desert, rolled into Baghdad, smoked Saddam out of his bunker, and hauled him and his top officers to Den Haag for the 1992 war crimes trials. The Den Haag trials were carefully timed to be held while the U.S. presidential race was in progress, and the Bush-Dole campaign made good use of that.

“But apparently my own U.K. government’s Foreign Office at the time was advocating a more devious course, that of halting the Gulf War in the desert and leaving a weakened Saddam in place in Baghdad as a foil against Muslim-fundamentalist Iran to the east and the Kurdish communist rebels in the north. Their argument almost carried the day. If it had, President Bush would have looked much less like a conquering hero to the voters. I suspect the ‘wimp’ factor might have reappeared and influenced the election.”

“I see,” said George. “That makes it clear, then. I must arrange a meeting with our esteemed President next week, so that I can reason with him in order to advocate a course of measured response and moderation.” He grinned.

AT THE PARTY ON THE NIGHT OF THE FLORIDA Primary, the Clinton campaign headquarters in Tallahassee was filled with celebrants. Across the room George recognized a familiar face. He felt a rush of anticipation. He had been thinking about this moment for six years. Now he was terrified of bungling it. He walked slowly over, drink in hand. “You’re Alice Lang, I believe,” he said, looking directly into her eyes.

The young woman smiled, then looked down, examining his adhesive name tag. “ ‘George Preston,’” she read aloud. “Oh yes, I recognize your name from our contributors list. I’m very pleased to meet you, George. You’re a valued Clinton supporter. Please call me Alice.”

“I must admit to you, Alice, that I’m not so much a Clinton supporter as a Bush antisupporter,” he said. “I think it’s time for a change. I’ve also given a lot of financial encouragement to Ross Perot recently.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Perot? A friend of mine joined his local organization recently, but that little man scares me. Can you honestly say that you’d like to have Ross Perot as President of the United States?”

“No,” said George. “Of course not. I plan for him to divert votes away from the Bush-Quayle ticket so that Bill can get elected. You’ve studied political science, Alice. You must know that third-party candidates always get other people elected, not themselves. Teddy Roosevelt and George Wallace are good examples of the phenomenon.”

Alice frowned. “I did take a class in political science this year, but how did you know that? We’ve never met, have we?”

“Let’s say I knew you in another life,” said George. He didn’t smile.

Alice laughed, then looked at him carefully. “You’re not a friend of Shirley MacLaine’s, are you?” She wrinkled her nose.

“No, I’m not talking about reincarnation,” said George. “This was real. I met you in Waxahachie, Texas, in the year 2004, while you were there working on a story for Search magazine. You told me that you were born in Columbus, Ohio. You father was a lawyer, and you have two older brothers. You went to school in Columbus and always made good grades, whether you worked hard or not. In your senior year you were the editor of your high school newspaper. You liked that and decided to major in journalism in college. You came here to attend FSU because they have a good journalism school, you wanted to get some distance from relatives you didn’t particularly like, and you wanted to escape the Ohio winters. You’re presently seeing a law student named Steve Brown, the Perot supporter you mentioned, but you haven’t decided yet whether it’s serious or not.”

Alice’s face turned a deep red. “I feel violated, Mr. Preston,” she said angrily. “You must have hired detectives to spy on me. That’s despicable.”

“Wait,” said George, holding up his hand. “Let me continue. Your best friend in elementary school was Jane Conway, but her family moved to New York, and you missed her very much for a while. You cut your hand badly on a broken bottle when you were nine years old, but there’s only a tiny scar now. You had a problem with an ingrown toenail when you were twelve, but it went away when you stopped wearing tight shoes.

Your mother died of breast cancer while you were starting high school, and you’ve never quite gotten over that. Your cat, Boots, died the same year, and you’ve never had another cat.”

Alice slapped him with a resounding whack sound, then stepped back and put her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide. Several heads turned in their direction.

George rubbed his face, winced, then smiled. “I suppose I deserved that,” he said. “I understand how you must feel, Alice… what you must think. But you’re wrong. There are no detectives, no investigations. Everything I know about you, you told me yourself. We were lovers, and we told each other everything. How could an investigator possibly find out about your friend Jane, or the toenail, or Boots, or that you wanted distance from relatives?”

“Lovers!” said Alice. “That’s a filthy lie! How could you…? How could we…?”

“I’m a time traveler,” said George. “I came from the future, or perhaps I should say one possible future. We met and fell in love in the year 2004.” He handed her his Washington State driver’s license and pointed to its issue date. The date of issue, sealed in plastic and protected by a hologram, was July 25, 2003.