Time Travelers Never Die (20 page)

But if he did that, he’d have to get back down the mountain in the morning to retrieve the car. Larry’s Cut-Rate Full Service Motel, HBO included, was three blocks away. He started the engine and twisted his head around to back out. But the world began spinning.

That was enough. He left the car where it was, got out, and locked it. He staggered the three blocks and checked himself into the motel.

 

 

IN
the morning, he had breakfast in town, picked up an
Inquirer
, and drove back to the cabin. It was just after ten when he arrived. He spent the rest of the morning with the paper. The Eagles were playing the Giants, and that would give him something to do during the afternoon.

It would have been nice to have Katie with him. Or Erin.

The first time he’d brought Erin to the cabin had been a Saturday evening in March three years before. He remembered everything about that evening. How they’d stood on the veranda looking out at the stars, how they’d stayed out there and danced to Jerome Kern’s music, how they’d broken open a bottle of champagne to celebrate a promotion Erin had just gotten. (She designed AI systems.)

Until that night, there’d been an unspoken agreement between them, limiting what was proper. Part of the understanding grew out of the fact that she did not travel to the mountain cabin. Whenever he’d suggested it, she had found a reason not to go. Somebody wasn’t feeling well. It was a long ride.

Something.

But on this occasion,
she
had suggested it. They’d been having dinner at Michaelson’s and, completely out of left field, she’d asked whether the cabin was still in the family. That had been the exact phrasing.

And he’d said, “Sure. Would you like to see it?”

“Yes,” she’d said. “It’s a beautiful night. Perfect for a view of the lake.”

So he’d known from that moment.

Her name now was Erin Olshefska. He ran a search across Pennsylvania for her phone number. Found two women with that name, but neither was the right age.

He ached to see her again.

And he had the converter.

He got it out of the side table and looked at it. Checked the universal calendar on the computer. It had been late in the month, either the twenty-second or the twenty-ninth. They’d arrived at the cabin an hour or so before midnight.

He shouldn’t do this. But resistance, as they’d said in one of the old SF classics, was futile. He set the time and date for the earlier night, grabbed his sweater, and against a ton of better judgment, made his jump.

 

 

THE
cabin was dark again. He remembered a strange detail from that night: As they’d come up the mountain road, he’d seen a light on in the living room. His first thought had been that his parents had come up, unexpectedly, and would be waiting inside when he walked in with Erin.
Hi, Mom and Dad.

Erin had noticed it, too. And she’d asked about the possibilities. “No,” he’d assured her. “They don’t come here until summer, or on a holiday weekend. And they always let me know when they’re coming.” That had been telling her more than he should have. She’d laughed, but it had left him feeling like an idiot.

They’d pulled into the driveway while he’d formulated what to do if his parents
were
there.
Just stopped by for a drink. And to take in the view.

He didn’t remember which light had been on, only that it had been in the living room. But it probably didn’t matter. He leaned over and switched on one of the table lamps.

The cabin was cold. But he’d have to leave that for the happy couple. He draped his sweater over the back of the sofa and sat down in an armchair that afforded a view of the road. You could see headlights coming for the better part of a mile, so he’d have plenty of warning. Then there was nothing left to do. Except feel his heart begin to race as it had years before whenever Erin had settled into his arms.

When they hadn’t arrived by eleven thirty, he decided he had the wrong Saturday and was about to try the later date. At that moment, the headlights showed up. They were swinging round one of the turns, still several minutes from the house. As he watched, they disappeared. He buttoned his jacket, looked around to make sure he hadn’t left anything that shouldn’t be there, and slipped outside.

He locked the door behind him, and was horrified when the security lights came on. He crossed the driveway quickly and hurried into a stand of trees.

There was a delay factor built in, and they did not go off.

He was sure they hadn’t been on when he’d come with Erin. “Come on,” he told them. “Shut down.”

He could see the doorway, the veranda, half a dozen windows, the outside stairs that went up to the second level, and the carport. The living-r oom lamp was barely noticeable against the lights.

He still couldn’t see the car, of course, but he could hear the engine as it struggled up the steep incline preceding the last turn.

And, finally, they went off.

He got well back, moving with caution so the motion detectors didn’t pick him up and switch the system on again.

The headlights reappeared, and the car started up the final sixty yards or so.

He felt uncomfortable. A little bit like a voyeur. Or a stalker. But if there’d ever been a special occasion, this had been it.

The car turned into the driveway. And yes, it was his white Regal, only a few weeks old then. The interior was dark. But he could make out the driver and the passenger. Then the lights were on again. And there she was.

Erin.

The driver killed the engine, and the two people in the car sat for a moment. Talking about the light that was on in the house. Reassuring themselves that everything was okay because there was no other car in the driveway. Then they opened their doors. And he wasn’t sure which jolted him more, seeing himself climb out of the driver’s side or watching Erin, trim and elegant and endlessly lovely, get out on the other.

She walked around the car and crossed in front of the headlamps. Then they climbed the stairs, and David watched himself insert the key. He pushed open the door, and switched on the interior lights. She paused momentarily, looking out over the valley, over Starlight Lake. She turned, while he waited beside her, said something to him, and went inside. He followed her and closed the door.

More lights came on. He heard his own voice, though he could not make out what he said. Erin wandered past one of the windows. The outside lights went off. He wondered what would happen if he showed himself, walked up the stairs, and said hello.
“Hi. My name’s Dave, too.”

It had delicious possibilities.

They were out of sight now. But he remembered the details. He was showing her around. First the dining room. Then the kitchen. Then downstairs.

That night had been his chance.
Tell her, you idiot. She’s come this far. Commit to her and tell her you want her forever and always.

More lights came on around the cabin.

In a few minutes, they’d be drinking whatever had been handy that night, and Jerome Kern would make his appearance.

He stood in the trees and his heart ached. He knew who was inside with her, but it didn’t matter. He hated the guy.

 

 

WHEN
next he called Shel, he didn’t mention what he’d done. “I’ll be going back tomorrow,” he said.

“Thanks. You, too.”

THERE
was one more thing he was wondering about. Well, actually there were several things. But for the moment, what was the range of the converter? How far back could he go?

He pressed a white stud that moved the numbers. Decades and centuries rippled past. Millennia.

Ten thousand.

Twenty.

Finally, it came to rest at 31,118 years. An odd number. Maybe it was a reflection of the energy level.

Could he actually go back that far?

He pulled his sweater on again and went outside. The moon was just a blur in a cloudy sky, but there were lots of lights in the valley.

Maybe he should go
forward
. Downstream. Thirty-one thousand years into the future. What would the world be like then?

My God.

Would there still be people? He and Shel had not really discussed going forward. It was too scary. And they’d been thinking in terms of next week, or next year.

But where would humanity be in the far future?

What the hell. He reset the converter to its limit. Took a deep breath. Got on his feet. And pushed the button.

 

 

THE
stars vanished. Came back. He stumbled forward but did not fall. The flat floor mutated into a grassy slope. The air was cool and clean and smelled of mint. Crickets chirped, and a full moon drifted through the night.

The trees were different. Bigger. There was no sign of his cabin. He looked down at a valley full of light. It came from buildings scattered around the shoreline. But it seemed softer, had less glare, than the sort of artific ial illumination he was used to. Other lights were airborne, moving through the sky, coming and going between a site on the lakeshore and a mountaintop, where they were settling back to earth.

He didn’t recognize any of the constellations. That was, of course, not significant since he didn’t know any back home either, except the Dipper and the Belt of Orion.

The lake was somehow closer. Bigger.

What did people look like in this era? He’d read all the predictions, the notions that humans would plug themselves directly into computers, would shed their skin for titanium shells. That they would achieve virtual immortality.

Should have thought to bring the binoculars.
He could still go back and get them, but for the moment he simply stayed and watched.

He wondered about the world outside the Poconos. Philadelphia now would be far older than the pyramids had been in his time. New York and the United States were probably distant memories. If that.

A swirl of light was approaching. He backed against a tree. Keep out of sight. No way to know how friendly these people might be.

It
was
an aircraft. Flying silently, not more than a few hundred feet high.

Who was in it?

It headed out over the lake. Then he heard the unmistakable sound of a horn. Something like an oboe. And some stringed instruments.

The music was coming from the mountaintop. Where all the lights were.

A voice rose above the trees. He couldn’t make out what it was saying. Then it went quiet, and with a clash of drums and cymbals, a concert began.

Dave sat down, back against a tree, to listen. Despite the fact it was a summer evening, no mosquitoes bothered him.

The music filled the night.

And, most enthralling, each time it stopped, he heard applause.

Here are two points miraculously co-uniting . . . two stories with double Time; separate, and harmonising.

 

 

 

 

IT
was time to go home. Dave packed up and locked the cabin. His rib cage delivered only an occasional twinge now, and his eye had long since gotten back to normal. He went down to Starlight Lake and, anxious to get started, settled for coffee and toast. He felt on top of the world. The human race was not only going to survive; it was going to do pretty well for itself.

He told a rather ordinary-looking waitress that she was probably the loveliest woman in the state, left her a fifty-dollar tip, and started for Philadelphia.

He tried driving with the windows halfway down because he loved the air and the smell of the woods, but it was January, and even though it was a relatively nice day, the heater couldn’t begin to compete, so after a few minutes he rolled them back up. He stayed off the expressways and turned onto every two-l ane road he could find, requiring only that it be headed in the right general direction. He passed farmhouses and barns. He cruised through small towns and waved at anybody who looked his way. Some waved back; some might have thought he was a nut. On this third day of the new year, he didn’t care.

Eventually he encountered a series of signs for a place called Shel’s Diner. BEST FOOD NORTH OF THE MASON-DIXON LINE. It sounded like fate calling, so he pulled into the parking area, went inside, and ordered a double cheeseburger. He was way off his diet, but it just didn’t matter. Not today.

He got lost a couple of times, and the people he asked for directions kept trying to tell him how to get to the interstate. Life’s not an interstate, he thought. At least, not if you’re smart. The interstate’s all about getting someplace. Yeah. Life is roads with curves, and maybe somebody broken-down up ahead, and stopping for glazed donuts. And homes in the middle of nowhere. And attractive women in convenience stores.