Time Travelers Never Die Part 22

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

My G.o.d.

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 h.e.l.l. He reset the converter to its limit. Took a deep breath. Got on his feet. And pushed the b.u.t.ton.

THE stars vanished. Came back. He stumbled forward but did not fall. The flat floor mutated into a gra.s.sy slope. The air was cool and clean and smelled of mint. Crickets chirped, and a full moon drifted through the night. stars vanished. Came back. He stumbled forward but did not fall. The flat floor mutated into a gra.s.sy 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 sh.o.r.eline. 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 lakesh.o.r.e 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 t.i.tanium sh.e.l.ls. 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 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 was an aircraft. Flying silently, not more than a few hundred feet high. 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.

CHAPTER 16.

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

-CHARLES LAMB, THE ESSAYS OF ELIA THE ESSAYS OF ELIA

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. 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 pa.s.sed 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.

A guy in a pickup beeped at him. They had a double line, and the guy couldn't pa.s.s. So sometimes, he thought, you have to hit the gas. He did. They went around a curve, the road opened up, and the pickup roared past. The driver gave him the finger.

It didn't matter. Nothing could wipe away the goofy grin that afternoon.

THERE was never any doubt that he'd tell Shel about the concert. Had to. And if Shel decided to confiscate the converter, never let him near it again, so what? was never any doubt that he'd tell Shel about the concert. Had to. And if Shel decided to confiscate the converter, never let him near it again, so what?

He pulled up in front of the town house during the late afternoon. Shel appeared at the door before he could ring the bell. "You look good," he said.

"I feel good."

They went inside and sat down in the den. While Shel got a round of drinks, Dave threw his feet up on a ha.s.sock. King of the world.

Shel took two gla.s.ses down out of the cabinet, put ice cubes in them, and turned around. "What's going on?" he asked.

"Did you ever check the range?"

"Of the converter? Yes."

"And?"

"It's somewhere around thirty-six thousand years."

"That's a bit more than mine has. Probably depends on the power pack, right?"

"How do you know, Dave? You haven't done that, have you? Gone back with the savages?"

"No. But I've gone downstream."

"Forward."

"Into the future, yes. And I'm happy to report everything turns out okay."

"How do you mean?"

"No ice age. People are still there. I think. Doing okay."

"Really?" Shel's features darkened. "Dave, I wish you'd stop the nonsense. That's irresponsible."

"Who says? What's the risk at that range?"

"I don't know." Shel bristled. "That's what makes it dangerous."

"Come on, Shel. Make sense."

"Okay, then. You gave your word. And you broke it. You promised you wouldn't do anything like that."

Dave couldn't remember making any such promise, but he let it go.

When Shel got no response, he went back to mixing the drinks. "So what did you see?"

Dave described the thick forest at the mountaintop. The lights. And the music.

"That's it?"

"Shel, we've survived. Despite all the talk about climate change and runaway technology and loose nukes, we're still here."

"Well, that's good. You didn't happen to go over there, did you? To the concert?"

"No. I thought I'd just sit back and listen."

"So all you know is that you heard music."

"Yes."

"Okay."

"Why? What's the matter?"

"Nothing. I just hope hope it's us." it's us."

"I doubt it was Martians."

"Yeah. I'm sure you're right, Dave."

d.a.m.n. The mood had become a bit intense. "I probably better get going."

"You didn't get your drink yet."

"Let it go."

"Look, Dave, I'm sorry, but-"

"Let it go, Shel. I understand." He stood up and unclipped the converter. Set it for the next jump. It would take him back almost three weeks to Sat.u.r.day, December 15, the evening they'd come back from Selma.

"Set it for ten o'clock," said Shel. "In the evening."

That was a couple of hours after he'd left for the cabin.

NOTHING changed in the town-house den except that a magazine appeared on the coffee table, and the television was on in the living room. The big wall clock said 10:00 P.M. precisely. changed in the town-house den except that a magazine appeared on the coffee table, and the television was on in the living room. The big wall clock said 10:00 P.M. precisely.

Shel was parked in front of the television, but he was asleep. Dave sat down in one of the chairs, watched the show for a minute-it was a sitcom-let his head drift back, and closed his eyes.

"Dave." Shel's voice. "How long have you been here?"

"Just came in. I didn't want to wake you."

"Everything healed?"

"Far as I can tell."

"Good. How about something to eat?"

"I'm not really hungry, Shel. I think I'll just head home and get some sleep."

"Okay. It's good to have you back." He got up, went over to the desk, and took out a key. "There's a rental car waiting in the driveway."

It was a black Bangalore. A torpedo. Dave got in and drove to his home on Carmichael Drive. It was good to be back.

HE knew how the Eagles game had turned out Sunday, so he spent much of the day at the gym and the pool. On Monday, two days after the Selma experience, he was back in cla.s.s. It was an odd feeling to sit up there on the edge of his desk, as he often did, knowing that at that very moment he was at the cabin waiting for his wounds to heal. His first period was Greek. Twelve kids who claimed to be interested, more or less, in Homer and the cla.s.sical dramatists. "Aristophanes invented comedy," he told them. "He was the first guy we know of to go for laughs. And Sophocles"-he took a moment to look out at the sky-"gave us better theater than Shakespeare." knew how the Eagles game had turned out Sunday, so he spent much of the day at the gym and the pool. On Monday, two days after the Selma experience, he was back in cla.s.s. It was an odd feeling to sit up there on the edge of his desk, as he often did, knowing that at that very moment he was at the cabin waiting for his wounds to heal. His first period was Greek. Twelve kids who claimed to be interested, more or less, in Homer and the cla.s.sical dramatists. "Aristophanes invented comedy," he told them. "He was the first guy we know of to go for laughs. And Sophocles"-he took a moment to look out at the sky-"gave us better theater than Shakespeare."

They were shocked. No one had ever said anything like that to them before. Shakespeare was, of course, the name before which all heads bowed. But he could see they agreed. Not that Sophocles was so good, probably, but that Shakespeare was overrated.

Suzy Klein, a wide-eyed African-American, flashed a smile. Knew it all the time. But she asked why he would say that.

"He has all the power of the Bard," said Dave. "But it's concentrated on a smaller stage. Remember Aristotle?"