Fiction River: Time Streams Read online

  Fiction River: Time Streams

  Kristine Kathryn Rusch and Dean Wesley Smith

  Series Editors

  Dean Wesley Smith

  Editor

  Copyright Information

  Time Streams

  Copyright © 2013 WMG Publishing

  Published by WMG Publishing

  Cover and Layout copyright © 2013 WMG Publishing

  Cover design by Allyson Longueira/WMG Publishing

  Cover art copyright © Rolffimages/Dreamstime

  “Foreword: Time Speed” Copyright © 2013 by Kristine Kathryn Rusch

  “Introduction: One More Stop on the River of Time” Copyright © 2013 by Dean Wesley Smith

  “Love in the Time of Dust and Venom” Copyright © 2013 by Sharon Joss

  “This Time, I Return for Good” Copyright © 2013 by Michael Robert Thomas

  “The Elevator in the Cornfield” Copyright © 2013 by Scott William Carter

  “Radio Free Future” Copyright © 2013 by J. Steven York

  “Unstuck” Copyright © 2013 by D.K. Holmberg

  “Your Permanent Record” Copyright © 2013 by Ray Vukcevich

  “Waiting for the Coin to Drop” Copyright © 2013 by Dean Wesley Smith

  “Nice Timestream Youse Got Here” Copyright © 2013 by Lee Allred

  “The Highlight of a Life” Copyright © 2013 by Jeffrey A. Ballard

  “A Beautiful Friendship” Copyright © 2013 by Mike Resnick & Lou J. Berger

  “Fix” Copyright © 2013 by Michael A. Stackpole

  “The Totem of Curtained Minds” Copyright © 2013 by Ken Hinckley

  “September at Wall and Broad” Copyright © 2013 by Kristine Kathryn Rusch

  “Time, Expressed as an Entrée” Copyright © 2013 by Robert T. Jeschonek

  Smashwords Edition

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental. This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

  Table of Contents

  Foreword: Time Speed

  Kristine Kathryn Rusch

  Introduction: One More Stop on the River of Time

  Dean Wesley Smith

  Love in the Time of Dust and Venom

  Sharon Joss

  This Time, I Return for Good

  Michael Robert Thomas

  The Elevator in the Cornfield

  Scott William Carter

  Radio Free Future

  J. Steven York

  Unstuck

  D.K. Holmberg

  Your Permanent Record

  Ray Vukcevich

  Waiting for the Coin to Drop

  Dean Wesley Smith

  Nice Timestream Youse Got Here

  Lee Allred

  The Highlight of a Life

  Jeffrey A. Ballard

  A Beautiful Friendship

  Mike Resnick & Lou J. Berger

  Fix

  Michael A. Stackpole

  The Totem of Curtained Minds

  Ken Hinckley

  September at Wall and Broad

  Kristine Kathryn Rusch

  Time, Expressed as an Entrée

  Robert T. Jeschonek

  Acknowledgements

  About the Editor

  Copyright Information

  Foreword

  Time Speed

  Kristine Kathryn Rusch

  I am rather stunned at how quickly we’ve reached Fiction River’s third volume. Yes, I realized we were doing six in one year—seven if you count the special—but I don’t think it sank in.

  Of course, because I’m a fiction writer, I find time rather fluid. I still feel as if we have just completed our successful Kickstarter project. (Thanks again, everyone who pledged.) I also feel like we’re moments away from our seventh or tenth or fourteenth issue, all of which have already received discussion. We’re planning, planning, planning. We’re having fun, and we feel like we don’t have—you guessed it—enough time.

  We’d love to accelerate the schedule, but then Fiction River wouldn’t be special. And Fiction River truly is special, at least to us.

  This third volume, Time Streams, marks Dean’s return to solo editing. He hasn’t been gone as long as I was, because he edited the fiction for a major computer magazine, and he also edited Pocket Books’ Strange New World anthology series for more than ten years.

  Still, this is the first time in too long that he’s had free reign over the contents of an anthology. Yes, I’m the series editor, and I did occasionally comment on things (does that ending make sense? Can we punch up that last line?) but mostly, I got to do what you’re about to do: I got to read the stories.

  Unlike you, though, I read them out of order. Dean’s put them together so that they flow, like a good stream should, taking you comfortably from one strong story to the next.

  The stories here run the gamut of time travel fiction. Dean’s put together some stories based strongly in a real time and place; he’s added some emotional stories centered on family or love or relationships; and he caps the anthology with several hard science stories or at least, as hard science as time travel stories can get. (We’ll have a discussion later as to whether time travel is science fiction or fantasy, okay? Here at Fiction River, we believe that time travel is its own genre.) One story takes us through all of time while another focuses on that instant where everything goes wrong.

  You’ll also find a diversity of voices here, because Dean is one of the most eclectic readers I know. When we designed Fiction River, we designed it for a multitude of voices. Dean’s editing voice is different from our combined voices in the first volume, and different from John Helfers’ in the second.

  On the one hand, we guarantee you’ll never know what you’ll get from Fiction River.

  On the other, we guarantee that you’ll always get the best stories from the best writers we can find.

  I hope you enjoy Time Streams. I know I did.

  —Kristine Kathryn Rusch

  Lincoln City, Oregon

  May 19, 2013

  Introduction

  One More Stop on the River of Time

  Dean Wesley Smith

  I love time travel stories.

  It really is that simple. So in the summer of 2012, when we started talking about Fiction River, it just seemed obvious to have one of the early volumes of the series be called Time Streams.

  And since I got to edit it, that meant that I was going to get to read a bunch of brand new time travel stories from some of my favorite writers. (Yeah, I know, this editing job is tough.)

  I’m not exactly sure where my love for time travel stories came from. I think the love is rooted in how great science fiction can take readers out of their world and transport them to someplace new and wonderful.

  In the 1950s and early 1960s, that ability to leave my surroundings and travel to new times and new places was critical to me and my survival.

  Of course, all of us wish, at times, we could go back and change something we did.

  And all of us wish we could catch a glimpse of the future, even though I have a hunch most of us wouldn’t much like what we saw. But a great time travel story allows for that speculation while we stay firmly rooted in our reading chair in the present.

  Sometimes, I think I am living a time travel story, actually. I remember as a kid in the 1950s reading science fiction and dreaming of a future that seemed too distant to think of. Most of my dreams never made it past 1984, because that novel of the same name affected me so much.

  Then one day I found myself in 1985
and everything seemed strange and different somehow.

  And now, here in 2013, the future is even more amazing than I could have ever imagined back then. Somehow I traveled through time, through those fifty-some years to end up here in this future.

  Not sure how I did it, to be honest. I didn’t click my heels together, I’m pretty sure, and I don’t remember firing up a time machine. That said, I must admit that much of the journey is a blur, especially those 1960s and early 1970s years.

  I have no desire to go back, so don’t take me wrong. Here, in this future, I have computers and nifty cars and cell phones and much better dentists and medical care and so much more. (I want my old 1960s body back, but that’s another form of science fiction, so I won’t go there.)

  I like it right here, right now, thank you very much. In this future I get to read wonderful and new time travel stories and get paid for it. (Honestly, that still puzzles me how that happened. I have to remember to bring my memory on the next time jump.)

  But I gathered up all these wonderful stories and now you also get to enjoy them. I have to warn you, I loved them all, but you might have your favorites and your some not-so-favorites. That’s normal in this kind of time travel journey through an anthology.

  I honestly tried to cover as many time travel bases as I could so that everyone would find a story or two or five that they loved in here.

  Even if you don’t think you like time travel stories, this anthology might surprise you. It’s chock full of great characters to take you on the journey with them. The stories in this volume are filled with heart, joy, excitement, and sometimes just plain weirdness.

  Back in the 1950s, when I first started falling in love with the idea of time travel and science fiction, this volume could not have existed. But now, here, today, in this time, in this year, this volume of wonderful stories can now happen and find new readers who might fall in love with time travel as I did.

  And somehow, in my journey through time, I managed to stop long enough to put the stories together into this volume for you.

  I hope you enjoy the stories as much as I did.

  —Dean Wesley Smith

  Lincoln City, Oregon

  May 19, 2013 (I’m pretty sure.)

  Introduction to “Love in the Time of Dust and Venom”

  Sharon Joss spent much of her career working in aerospace and in high-tech firms. In 2009, she became a full-time writer and now lives in Aloha, Oregon.

  As she approached “Love in the Time of Dust and Venom,” she wondered why someone would travel to the future and came up with the fact that the person’s homeland was unlivable.

  “When the Fukushima Daiichi disaster popped up in my research,” she writes, “I remembered seeing a PBS documentary on Chernobyl, and the haunted, abandoned feel of the place. I’ve visited temples in Japan, and they all seem to be spirit-filled, tranquil, peaceful places.”

  Those two images entwined to create our powerful leadoff story.

  Love in the Time of Dust and Venom

  Sharon Joss

  Using his walker to brace himself, Keiko watched her ancient grandfather stoop beside the packed dirt path and tug at a weed. Nearby, sprinklers sang shoop-shoop-shoop in the stillness, sending cascades of water across the wide expanse of lawns. She saw his eyes twinkle as he slapped the roots against the side of his worn black trousers. The scent of moist earth joined the fragrance of lavender and eucalyptus in the quiet July morning. The old man stood and slowly put the dandelion in his pocket. He knew she didn’t approve, but this had become their little ritual.

  When he first came to live with them, he spoke rarely, and then only Japanese; a language she struggled to recall from childhood. She found him to be a man of expression, rather than words. The first time she brought him to the LA County Arboretum he spoke to her of how much he missed his wife and home. Now they came every Tuesday morning, after she dropped the boys off at school. There was no sense of time or country here. They’d come to think of the botanical gardens as their special place.

  He toddled over to their favorite bench; the rough wooden one beneath the purple jacaranda tree with a good view of the Queen Anne Cottage. Then, as the bees hummed around them, he took her hand as he often did, and her 97-year-old grandfather began to tell her about lightpulse technology.

  ***

  Now that they were here, sitting in this dreary yellow reception lobby of Time Horizons Incorporated, Keiko realized she was going to have to face the fact that she was, essentially, sending her grandfather to his death. She was certain Ojiisan didn’t think so. His enthusiasm for the idea of traveling into the future had put the whole family in an uproar for weeks.

  She glanced at her grandfather, sitting so proudly beside her. From his shiny black patent-leather shoes to the brand new Sears suit, to the top of his freshly shaved head, he was nearly glowing with anticipation. He’d even gotten her twelve-year-old to shine up his walker with Windex.

  Keiko put her hand on top of the gnarled fist. His tissue-thin skin was cool; too cool.

  “Are you warm enough, Sofu?”

  He merely nodded, his bright eyes glued to the red numbers of the digital display mounted on the wall across the room. The aroma of new carpet seemed to suck all the oxygen right out of the air. Muzak played softly in the background. While they’d waited, she’d counted twenty-one orange plastic chairs in the waiting area, yet there were only four other people in the room. All were younger. Much younger.

  “Now serving number forty-six.” The disembodied digital voice echoed across the agnostic waiting room.

  Her heart skipped a beat. They would be the first. Keiko helped her grandfather to his feet. “That’s us, Ojiisan.” The frail old man was wide-eyed and eager, but even with his walker cane, he needed help getting up off the orange plastic, and he was heavier than he looked.

  Once he was on his feet, he patted his jacket pockets carefully.

  “I have it right here, Sofu.” She pinned a wilted Sacred Lily leaf to his lapel. Rhodea Japonica was Japan’s most revered native plant. She’d had to comb nearly every florist shop and plant nursery in Santa Monica before she found a place that carried them. She’d been tempted to simply snip a hosta leaf from the botanical garden, but that would not have been respectful.

  Following two steps behind, Keiko watched her grandfather shuffle toward the attendant, who held the door open for them.

  “My name is Brad,” the young technician told them. He motioned them into an interview room containing modern, Scandinavian-style metal furniture. Russet shag carpeting and more of the orange plastic chairs provided the only color in the white room. After they were seated, Brad glanced at his clipboard and made a face. “I’m afraid I’m not very good with Japanese names. Is it Tadeo Yakashita?”

  “Hai,” her grandfather nodded.

  “My grandfather does not speak English well,” Keiko explained. “I am here to translate for him, if that’s okay.” Grandfather was worried they would reject him because of his age, but she was more concerned they would not take him seriously without her there to speak for him.

  “It’s not a problem.”

  He opened the folder on his desk and Keiko saw he had some of Sufo’s medical records. Pages and pages of expert opinions; but in the end, they all said the same thing. Six months, no more.

  “I understand, based on the statements made by his doctors, his prognosis is terminal, and aggressive treatment is contra-indicated because of your grandfather’s great age and the advanced state of his disease.”

  Keiko nodded. “Yes.”

  “I must tell you, most of our clients come here looking for a cure, but that’s not what it says here on the application. Could you please explain why your grandfather wants to go into the future?” Brad pointed to the small camera located near the ceiling. “And please be aware, this conversation is being recorded.”

  Keiko took a deep breath. Her grandfather’s future depended on how she answered this question. If she
was not able to explain his reasons, his spirit would never be able to rest. The weight of Sofu’s soul felt heavy on her shoulders.

  “My grandfather lived his whole life in the village of Okuma, Japan. So did his grandfather, and all his forefathers going back, well, forever. When the Fukushima Daiichi disaster occurred in 2011, the village of Okuma was within the red zone. My husband and I went over to Japan after the tragedy and brought him back with us, but he wants to die in the land of his ancestors. He believes that if he dies here, he will wander forever as a ghost, and never find peace.”

  “Wouldn’t it be easier to send him into the past?”

  Keiko smoothed down her skirt. The small white room seemed to shrink with every word she spoke. She struggled to keep the tremor out of her voice. “My father and grandmother also lived in Okuma at the time of the disaster. They were both killed in the tsunami. My grandfather wants to share his eternity with the spirit of his beloved wife and son most of all.”

  Sofu nodded once, for emphasis.

  “I see.” Brad made several notes in the file. “Are you willing to let him go? This is just a Beta test. The lightpulse jump might not be able to bring him back if there’s a problem.”

  She reached for her grandfather’s gnarled hand, asking the silent question with her eyes. He gave a determined nod and thumped his cane on the floor.

  “Hai!”