Day One
So I stick a smoldering butt with a two inch ash in my mouth, slump against a wall with my foot up behind me and stare at a dark green world that can’t see the glare behind my shades, but it knows it’s there, don’t ya, baby? That’s being cool. Look like the world would be better off without you and you’d just as soon be gone. Which is true in my case. I’d just as soon not be on this stinking planet in this reeking time, but we don’t always get to pick our assignments. Especially when you’re a time traveler like me.
I was kind of hoping you’d be shocked by that so I paused for you to say, “Omigosh, a time traveler,” but, of course, you didn’t. Too much sci-fi and fantasy floating around in this culture to even bat an eye at a time traveler’s tale. Of course, damn few sane people in any culture ever believe any of the stories. We’re too good for that. Rule number one is “Never reveal a plausible future history to any chronologically indigenous personnel” which translates into the practical advice of “If you screw up and reveal you’re a chronojumper, act like a loon til your tour ends.” I’ve been in a lot of loony bins. Got trepanned twice in the eighteenth century ‘cause I couldn’t keep my damn mouth shut. And don’t think it’s not painful just because it’s somebody else’s body being drilled. As long as I’m in the body, I’m in the body. Pain, pleasure and all. And if it dies . . .sshew, shit, man. I don’t wanna talk about it. Feels like my diaphragm bounces off my balls when I just think about it. Only happened once, but . . .”
“Please, go on. Could you possibly explain how you ensure secrecy?”
Sure, Doc, that’s actually pretty much built into the system or I guess I should say phenomenon. I don’t really understand it all that much, but then, I don’t have to. I’m a jumper, not a tech. At good old Chronojump High they told me that it works on two impossible principles whose impossibility reinforce each other to the point that they break out of the bounds of probability. Kind of a hard concept to wrap the mind around, ain’t it? That’s one of the reasons we can get away with it all, you see. For the next couple of centuries or so the people most qualified to analyze such things will quite reasonably deny the existence of the impossible. We slip through that crack. Hell, if most of us jumpers can’t really intellectualize it, then you chips who never experience it won’t be able to figure it out even when we tell you. Especially in a madhouse setting.
“Excuse me, you used the word, I believe, ‘chips’.”
Sorry, yeah. Chronologically indigenous personnel. Like me to spell it?
“No, thank you.”
Of course. You already tested intell and knowledge, didn’t you? Sorry I missed the current president, but I am off my original assignment by twenty-two years, you know.
“Mmm, yes. I believe Doctor Dang mentioned that, but I’d like to hear the whole story from you.”
Dtang, Doctor.
“Excuse me?”
Dtang. The Chinese “d” has a bit of a “t” in it which is why some call the good doctor Dang, and others Tang. I haven’t seen his name though, so I don’t know how he spells it.
“Dang, actually, is how Doctor . . . he spells it.”
Mmm. Hope he finds his name tag soon. It seems to distress him so.
“Yes, well . . .”
. . . but you want to know about me, not Doctor Dtang. So, let’s see. Well, the Complementary Impossibility Theorem provides the mathematics for it all but, of course, you want to know what the two impossibilities are. And anyway, even if a qualified mathematician were here, I doubt either one of us could understand his explanation of that side of it. Impossible math always gives me a headache no matter what head I’m in.
