Son of Time - Science Fiction Short Story

The Choice. The Cost. The Outcome.

Indeed you must, but don't lose what you've found, nor trade back what you've left behind.

I'll save her, then, and be this new me only.

Good.

He soared back onto the energy-band, somehow knowing he was an instance above his familiar spacetime reality, covering miles in fractions of time and effort – Malinkar was nearby.

The arc lowered. His speed increased. Malinkar spread below: a great city, many lights, some in bulbs, countless more in arcs like this. The space fleet dock. A ship was being readied. It was the one programmed to leave with Tarla and however many others bound for the outer reach. A surge of resentment – and instantly he lowered back into the band, then jumped up, untangling himself from the unwanted feeling. He had work to do and couldn't afford to be dragged back into powerlessness.

With bolting speed, he approached the city buildings and landed upon a high tower.

What now?

Now comes the time to choose, said Omiran. Two pathways: prevent Tarla from fleeing, or allow her.

Misuri looked confused, clock-wheel eyes focused, a breath of wind disarraying his graying, ear-long hair.

What do you mean?

I'll show you.

He was pulled into a reality outside his own, present but unseen. Tarla was being incarcerated in the sulfur mines of Kiaal-kaa. Nasty place.

She was crying.

"Run," she breathed in their home's garden, and he ran away.

Overlapped, confusing images. He was still with her.

"Run!" Firmer tone, harsher eyes. "For both of us."

Misuri was waiting for whatever next when he realized it was his own answer that was missing. "No. I won't run. I ask Omiran's guidance."

Leave behind all that which is not you.

What part of that was still unclear to him, if Omiran kept returning him to this point?

"I'll make the sacrifice, I-"

He stopped. Approached Tarla. "You're beautiful." She seemed not to understand. "And lovely. And free."

To him, the words held the meanings he'd given them. To her, her own.

"We are cross-bands, merging and disentangling realities. We're free to be the reality we choose to acknowledge." He smiled – a soft, unburdened, but not yet happy smile. "I am to give you your freedom, thus wish to see our other option."

Omiran pulled him – Tarla tried to stop him – "Trust me," he said, and was pulled into the second possible reality.

A blond boy, a half-clock child of about five, was sitting in a room. White shirt, beige summer overalls. Smiling. Looked like TedArama, but wasn't him. Had Tarla's gentle expression. A man – a colonist – arrived with another child in arms, a girl of approximately five, too. Then a tall U'bikol came – humanoid, graceful, slender. Female.

"We're all here, right?" she asked.

"Not yet," said the colonist. "Tarla hasn't come."

A worried expression. "I wonder what's keeping her."

Misuri felt bitter. Then the boy turned. Apparently unheard by any other, he said: "She won't come unless you allow it."

Instantly he realized why the boy reminded him of TedArama. This, too, was Tarla's child, but not yet. He nodded, and was pulled back on top of the tower.