seen myself make in the future could change more than what I have for lunch tomorrow.
I’m once again going to travel one day into the future only; this time, I’ll pull up a local news site and read about the terrible things that are going to happen today, and then I’ll attempt to use free will to see if it’s possible to change them. As always, I’ll update on my return.
UPDATE—06:24 HOURS
After scanning the news, I’ve decided to focus my energies on this story:
Motorcyclist seriously injured in hit-and-run crash near Renton.
The motorcyclist in question is an eighteen-year-old kid with his whole life ahead of him, and the crash wasn’t his fault, it was the fault of some jerk-off who didn’t even stop to make sure he was okay. He has some pretty serious injuries, too, so if I can keep this from happening, I can change this kid’s entire future. I did a quick search of the kid’s name, and it looks like he lives in Redmond, which is just a half hour drive from here.
Here’s the plan: I’m going to stop by this kid’s house and tell him that I’m Professor Zacharias Walker (there was a special on me last year . . . I’m fairly well-known at the moment) and that he’s going to be in a car accident today, and so he should avoid his motorcycle for the next twenty-four hours. Wish me luck!
UPDATE—18:56 HOURS
I’ve just returned, and I’m afraid I don’t have good news.
The mission started out well. I got into my car and drove to this young man’s house and told him exactly what I’d planned to tell him, that I’m a time traveler and that he’s going to be in a debilitating accident if he chooses to ride his motorcycle today.
Unfortunately, he did not believe me. Perhaps this is something I should’ve expected, but I have to admit that I was quite surprised by his reluctance to accept my story. I thought that, even if he wouldn’t admit it to my face, he would take my warning to heart and stay off the damn bike.
I’ve been glued to the news site all afternoon, hoping that my warning had worked.
And then, at 18:45 hours, the news story appeared. Motorcyclist seriously injured. I’d failed.
This is the Cassandra Complex at work, I’m afraid. Cassandra was gifted with the ability to see the future, and then cursed because no one believed what she told them to be true.
I just can’t accept that. There has to be some way to make them listen.
That kid was planning to go to WCAAT in the fall. I feel like I’m responsible for his death.
20
Ash
NOVEMBER 7, 2077, NEW SEATTLE
One moment, the anil looked like it always looked: a glimmer of light dancing over black. A swirling mess of mist and smoke. A crack in time.
Then, the Black Crow was there.
Ash flinched at the ship’s sudden appearance, nearly knocking into the person crowded onto the dock behind him. The ship didn’t arrive, exactly. It was simply not there one moment and very much there the next.
Wind blew through the screaming crowd. The ground bucked. Zora said something, her fingers clawing at the damp leather of Ash’s jacket, but Ash couldn’t hear her and, anyway, his mind was somewhere else.
Was this how time travel looked from the other side? he wondered. He wouldn’t know. He was always inside the cockpit of the time machine when it exited the anil, hands wrapped around the yoke, heart pounding in his throat.
The fact that he wasn’t there now caused a deep, sucking sadness to open up inside of him.
The guy he’d noticed earlier, the one who’d seemed to recognize him, was standing closer now, watching him with a quizzical smile on his face. He’d been one of the ones shouting The past is our right! and pumping his fist at the Black Crow.
Ash felt his muscles begin to knot. He could picture how a confrontation might go. The guy would say something rude or ignorant or both. And he—unable to help himself—would throw the first punch.
He leaned over, speaking directly into Zora’s ear so she would hear him over the still-cheering crowd. “I’ve seen enough. Should we find the others?”
Zora nodded distantly. She was staring very intently at the time machine, forehead creased in concern. And then she blinked, shaking her head.
“They’re already at Dante’s,” she said, her voice sounding very far away. “Yeah, let’s go.”
“Okay . . . so I think this number is the primary wave