the_last_resort | Time travel and lousy life choices

Niles leaned forward.

"Not at all. I quite agree. Perhaps the curse of intelligence is the capacity to look at oneself and see everything that is vile. The mythical knowledge of good and evil that we got in the garden of Eden leads inevitably to the better parts of our nature wanting to smite ourselves right out of existence because evil is so intractably prevalent."

By the end of his words, his gaze was intense, lit up like either a madman or a preacher. His hands were fists, held close to his chest.

Una leaned back in her chair ever so slightly, troubled by the increasing intensity of his demeanour and doing a reasonably good job of not showing it.

"You make it sound so deliberate," she said. She tilted her head, looking thoughtful. "Personally I'm inclined to think that it's far less a matter of good versus evil as it is ignorance and short-sightedness, with a healthy dose of Freudian death-drive and xenophobia to round things out." She shook her head. "Mind you, I'm an optimist. I continue to believe that somewhere, there is a world where intelligence and tolerance prevail, by design rather than accident." The corner of her mouth twisted a little, as if if to acknowledge her own folly.

He pulled back. Just because he felt fairly comfortable around Una, it didn't mean he should display the full nihilism on their second meeting. He switched back to charm and a well-practiced smile.

"The universe...or multiverse, is a much vaster place than a thought just a few days ago. So perhaps it's not a vain hope that somewhere out there such a place exists."

"If I thought it was a vain hope, I wouldn't keep looking," she said with a little smile. "You seem to be taking it rather well, actually. This whole business of multiversal travel."

Niles spread his hands in a shrug.

"When I was seven, I knew that aliens weren't real, the same way I knew that Santa Claus was't real. Then, when I was eight, there were aliens on the telly. Not on the science fiction shows but on the news, carrying out negotiations with the world governments and asking for refuge.

"And then when I was fifteen, the alien ambassador was assassinated, negotiations when to shtako, and the whole world fell apart. Votan terraforming tech cut across the planet, rendering whole swathes of the Earth unrecognizable. Earth might as well be an alien planet in a different universe now. So I may have never left the planet before, but this isn't my first new world. And the idea that universe might drop something unexpected, like a multiversal time travel, on a person's doorstep is one I've had a lifetime to get used to."

Her gaze flicked over his hands. No gloves, but why the straps, she wondered?

"When you put it that way, it makes so much sense," she said with a smile. "You'll do well, I think. And I'm not just saying that to confirm my own good judgement in pulling you out of that godforsaken place. Have you thought of any particular questions in the meantime?"

"I always love to receive a compliment." And he bows slightly and mimes tipping a hat in thanks.

"Are there any critical rules I need to know? You know, things like 'Don't go back in time and kill your grandfather' or anything like that. Is there an actual danger of making myself not exist or was that something that writers made up? Do I have to worry about stepping on a butterfly in ancient Rome, which, through some miraculous sequence of events causes Nazis to rule the world in the 20th century?"

"I'd say 'use common sense', but I expect you know as well as I that sense is not actually all that common," she said. "Generally, I wouldn't worry too much about the odd butterfly, but killing is strongly discouraged. You'll be sent into the field with a stun weapon of some kind, and if you're careful, you might not even need that. Killing is the sort of thing that will get you disciplined, or expelled.

"It's extremely unlikely, however, that you'll blot yourself out." She smirked a little. "They try to send people to time-streams of sufficient degrees of difference to avoid that. As for creating alternate histories—" She frowned slightly, looking uncomfortable for the first time. "There's an argument that such things would come to pass regardless of our interference or lack thereof, that the creation of new branches of Time is simply the way the multiverse works. But there are as many theories as there are agents. To keep it simple—don't kill anyone and don't try to influence events while you're there. In other words, regardless of temptation or opportunity, don't go trying to assassinate Hitler."

"All right, no killing Hitler. But what about..." He nervously clenched and unclenched his fists. "...what about preventing the death of someone who should have died. If you can't kill Hitler can you, say, save JFK by taking him out of the timeline and bringing him to a nice little retirement in Blackstaff? Or, not even JFK, someone of less historical importance?"

"Are you asking hypothetically, or have you got a particular scenario in mind?" she asked. There was, she felt, very little point in being indirect, particularly when messing about with temporal matters. "Collecting an individual at the moment of death can be done—but not every agent is qualified or trained to handle that sort of case. Even I'm not. Yet."

"There was a...friend of mine. He died a little less than a year ago. It was a stupid, pointless death. I wasn't there at the time, but I heard about it later. He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, got shot by Irathient terrorists."

Since Una was being direct, he opted to do her the courtesy of giving her the same. And it surely wasn't a shameful thing to want to save the life of someone important to him.

"So when someone says, hey, time travel is possible, you can't help but wonder..."

It was the answer she expected. She nodded and leaned forward, her expression and posture sympathetic, her tone kind.

"I understand. I won't give you false hope—it's not something that's done every day. And as I said, not every agent has the skills for it, and if it's something you want—it would be some time, possibly never, before you could manage it. Nor is it guaranteed that someone with the training could find him. I don't blame you for wondering, it's only natural. But you must know that it's very, very difficult."

He smiled, even though Una's answer wasn't terribly optimistic.

"But it's possible. And that's all I need to know. I can be very patient. Even if it takes years, or longer, I can wait."

He'd been following Connor Lang since Niles was fifteen years old. Even if it took another twenty five years to save him, it would be worth it. Anything for the opportunity for him to tell Connor "It'll be all right." And then Connor will love him. And Amanda will love him, too, for saving Connor.

"Fair enough. I simply want you to keep your expectations realistic; that's all."

Had she quite known the extent of Niles's madness, she might not have even granted him that much of a glimmer. Hope can be a fine thing, but sometimes it can be positively dangerous.

"Understood. And thank you for your honesty on the matter."

He appreciated someone who, presented with a question on something that was very difficult and, perhaps, shouldn't be done (at least not without a great deal of thought and preparation and skill before hand) nevertheless didn't opt to take the easy way out and say that it couldn't be done.

"So, on a somewhat more lighthearted subject, tell me about the most exciting place you've ever travelled."

"How do you define exciting?" she replied, smiling. "I've been known to find diplomatic relations positively thrilling, but that's a pathology in some people's eyes." She leaned back in her chair, looking up at the ceiling. "The early twentieth century—now, there's an exciting time. Perhaps not in the mundane details of the day-to-day living, but you have to admit, nothing was the same after that." She steepled her fingers and tapped them against each other. "On the other end of the spectrum, there's also the End of Time. Which I suppose is exciting, and also rather fun."

"Before my ignominious exile to the Dakota Reaches, I was aiming for an ambassadorial position, so you may assume that I'm grievously afflicted with that particular pathology."

He put a finger to his lips as he thought about the era she mentioned.

"Old empires falling, new empires rising. Boundaries redrawn. Yes, I can see how that would be very interesting to witness. But what's this about the End of Time? I didn't think time had an end."

"I'm glad you understand." A wry smile.

"Technically, no, Time doesn't end. But worlds do, and universes. They call it the End of Time because—well, it's the end of their Time, a little last burst of creativity right before the heat death of the universe—of that one universe. There aren't that many people left on Earth then, and those who are left draw on the power of the Earth's cities to fuel their creations—they live for art and sensation. You might call them decadent and I suppose they are, but I rather like them."

"It sounds like a fun party. Aside from the universe ending. That would put a bit of a damper on the end of the evening. 'So long, see you next week, oh no I won't because neither of us will exist any more.' Under the circumstances I can't blame them for wanting to get what enjoyment they can out of life while they have it."

"True. Though none of them ever really get that morbid about it. Well, except for the one or two who like to define themselves by their unfashionable angst. Or their highly fashionable feelings of Sturm und Drang." She smiled a little, thinking of the gloomy Mongrove and the spectacularly gothic Werther de Goethe. "There are stories I could tell you—well, actually, you might be able to read them at some point, if I can ever get the books in. A good friend of mine wrote a series of novels based on the stories I told him about the End of Time. They're rather good, actually."

"It would be my pleasure to read them. We were able to save books better than we could save..." He pointed at her music device and had to reach into his mind to remember the name again. "...mp3 players. But they're still more difficult to come by and more expensive than they once were. And what you can find sometimes depends on what happened to be in wide circulation when the war hit, not what's good. So if you want a copy of Fifty Shades of Grey you're in luck, but if you want a complete set of Gibbon's Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire you have to pay big for it."

"Fifty what? No, I probably don't want to know, do I? But I'm not surprised. Paper has a way of lingering, whereas the digital—one power surge or electromagnetic pulse and there's half the Sibylline Books, up in smoke." She shook her head. "Well, all kinds of things make their way here eventually, either through entirely aboveboard channels or ... otherwise, so if they happen to turn up, I'll be sure to let you know."

"It's something to do with a dull weekend," he said of Fifty Shades of Grey. "But afterwards you have the mental equivalent of feeling like you've just forced half a dozen terrible greasy cheeseburgers down your throat. Your friend's books sound like a much more pleasant prospect."

"Ah, trash fiction." She grinned. "A little of that goes a very long way. Mike's written his share, of course—he comes from an age where you could make a pretty good living doing it. But he always had more talent than that. Runs in his family, I believe."

Time travel and lousy life choices

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with the right journal this time

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