City Beyond Time: Tales of the Fall of Metachronopolis Read Online Free
Author: John C. Wright
sixteen, looked up at me with eyes as wide and trusting and innocent and hurt as any you'd ever dream of seeing. She hadn't done anything wrong. Maybe she would have said something, but the slug had torn out her throat. She got blood all over my pants and shoes when she fell toward me. It had smelled then much the way it smelled now.
Stalin's mother, Ketevan Geladze, on the other hand, was already pregnant, a pretty blond with a cheerful smile and coke-bottle-bottom-thick eyeglasses, when the Time Wardens decided to abort her future. They had me shoot her in the stomach twice more after she fell, burnt and screaming, just to make sure her helpless baby would be dead.
Why not? They can all make it undone again. Or so they told me.
And then one Time Warden or another took a dislike to the atomic wars of the 2020's. Einstein was a little boy playing with mud-pies in a backyard garden when my misplaced scattershot tore off his arms and legs and left him blind, bleeding, and screaming in pain until I could reprogram and fire a particle beam to put him out of his misery.
When I asked to be allowed to go back and do that assassination again, maybe cleaner, the Time Warden's representative told me that chronoportation should not be used for frivolous reasons. He sternly warned me that paradox weakened the fabric of timespace.
Why not?
I won't even tell you who I had to kill to let a curious Time Warden explore the alternate line where Christianity never rose to dominance in Europe. At least that one was done with a clean shot to the head.
Why not?
If I could set out to kill pregnant women and innocent girls and little boys and the nicest guy I'd ever met, why not set out to kill me?
22.
I looked around to see who I had been (was going to be) talking to, when I was (would be) shot.
Only one of the thrones was occupied. There he was in all his regalia. A Time Warden. His armor was made, not of metal, but of destiny crystal, gleaming like ice. From his shoulders depended a cloak of mist, created from a single thread vibrating backward and forward across several seconds. The cloak of distorted time fell from his shoulders in streamers of vapor, dripped across and down the chair arms where he sat, and hovered in curls around his ankles.
I could not see his face. His crown was projecting a forcefield like a mirrored helmet to protect his head from the radiation of the murderous discharge in front of him.
Clue three: why did the Time Warden's armor have time to react to the assassin's bolt when the victim's smartgun did not? Coincidence? But I didn't believe in coincidences. What people call coincidences are sloppy, makeshift arrangements by the Time Wardens to put frayed or broken timelines back on track.
And I sure as hell didn't believe in Time Wardens any more.
5.
Iapetus leaned past me and opened the window. He paused a moment, allowing me to savor the smell of the high gardens, the deep chime of distant bells, to hear the calls and cries of delight from the winged fliers.
He spoke: “There need be no further interview nor testing. Any Time Warden dissatisfied with your future performance would have already retroactively informed me. The choice is now yours.”
He straightened his back and looked at me. “The rewards of loyal service to the Time Wardens are many…”
1(a).
This time around, I didn't say anything to her. I bit back the angry confession which sprang to my lips. There are some things which, once said, can never be taken back.
Instead, I put my hands on her shoulders, and drew her closer. “Babydoll, there's no other woman. There is no one else…” I lied smoothly.
This time, my past didn't catch up with me. I could always outrun it, always stay one jump ahead of the game. I smothered the pang of guilt I felt at the thought as I lowered my head to kiss her.
6.
“…including material rewards, without limit…”
10.
While I was waiting for the croupier, and the manager,
Stalin's mother, Ketevan Geladze, on the other hand, was already pregnant, a pretty blond with a cheerful smile and coke-bottle-bottom-thick eyeglasses, when the Time Wardens decided to abort her future. They had me shoot her in the stomach twice more after she fell, burnt and screaming, just to make sure her helpless baby would be dead.
Why not? They can all make it undone again. Or so they told me.
And then one Time Warden or another took a dislike to the atomic wars of the 2020's. Einstein was a little boy playing with mud-pies in a backyard garden when my misplaced scattershot tore off his arms and legs and left him blind, bleeding, and screaming in pain until I could reprogram and fire a particle beam to put him out of his misery.
When I asked to be allowed to go back and do that assassination again, maybe cleaner, the Time Warden's representative told me that chronoportation should not be used for frivolous reasons. He sternly warned me that paradox weakened the fabric of timespace.
Why not?
I won't even tell you who I had to kill to let a curious Time Warden explore the alternate line where Christianity never rose to dominance in Europe. At least that one was done with a clean shot to the head.
Why not?
If I could set out to kill pregnant women and innocent girls and little boys and the nicest guy I'd ever met, why not set out to kill me?
22.
I looked around to see who I had been (was going to be) talking to, when I was (would be) shot.
Only one of the thrones was occupied. There he was in all his regalia. A Time Warden. His armor was made, not of metal, but of destiny crystal, gleaming like ice. From his shoulders depended a cloak of mist, created from a single thread vibrating backward and forward across several seconds. The cloak of distorted time fell from his shoulders in streamers of vapor, dripped across and down the chair arms where he sat, and hovered in curls around his ankles.
I could not see his face. His crown was projecting a forcefield like a mirrored helmet to protect his head from the radiation of the murderous discharge in front of him.
Clue three: why did the Time Warden's armor have time to react to the assassin's bolt when the victim's smartgun did not? Coincidence? But I didn't believe in coincidences. What people call coincidences are sloppy, makeshift arrangements by the Time Wardens to put frayed or broken timelines back on track.
And I sure as hell didn't believe in Time Wardens any more.
5.
Iapetus leaned past me and opened the window. He paused a moment, allowing me to savor the smell of the high gardens, the deep chime of distant bells, to hear the calls and cries of delight from the winged fliers.
He spoke: “There need be no further interview nor testing. Any Time Warden dissatisfied with your future performance would have already retroactively informed me. The choice is now yours.”
He straightened his back and looked at me. “The rewards of loyal service to the Time Wardens are many…”
1(a).
This time around, I didn't say anything to her. I bit back the angry confession which sprang to my lips. There are some things which, once said, can never be taken back.
Instead, I put my hands on her shoulders, and drew her closer. “Babydoll, there's no other woman. There is no one else…” I lied smoothly.
This time, my past didn't catch up with me. I could always outrun it, always stay one jump ahead of the game. I smothered the pang of guilt I felt at the thought as I lowered my head to kiss her.
6.
“…including material rewards, without limit…”
10.
While I was waiting for the croupier, and the manager,
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