[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
I go through this last thing, if I
close this last loop, then Eric won't ever have existed. Won't that screw up
the plan?"
"Ron Moosic exists, and so do you. Eric will be cut off, a leftover at the
edge of time. Remember, all that has happened so far actually happened. We
wipe out only the record, not the event. What will happen to him, only time
can tell, if you'll pardon me."
She felt suddenly very weary and very old, more accept-ing his proposition
than understanding, let alone em-bracing, it. What was truth and what was
lies? Who was real and who was just downtiming the night side?
Only time will tell, she thought, drifting off in the chair.
If they let it.
EPILOGUE LEADING EDGE, MAIN TIME LINE
It literally looked like Hell in the Party's headquarters; half the place
seemed to be on fire. Actually, dozens of frantic aides were rushing about
pulling and destroying files, computer records, and all the basic control
ma-chinery that had managed Earth for so long a time from this tiny spot. Of
particular import were all materials in any medium referring to time travel,
the time project, or the master computer far downtime.
These were the lucky ones the one hundred men and women who would be allowed
to go back. There might have been more, but there were only one hundred time
belts available and the prehistoric complex could comfortably house and
provide for no more than a few hundred anyway.
A dozen were the Central Committee, of course, and that was to be regretted,
but no project like this could go through to completion unless they were
included, even if they were far older than would be useful.
The rest were family, close associates, trusted aides, and their families.
Most of the complex of several thousand thought they were going, too, and
awaited the transfer of the first hundred with nervous anticipation. The belts
were then to be homed back to the time control complex and be used again, and
again, a hundred at a time, until all were safe.
They didn't know how limited the facilities were downtime, and never suspected
for a second that those belts would never return.
Nor did they know that Chairman Shumb had already read in what were known as
the Armageddon
Page 133
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Codes into the master computers worldwide that would explode within an hour of
the Chairman's own farewell with such mon-strous force that they might well
shake Earth's orbit and blow so much radioactive debris into the air that the
world would be plunged into a horrible, cold darkness for years, while
radioactivity scoured the planet of even the hardier forms of life.
They didn't even know about the massive superbomb sitting underneath this very
complex, which, when it went, would make their silly scramble to destroy all
rec-ords and controls an exercise in childish futility.
Max Shumb sighed, looked at his watch, then got up from his big desk and
looked around the office he'd occu-pied for so many years. He didn't want to
leave, didn't want to give up what had become so much a part of him, but it
was either do so or perish with the Earth. He had no intention of doing that.
One of these days they might work out a way back there in the great
prehistoric waste-land to keep this from happening, to prevent what was now
inevitable. He liked to think so, if only because of the great art and great
works of literature he would lose here.
The death of the population of the Earth did not trouble him in the slightest.
Only a few human beings
really mattered other than himself. The rest were mostly cattle, easily
replaced if you had enough time and enough women.
General Kolodin entered and saluted smartly. "Sir, we are ready to transport
and time is getting short. I
must insist that you come with me immediately."
Chairman Shumb nodded and sighed. "Yes, you're right, Alexei."
The general looked around the room and read his leader's thoughts. "It's not
really gone, you know. Not so long as the belts work."
Shumb grinned. "You know just what to say every time."
"The Russian is a pragmatist at all times. It is the climate that does it." He [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl szkicerysunki.xlx.pl
I go through this last thing, if I
close this last loop, then Eric won't ever have existed. Won't that screw up
the plan?"
"Ron Moosic exists, and so do you. Eric will be cut off, a leftover at the
edge of time. Remember, all that has happened so far actually happened. We
wipe out only the record, not the event. What will happen to him, only time
can tell, if you'll pardon me."
She felt suddenly very weary and very old, more accept-ing his proposition
than understanding, let alone em-bracing, it. What was truth and what was
lies? Who was real and who was just downtiming the night side?
Only time will tell, she thought, drifting off in the chair.
If they let it.
EPILOGUE LEADING EDGE, MAIN TIME LINE
It literally looked like Hell in the Party's headquarters; half the place
seemed to be on fire. Actually, dozens of frantic aides were rushing about
pulling and destroying files, computer records, and all the basic control
ma-chinery that had managed Earth for so long a time from this tiny spot. Of
particular import were all materials in any medium referring to time travel,
the time project, or the master computer far downtime.
These were the lucky ones the one hundred men and women who would be allowed
to go back. There might have been more, but there were only one hundred time
belts available and the prehistoric complex could comfortably house and
provide for no more than a few hundred anyway.
A dozen were the Central Committee, of course, and that was to be regretted,
but no project like this could go through to completion unless they were
included, even if they were far older than would be useful.
The rest were family, close associates, trusted aides, and their families.
Most of the complex of several thousand thought they were going, too, and
awaited the transfer of the first hundred with nervous anticipation. The belts
were then to be homed back to the time control complex and be used again, and
again, a hundred at a time, until all were safe.
They didn't know how limited the facilities were downtime, and never suspected
for a second that those belts would never return.
Nor did they know that Chairman Shumb had already read in what were known as
the Armageddon
Page 133
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Codes into the master computers worldwide that would explode within an hour of
the Chairman's own farewell with such mon-strous force that they might well
shake Earth's orbit and blow so much radioactive debris into the air that the
world would be plunged into a horrible, cold darkness for years, while
radioactivity scoured the planet of even the hardier forms of life.
They didn't even know about the massive superbomb sitting underneath this very
complex, which, when it went, would make their silly scramble to destroy all
rec-ords and controls an exercise in childish futility.
Max Shumb sighed, looked at his watch, then got up from his big desk and
looked around the office he'd occu-pied for so many years. He didn't want to
leave, didn't want to give up what had become so much a part of him, but it
was either do so or perish with the Earth. He had no intention of doing that.
One of these days they might work out a way back there in the great
prehistoric waste-land to keep this from happening, to prevent what was now
inevitable. He liked to think so, if only because of the great art and great
works of literature he would lose here.
The death of the population of the Earth did not trouble him in the slightest.
Only a few human beings
really mattered other than himself. The rest were mostly cattle, easily
replaced if you had enough time and enough women.
General Kolodin entered and saluted smartly. "Sir, we are ready to transport
and time is getting short. I
must insist that you come with me immediately."
Chairman Shumb nodded and sighed. "Yes, you're right, Alexei."
The general looked around the room and read his leader's thoughts. "It's not
really gone, you know. Not so long as the belts work."
Shumb grinned. "You know just what to say every time."
"The Russian is a pragmatist at all times. It is the climate that does it." He [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]