On the bridge, Captain Sandra McAllister spoke into her intercom. “Fellow sentients,” she said, “this is the proverbial ‘it.’ The universe is ending, the embers of the stars are fading into nothing, and in a moment we’ll tap into the power of Black Hole Omega. If all goes according to plan, we’ll break out of our dying universe and into a new one, one that’s young and vibrant. Our own personal lives will continue, but more importantly, we will continue to exist in order to be able to remember all of those who came before us.”
McAllister turned to her first officer and said, “Any time you’re ready, Jacob. Push the button.”
Jacob nodded and reached out with his spindly fingers to the Doorway Device. But just as he was about to depress the red button, a blast rocked the ship.
“What was that?” he cried out.
Virilion, the ship’s robotic helmsman, replied in a croak, “It’s the Nichashim! They’ve come to stop us!”
McAllister narrowed her eyes. “Like hell they will,” she said. “Virilion, fire at will! Blast them out of our sky!”
—Abraham Beard,
“Dad? Dad?”
“You don’t need to shout.”
“You were gone again,” she says.
“Perhaps,” I say, “I’m turning inward because I’m getting old.”
For the first time since she came into the house today, Emma looks worried. “You’re not that old, Dad.”
I smile at Emma to keep her from noticing the wetness I feel in my eyes. “That’s nice of you to say, but it’s not true. I
“You’re only as old as you feel. You told me that once.”
I shake my head. “It’s hard to feel young when so many of my colleagues are gone.”
Instead, she doesn’t seem to know what to say in response. She fidgets for a few seconds, eats some more ice cream, and then changes the subject.
“Listen, Dad, I’m here because I have news.”
“Funny, so do I. You go first.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure. What is it?” I ask.
She takes a deep breath and looks me in the eye. “We’re moving to California.”
Jackie looked at the gleaming silver spaceship with portholes running all up and down its sides. She felt more excited than she ever had before in her six years of life. Soon, her family would leave behind this polluted, depressing planet for a new world filled with cool green fields, rich with possibilities.
Jackie’s mother and father held tightly onto her hands as the three of them walked in the line out onto the launching pad. The hoverlift floated next to them, carrying their luggage, while Jackie’s robot dog kept running ahead and back toward Jackie, matching her excitement.
Finally, after what seemed like hours but Jackie knew was only minutes according to her chronometer, Jackie and her parents made it to the open hatch of the spaceship. A stewardess, her hair dyed platinum blonde, stood at the doorway greeting the immigrants with a big smile. She took their tickets and welcomed them aboard.
“Is this really it, Dad?” Jackie asked.
Her father removed the pipe from his mouth and smiled. “It is indeed,” he said. “Goodbye, Earth! Next stop, Mars!”
—Abraham Beard,
“Dad? You’re gone again.”
“No, I’m not,” I say.
“So,” Emma says. “We’re moving to California.”
“Why?”
She takes a deep breath. “Frank’s got a new job. UCLA is offering him a tenured position. Full professor.”
“UCLA.
“Yes, California.”
“From what I hear, California is a nice place.”
She frowns and looks puzzled. “Aren’t you going to object?”
“Are you asking me to?”
“Don’t you even want to know why we’re moving?”
“You told me — Frank’s got a job offer.” I pause. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“I don’t think you’ll be able to keep working at the New-York Historical Society if you’re living in L.A. Have you found a job at a museum there?”
Now
“Oh?”
“I want to be there full time for the kids.”
I stare into her eyes, seeing the six-year-old girl who wanted nothing more than to be the first astronaut to walk on Jupiter. “Is that really what you want?”
She glares at me. “I think at least one parent should be devoted full time to raising the kids.”
I feel the sting of her words. I consider once again telling her what I’ve told her before: that times were tough, that money was tight, and that Sheila and I both had to work to support Emma properly. But then I recall the many times I shut the door of my home office on Emma to meet a deadline, and I realize that the chance for apologies and explanations has passed far into the mists of time.
Allen Davidoff walked around the floating cube of mist, careful not to let any of the tendrils touch him. There was nothing else on this planet for miles around.
The Keeper, still covered entirely in her white garment, walked three paces behind him until he finally came to a stop.
He turned to face her. “Impressive,” he said. “An atmospheric phenomenon?”
She laughed and her hazel eyes twinkled. “You are pretending to be the fool,” she said. “You know better than that.”
Allen nodded; she was right. He did know better, but he had previously allowed his hopes to be raised during his quixotic quest only to have them dashed time and time again.
“Then I’ve really found it?” he asked.
She nodded. “You have indeed.”
Allen looked back into the white mist. “It’s the Gateway of Time,” he said. “I can go anywhen into the time stream I want.”
“It’s the Gateway of Time,” the Keeper echoed. “You can go to any time period and any location in the universe you want. But there is one problem.”
Allen waited. The Keeper remained silent as Allen’s watch ticked off the seconds, and so finally he asked, “What’s the problem?”
The Keeper grinned evilly. “The only problem is, once you’ve made your choice and entered the past, you can never return. The trip is one way and final.”
“So—”
“So choose wisely.”
—Abraham Beard,
