Marooned in Realtime

through the plastic walls. He got up and stepped out into the hall; not a soul in sight. There was noise from downstairs, though. That's right: There was a big meeting scheduled first thing this morning. The fact that Yelen was willing to meet the low-techs at the dorm was more evidence that she had changed; she had not even demanded his presence. His sleeping late was a half-conscious test of his freedom. For a while he wanted to be a bystander. Managing the last meeting had been a bit... traumatic.

Wil padded down the hallway to the second-floor washroom. For once, he had the place all to himself.

What a weird dream. Wil looked at his image in the washstand mirror. There was wetness around his eyes, but he was smiling. The dream in blue had always been a choking burden, something he must forcibly ignore. But this time it reassured him, even made him happy. He hummed as he washed up, his mind playing with the dream. Virginia had seemed so real. He could still feel her touch on his cheek. He knew now how much hidden anger he had felt at Virginia; he knew, because suddenly the anger was gone. It had cut deep that Virginia had not come after him. He'd told himself that she always intended to, that she was still gathering her resources when the Singularity overtook her. He hadn't believed the excuse; he'd seen what could happen to a personality over a century. But now-for no reason but a dream-he felt differently. Well, what if Della's explanation of the Singularity was correct? What if technology had transcended the intelligible? What if minds had found immortality by growing forever past the human horizon? Why, then, something that had been Virginia might still exist, might want to comfort him.

Wil suddenly realized he was washing his face for the second time. For a moment, he and his mirror image grinned sheepishly at each other, conspirators realizing the insanity of their scheme. If he wasn't careful, he'd be another Jason Mudge, complete with guardian angels and voices from beyond the grave. Still, Della said there was something like religion hiding at the end of her materialism.

A few minutes later he was walking down the side stairs, past the cafeteria. The voices from within were loud but didn't sound angry. He hesitated, then turned away from the door. I t might be fantasy, but he wanted to keep the mood of that dream as long as possible. It had been a long time since he'd started the day feeling so good. For the moment he really believed there was 'someone who still lives, who might like you very much.'

He walked out of the dorm, into daylight.

The building was surrounded by a perfect disk of white the snow that had been brought through time with their bobble. The sunburned at the snowdrifts, raising a sublimation fog all around him. Wil walked across the slush, through the brilliant mist. He stopped at the edge of the snow and started at the almost-jacarandas and less identifiable trees that grew all around. It was already a warm day. He stepped back a pace and enjoyed the cool coming off the snow. Except for the shape of some of the hills, the world was the same as before the battle. The glaciers were tamed again, lurked near faraway peaks. Across a ravine and a few hundred meters up a hillside, there was a separate plume of sublimation fog; the golden towers of Castle Korolev gleamed faint within it.

A shadow passed over him. 'Wil!' He looked up as Tammy Robinson dropped out of the sky. She brought her platform to a low hover, just as she had when she came to invite the soot pushers to her father's party. She was even dressed in the same perfect white. She stood there a moment, looking down. 'I wanted to see you again... before I go.' She brought the platform all the way to earth, just beyond his toes. Now she was oolong[?] up at him. 'Thank you, Wil. Gerrault and Chanson would've got us all if it hadn't been for you. Now I think we can all win.' Her smile broadened. 'Yelen has given me enough equipment to leave this era.'

She was almost too perfect to look at. 'You've given up on recruiting?'

'Nope. Yelen says I can come back in a hundred years, and any time after. With Gerrault's equipment and the zygotes, you can really succeed. Another century or two, and there'll be more people here than I could ever imagine. They won't feel beaten[?] the way they do now, and a good many will be bored with civilization. There will be dozens, maybe hundreds, who'll.. come with me. And they'll be people we won't have to support. That's more than Daddy ever hoped for.' She paused a second and then said quietly, 'I hope you'll come with me, Wil.'

'S-some of us have to stay in realtime, or there'll be no civilization for you to raid, Tammy.' He tried to smile.

'I know, I know. But a hundred years from now, when I come back... what about then?'

What about then? The Robinsons thought all mysteries could be known to those who watched long enough, waited long enough. But a flatworm could watch forever and still not understand the opera. Aloud: 'Who knows how I'll feel in a hundred years, Tammy?' He stopped and just stared at her for a second. 'But if I don't come with you... and if you make it to the end of time... I hope you'll remember me to the Creator.'

Tammy flinched, then realized he wasn't mocking her 'Okay. If you stay behind, I will.' She put her hands on his shoulders and stood on tiptoe to kiss his lips. 'See you later, Wil Brierson.'

A few seconds later, Tammy was disappearing over the trees.

The one who still lives, the one who has not said goodbye? He thought not, but he had a hundred years to decide for sure.

Wil walked along the perimeter of the mist, intrigued by the way heat and cool battled at the edge of the snow. He circled the dorm and found himself staring at the entrance. They were still at it in there. He grinned to himself and started back. What the hell.

He was only partway to the entrance when the doors opened. Only one person stepped out. It was Yelen. She surveyed him without surprise. 'Hah. I wondered how long you'd stay out here.' As she came toward him, he looked for signs of anger in her pale Slavic