puzzled.
“Theoretically.”
“So what my mind did was cause us to split into nineteen ships that reached our destination.”
“That, and causing us to arrive 11,191 years before we made the jump.”
“But still moving forward in time.”
“It was a very complicated thing that you did, and you did it without any awareness of what you were doing.”
“Is this ability to influence timeflow and divide matter into nineteen copies-do other humans have this ability?”
“Perhaps,” said the expendable. “It might be latent in all humans. We have no way of knowing. Your influence on events, however, points to an exceptionally powerful ability.”
“And might my ability be transferrable to my children through my genes?”
“It is conceivable that your ability is genetic in origin rather than a mutation.”
“So if there were still nineteen copies of me, then all nineteen wallfolds would have a chance to pass on my timeflow genes.”
“That is correct.”
“Instead I will only have the potential to reproduce in one wallfold. If I get sick and die, or if I marry an infertile woman, or if my children don’t marry-my line might die out.”
“Tragically, that is always a possibility for gene-based sexual reproducers.”
“I’m just saying that I… I regret that everybody else has nineteen chances, and only I am limited to a single chance for my genes to continue.”
“Because you believe your genes would confer a great blessing upon the human race.”
Ram thought about this for a moment. “I suppose that’s what every adolescent male believes with his whole heart.”
“If they think at all.”
“But I’m not an adolescent. If I really do have some ability to manipulate time, and if it can be passed on genetically, then it would be a shame for that genetic strain to die out. I’d believe that even if it weren’t my own genes in question.”
“Are you asking us to impregnate all the females on all the ships with your DNA, so that you can be sure of having progeny?”
“No!” said Ram in horror. “What a terrible thing for a woman, to wake up pregnant-a violation of trust. It would destroy all nineteen colonies.”
“Not to mention being embarrassing when all the babies look like you,” said the expendable. “Though we find that you are not unattractive by many cultures’ standards, women are likely to be resentful and your offspring would grow up damaged in unpredictable ways by the hostility of their community.”
“Then why did you even bring up such a possibility?”
“You seemed to be asking us to ensure your reproductive success. Broadcasting your seed in this fashion would give you your best odds.”
“I don’t want odds.”
“Then find a willing woman, marry, and have a lot of babies,” said the expendable.
“I will,” said Ram.
“Then why are we having this discussion?” asked the expendable.
“Are you on a deadline? Am I delaying an urgent appointment?” asked Ram.
“Yes,” said the expendable. “You are not capable of contributing to the activities we are about to engage in.”
Still Ram did not lie down to receive his injections and begin stasis. “Promise me something,” said Ram.
“What point is a promise if you won’t remember it?” asked the expendable.
“You’ll remember it,” said Ram. “Promise me that you’ll remain functional and present in the wallfold where my children will live. Look out for them. Do everything you can to see to it that my abilities have a chance to become part of the human heritage.”
“I don’t have to promise that,” said the expendable.
“Why not?”
“Because we have already determined that to fulfil the original goal of this mission, our best course of action is to observe closely any useful or interesting traits that emerge in the different wallfolds, and manipulate events in such a way as to enhance those traits.”
“Manipulate? How?” asked Ram.
“We’re going to breed you humans like puppies,” said the expendable, “and see if we can make anything useful out of you during the next eleven thousand years.” • • • For the seventh time, Umbo found himself facing himself, listening to the same message. “It won’t work.”
Immediately he left his observation point and entered the First People’s Bank of Aressa. There was Loaf, waiting just outside the office of the chief countsman. The plan this time had been rather desperate-Loaf would make a scene, yelling about how the bank was cheating him, while Umbo snuck in and started a fire, and then in the confusion they would get into the room where the jewel was kept inside a strongbox inside a safe. Once there, Umbo would go back in time to the moment when the jewel was put into the strongbox, snatch it, and go.
That was the plan. Apparently it didn’t work.
Umbo went up the two flights of stairs to the anteroom of the counting office. Loaf saw him come in, sighed, and started to rise.
At that moment the countsman came out. “You’re here about a missing sum, I believe, sir?” the man asked Loaf with a smile.
“I found the missing money,” said Umbo at once.
“Thanks for your trouble,” said Loaf.
“I don’t think so,” said the countsman. “You’ve been spotted watching this bank for several weeks. We’ve had you followed. I think you’re planning a robbery, and each time you’re about to launch your attempt, something happens and you”-he pointed at Umbo-“come in and call it off.”
“Are you insane?” asked Loaf.
Two city guards opened the outer door and stepped inside, brandishing staves and prepared for action.
“Please sit back down,” said the countsman. “The First People’s Bank of Aressa has decided not to allow you to have an account here.”
“The law is that to be a ‘people’s bank’ you have to-” began Loaf.
“I know the law,” said the countsman. “We’re not required to keep the accounts of persons whose behavior arouses suspicion. A magistrate has already authorized the closure of your account in a privy hearing.”
“Nobody told us anything about-”
“That’s what makes it ‘privy,’” said the countsman. He held up a paper with writing on it. “Here is a certified note for the total amount that you deposited with us, including interest, and minus the costs of watching you. These two city guards will escort you downstairs, observe while the cashier pays it out, and see you to the door. If either of you ever attempts to enter again, you will both be arrested.”
“I don’t know why you think-” Loaf began again.
“There will be no discussion,” said the countsman. “However stupid bankers are upriver, we are not that stupid here.” He waved to the guards, dropped the certified note, and, as it fluttered to the floor, returned to his inner office.
Loaf looked at the guards and Umbo knew he was sizing them up. Umbo also knew that Loaf would conclude, as he always did, that he could handle both of them in a fight. But by now they had both learned that fighting always led to Umbo appearing to himself, telling himself not to let Loaf fight.
That’s why Loaf glanced at Umbo questioningly.
“No,” said Umbo.
“I didn’t see any…” Loaf’s voice trailed off.
“I can’t… because I won’t ever be allowed back in here,” said Umbo. “Especially if you do what you’re thinking.”
The two guards, who couldn’t make much sense of the conversation, still knew what Loaf’s assessing look had
