Earth laid out below me.
Floating, falling.
Steve Fletcher saw the Earth as if from space. Real, or a dream? Both were possible given recent events. He seemed to be approaching it at great speed.
To the right of his field of vision, Europe crumpled and fell into itself. The rest attenuated and slipped into nonexistence.
Steve Fletcher continued falling. "Into what," he wondered.
We can stop this, said the Voice. But I need your help.
And Steve fell–right back into his body.
Daylight! The sun shone strong into his bedroom, rising just over the horizon. A single sunbeam played across the room, illuminating the dresser. "Heck of a dream," thought Steve. His wife slept on the other side, their daughter splayed between them. A light sleeper, she came into their bedroom most nights. "I'll take her to the park today," thought Steve. "Should be warm enough to do sandcastles."
There may not be a today unless we hurry, said the Voice. Are you coming? There are others that may serve, but you are the best choice.
"Not again," thought Steve. "Let's go," he said aloud. And fell once more.
Formless void. Steve looked, if looking was the right term, around himself. Nothing. He attempted to turn and felt nothing. "Sleep paralysis?" he thought. "There's always the outside explanation, that I'm hallucinating."
Or the inside one, that you are not, said the Voice. Steve wanted to turn towards it, but it had been all around him. Come, continued the Voice, you must learn first. There is a What and a Why to our mission, but first you must know the Who.
The space around him turned from inky blackness to grey and finally resolved. Steve was sitting on a bench in a park with children playing around. "It's just a garden variety park," said Steve. "I take my kid to these all the time. What..." he trailed off since, as he looked around, no one was near him.
I am with you, said the Voice. But now you are there physically, and I cannot manifest here myself. I could simulate a body, but there is no point. Children of all ages played. It seemed to be late spring. The sun hung low over the horizon, near to setting. He looked around and saw several slides and some swings, all set in a large sandbox. There were small nooks with several different varieties of sand holders, meant for pouring sand in one end and watching it come out the other.
Steve continued looking around and inspected the cars beyond the park fence. He thought – for what was the point of speaking–"Either those are all vintage cars, or–"
Correct, said the Voice. We are some 40 years in the past. I have watched here many times, with others, for a pivotal event happens tonight. Steve continued watching. A father sat on the edge of the play area, staring at a notebook and making occasional notes. The son played in the sand.
Look there, said the Voice. Steve felt his attention drawn to a section of the park where several children were filling up sand buckets. They took them and started filling up a basin. The basin had a small hole in it so that sand would trickle out. But the buckets were small, and the children could barely reach the basin, so the flow lasted only a moment. "Daddy, daddy help," said one boy. The parent with the notebook looked up, put down his pad, and took a large bucket. With several big scoops, he filled the basin. The children, including his son, began playing with the sand stream.
Steve looked at the father, then looked again. "Hey, that's Mitchell Gallinger. He's the greatest theoretical physicist of my generation. A bit younger than I recall, though. I've been to his lectures."
Yes, that is he, said the Voice. And he is a good deal more besides that.
Steve continued, "It's a shame what happened to his–oh god. That's tonight, isn't it?"
Yes, said the Voice. And many times, we have failed to stop it. The Adversary is as invested in this moment as we.
The father–Mitchell, as Steve now recognized–looked intently at the children playing. He now made notes quickly in his notebook.
"Hey, this is one of his most well-known analogies," said Steve. "The Second Law of Thermodynamics. Entropy. The Universe tends to run from order to disorder, from a higher state of energy to a lower one. But with a big enough charge, things can run for a long time."
You don't say, replied the Voice, with a bit of a chuckle evident in the tone.
Mitchell closed his notebook and stared, distractedly, into the distance. His gaze flitted on to Steve, and moved on. As the sky darkened, Mitchell looked at his watch and then called his son. The boy bounced up, full of energy. "Dinner time," said Mitchell.
"Awwww," said the boy. But he complied. One of his playmates was also leaving. The two boys ran around each other on the way out of the park. Mitchell traded some pleasantries with the other father.
"I...I can't watch," said Steve. But in fact he could not turn away.
As they reached the gate, the two boys looked at each other. "Me first!" said Mitchell's son. Both began running across the street. "No!" shouted Mitchell, and lunged for his son.
But he was too late. In the inky twilight a car came down the street. Both boys had missed it.
Steve watched, horrified, as the drama played out–as he knew it would. Even as the driver slammed on the brakes, Steve knew it would not be enough. The car struck the boy and knocked him well into the air. He tumbled end over end. Eventually he struck the ground head-first with a sickening thud.
And as Mitchell bent over the body of his lifeless child, the air grew gray. Steve was back in the void.
He can never forget that moment, never forgive, said the Voice. He throws himself into his work. Eventually he has a chance to test his theories with a supercollider that can replicate the conditions just after the big bang. He does, indeed, manage to stop entropy for a moment. But entropy is more than just running down. It is a slow trickle of energy that keeps the atoms ordered, keeps the fields of potential that define Proton, Neutron, and Electron, and all the subatomic particles that make them up. Without entropy, the atoms lock up and collapse.
The first effect of his experiment–a small black hole–would be harmless and would evaporate quickly. But he has more insight into the subject than expected–insights we know we did not provide, that humanity is not ready for. And with these, he has designed an experiment with somewhat more effect than should be possible with your current technology. The black hole was much larger than it should have been. Even then, the effects should have been no worse than the loss of a few city blocks and a warning to humanity. But he designed more than he realized. And so this experiment managed to disrupt the state of the Universe in his local area. Matter simply...evaporated.
Now you know the Who and the What, said the Voice.
And now the Why. We must go back...back...
Steve Fletcher stood in space–and though he was in empty space, it seemed there was matter around. His eyesight had increased by several magnitudes of ability, and he could perceive both great structures and small clusters of atoms. He seemed to be near a cloud of gas several light years across. The cloud had a small glow.
After a time, there seemed to be a Presence nearby. Steve looked, and looked again. He saw a small cluster of beings, formless, but taking action. The gas cloud began to fall in on itself. One being seemed in charge, directing the others.
The Lightbringer, said the Voice. Others came to help, but he worked on the entire project. It took many eons, and he experienced them all. He did it gladly for Me, while others played in the Eternal City, and time passed differently for them.
Come, I will increase the timescale. Time shifted, and Steve saw the gas cloud coalesce. Presently it began to glow more brightly, and as gravity pulled it into a ball, nuclear fusion began. A star sprang into existence. "It's a Type I star," said Steve. "There was only hydrogen then, no other matter. We're seeing the early part of the Universe."
Yes, said the Voice. Come, let us jump ahead. Within the star, fusion created helium out of hydrogen. But it made other elements as well. There was energy to be obtained from fusing elements up to the level of Iron, but beyond that took an extra infusion of energy. I have chosen this star in particular. Watch. And as Steve watched, the star fell in on itself. There was a brilliant flash as the star went nova. In its stellar destruction, higher elements were made.
The Lightbringer had returned. Now begins the true creation, said the Voice. The Lightbringer made subtle manipulations, and carbon fused and twisted into strings. Energy from the nova blew the carbon in all directions. This occurred in many places, said the Voice.
After a moment–or was it an eon?–other sections of the gas cloud began to coalesce. First a ball of glowing gas, then fusion took, and a star formed. Pressure from the photons blew away the remaining gas in the area near the star. Dust clumped, then clumped again. The process repeated throughout that sector of the galaxy.
And the carbon fell from space, and though much of it was wasted, enough survived to begin replicating. On a myriad of worlds, replicating strings created a primordial soup. Almost all of those fizzled out, unable to advance. On a few, random chance mutated the strings to the point where they created a cell wall. But even on these, multi-celled organisms were rare. And on none of them did higher life evolve.
The Voice looked and pondered over aeons, and then made a decision. With a gesture, the Voice released a small portion of itself. And that portion, made manifest as Light, reached out and touched a world, which began to change. A small multi-celled organism started to specialize, reach out, and travel around its world. Always the Light shone on the world, and the creatures evolved quickly, with a fish taking to the surface world in a few scant eons.
"I have seen this race before," said Steve. "Is that the mission? Are we here to save them?"
No, said the Voice. We are seeing a representation only. And while we could travel back, to go so far would require breaking the rules of this Universe. All that was, all that it could be, would be lost.
A few moments later fish race–the Koroi–vanished. This has occurred many times, said the Voice. Each time, I could not save them. And on no world did intelligence evolve, save that I created it.
The scene shifted. Your galaxy, said the Voice. And at a nova the Lightbringer spun the carbon. But I had grown weary of seeing my creations destroyed, said the Voice. This time I did not attempt to bring forth intelligence. I turned my vision from the universe I had created, and slept. But we can now watch what occurred while I was absent.
Because physical laws were the same throughout this universe, the carbon strands still had the possibility of bringing forth life. As the cloud drifted through the galaxy for untold eons, strands hit many worlds. Most were gas giants, and unsuitable; or rocky lumps without the atmosphere needed for the spark to light. On a small number of suitable planets, life made a few tentative steps, and failed.
And then, on a nondescript planet with a stable sun, the twisted strands transformed the world's waters, making it a nutrient soup. In its atmosphere of Nitrogen and Carbon Dioxide, the planet's sun struck with full force, changing a random piece of the strands here, altering it nonsensically there. And the strands replicated in the nutrient soup, some unaltered, but some changed in strange ways. In one of those cases, the accumulation of hits caused the strand to grow a wall around itself.
On the surfaces near where land and water came together, a slime mold emerged.
And the Voice awoke.
This has happened on its own? wondered the Voice. And as the Voice looked at this universe's past, he saw that what he had done by intent, nature seemed to do by accident.
This one...must be different, thought the Voice.
And so he visited the planet, or at least the smallest part of him able to manifest there, and spoke to the spirit of the slime molds. It wasn't speaking in any real sense, and "spirit" is a great oversimplification, but still, a promise was made.
This world must change, said the Voice. But your realm will never decrease.
And the slime molds grew on, turning Carbon Dioxide to Oxygen. And over the innumerable epochs, some colonies cooperated and became multi-celled organisms. Some used photosynthesis to grow nutrients, while others learned to eat those using photosynthesis. A great divergence began. And still the slime molds carried on, happy in their tidal pools, wet surface areas, and volcanic vents.
Eventually life emerged from the ocean. A small animal, four-legged, dominated the seashores. They danced and frolicked for what seemed to be endless eons. And though the patience of the Voice was great, he grew anxious. For that planet's sun, though stable, would not always remain so. In a scant few billion years, that sun's output would grow enough to boil the oceans. And so, the Voice made the tiniest of pushes. But for this, another promise was needed as well.
The Voice visited the spirit of the plants, and told them "This world must change. But your realm will never diminish."
And then a change occurred. Some of the lizards began to specialize, some bigger, some smaller. They marched inland, where abundant plant life awaited for eating. And with competition, they began to change much more quickly.
In the fullness of time, the Lightbringer came to visit the Voice. "Look at what I have brought you," said the Lightbringer.
Yes, said the Voice. You have laid the groundwork. And in the Eternal City, your status shall never diminish. But this world must change.
"What?!" Screamed the Lightbringer. "You would cast me aside? It is I who have done this, I who lit the suns, I who spun the Carbon, I who sat in space for billions upon billions of years at star upon star, and now you would treat me as nothing? This is MY Creation. You will regret this." And he stalked away, and was not seen in the Eternal City again.
And over the eons the Voice wondered if the Lightbringer could yet live. For all of his beings drew life directly from him, and he could no longer feel the Lightbringer.
In a span of time that seemed rather short compared to what had come before, a running animal appeared on the plains. Members of that species looked up from time to time at the stars, and wondered what they could be.
And the Voice noticed another presence as well. The Lightbringer had returned, and as the consciousness of those species grew, so did his presence. But he seemed content to simply exist, and so the Voice left him alone.
The Voice visited the animals, and said, "Your descendants would thrive for many millions of years. Would this be enough?" And each time, the individuals would look at the time span and think it was forever. The Voice visited a flying animal as well, and pointed to a land bridge. "Cross that, and your descendants will dominate the skies for tens of millions of years. Will that be enough?" And the flying animals looked at the span of time, and thought it was forever.
And the Voice looked ahead, and he could see small tribes of animals living together, using rudimentary tools, in lives that were happy, uncomplicated, and abruptly snuffed out when the sun's output took their habitat from them.
They will not make it, thought the Voice.
And for the first time, he had to prune. But how? Any attempt at more than communication would rend the fabric of space and destroy the planet.
Presently the Lightbringer appeared. "I have beaten you!" he exulted. "You forget that I molded this space, I who know its physical laws best! It has taken millennia, but I have put this orb on a collision course with your precious planet."
But the Voice had forgotten nothing. And as a bundle of frozen gas and rock struck the planet at high velocity, he knew that he had done what he had to.
As the Lightbringer–that era's Adversary–faded to nonexistence, if he knew that he had played a role and played it well, he showed no sign.
Lightning sluiced across the African plain. Many species of animals huddled together in enclosures or under trees, each scared for itself. The Voice had been watching these animals for some time, and none were worthy of particular interest.
In the hollowed out limb of a treetop, two animals–a mated pair–huddled against the cold and wet. As another lightning burst struck, the male reached out to comfort the female.
Ah, so you would protect your mate? thought the Voice. That is...worthy. Your descendants will know joy and pain, pleasure and suffering, but they will KNOW. And he Reached with the tiniest of sparks and caused a change in the animals. Their descendants had oversized front paws and claws that extended into fingers.
Snapshots formed in Steve Fletcher's mind. The species split into myriad branches. They began to fight over food and resources. Some did not fight and stayed in the background, as evolution did not favor their rise to intelligence. "Necessary," said the Voice to Steve. "Unpleasant, but necessary." With some small glimmer of intelligence, several species fought for dominance. Bloody struggles extended over eons. Yet while brutal in the fight for resources, each species showed love and care for those within their group.
Eventually two species became adept enough at tools for that to direct their development. They traveled out of their continent seeking food, and over millennia spread across the Earth. The struggle for dominance continued, and the more their intelligence developed, the more vicious their struggles became. First as an echo, then a whisper, then a shout that could not be ignored, the Adversary rode the minds of men back into existence. The other species disappeared, unable to compete.
And the snapshots started to slow. A village located on a river delta. Plentiful food. The people there heard the higher callings of the Voice, and settled into harmonious living. For a hundred years, the people of that village lived peacefully, some farming, others specializing in crafts and arts. None worked particularly hard, and leisure was plentiful. Until a wandering tribe from outside the area–hungry, strong, and skilled in hunting–found them, killed their strongest men, and pushed the rest off the land.
A man, in a cave. He sat alone for several weeks. "Give me a vision, oh Lord! Let me see the entirety of your creation!" And as he watched, the Voice of that period reached out and gave him such a vision. He saw it all–the bursting birth of the Universe, the reach of uncounted galaxies, the unimaginable span of time until the appearance of humanity–and he cracked. Raving, he left the cave and attempted to express his vision to his fellow men. They thought him mad, and were not wrong.
That scene repeated a hundred times with a hundred different men, and no matter how the Voice restricted the vision, each time the men went insane. Eventually the Voice decided to go and tell humanity himself, but still was not particularly well understood. In the telling, the Voice made a small part of himself a separate being, yet still connected. But two was an unstable amount, and so a third came into being as well.
Finally, the Voice tried a new tactic. Here a vision of water and mass displacement. There a dream of dancing carbon atoms. A group of obsessive-compulsives, desiring all angles to add up to something meaningful, created geometry. Two millennia later, a quibble with the exactness of that geometry would unfold itself over hundreds of years to explain yet another aspect of creation. Slowly, the Voice explained the building blocks of creation to small groups of people able to understand.
And still, around them, wars were fought, and who could call the aggressor bad? Resources remained scarce, and one group's enemy was another's protector. While the worst of humanity reveled in war, sometimes the highest valor and greatest strategy of individual humans was expressed in it.
And we come, finally, to this, said the Voice.
"Juden. Raus." The SS officer slouched, lazily, his rifle pointed at several prisoners in the truck. "Take those shovels and get out." As the prisoners filed out, he took a swig from a bottle–an extra ration of liquor provided to concentration camp guards. He passed it to the other guard with him, who took a swig.
"Start digging. Over there." The group of prisoners–all Jews–started to dig. None were over 40 years old, and there was a younger teen among them. "Make a ditch. Make it deep." The prisoners complied, although they might have overpowered the guards. Where would they go if they escaped? And while the prisoners dug, the guards sat and smoked, their rifles kept ready.
When the ditch was long and deep, the guards stood. "Enough. Put the shovels in the truck. Line up over there." The prisoners shuffled, fatigued, expecting to go back to the camp. "Kneel down," said the guard. "Now we solve the Judenfrage," he said, shooting the first in the head.
Steve reacted involuntarily. "Noooooooo!" he shouted, reaching out an insubstantial hand to bat away the rifle. And...the rifle moved ever so slightly.
The sky darkened. Events moved at a snail's pace.
We are at the edge of my range, said the Voice. I cannot touch him without destroying creation. But I can empower you. You can affect this if you wish. But look to see who you are saving.
Steve looked. And as he looked, he recognized a young face. The young face of Mitchell Gallinger.
"I caused this?" asked Steve incredulously. "I saved him when I shouldn't, leading to all of Earth being destroyed?"
In a sense, said the Voice. The first time, Joshua saved him. His incredible mind...we wanted to save him from this travesty. We have manipulated this event many times. You are just the latest, but we have meddled overmuch. To continue to visit this time would wear out causality and bring on disaster a few decades earlier. This will be the last visit. If you wish, you may allow him to die right now. It would be the expedient thing to do.
"No," said Steve. "There has to be a better way."
Very well, said the Voice. That one, over there. The Voice indicated a prisoner further down the line. He cannot be saved. But he does not want to die helplessly. Steve reached with his mind, placed a vision of where the rifles were located and how to slow down the guards.
With a knowledge greater than he could have obtained on his own Steve then touched Mitchell Gallinger, freeing his mind to interact. They stood, insubstantial, in the field. "Who...are you?" asked Mitchell.
"A friend," said Steve. "I can save you, but there will be a price. We have not much time. In a moment, the guards will move again. That man will charge the guards, giving you time to get away. Run. Run away. As fast as you can." The sky began to lighten, the moment to fade. "Quickly now," said Steve.
People began to move again. The rifle that Steve had pushed went off, missing its target. Down the line, the other man jumped up and charged. The second guard shot, hitting him in the torso.
"Run!" Steve shouted. "Get away now!" The first guard recovered, shooting the man several times. He writhed on the ground, spent, but successful. And Mitchell ran. And ran. And eventually hid.
For weeks, Mitchell hid in the countryside, eating from crop fields, sleeping in abandoned sheds or caves, keeping away from any other people. Eventually the Allied forces came through, and Mitchell realized that he no longer needed to hide. A stranger in his own country, he sought sanctuary with the Allies. Over time, he came to the United States.
The vision turned to mist, and Steve found himself in the void again. "And now?" asked Steve.
Now, said the Voice, nothing has changed. Worse, Mitchell believes that the price you mentioned was the life of his son. He remains as dedicated to his work as he did previously.
They continued to drift. "Is that all?" asked Steve. "I made a choice, and now it's over?"
No, said the Voice. We can visit him again. The same day you saw before. But as before, we dare not meddle more than once. If you fail again, I will need to take...extraordinary measures...they are not pleasant. An atomic war in your recent past would do it. I could unprevent one of the many I have stopped. A plague. A tidal wave. The Adversary would thwart any smaller measures.
As they drifted, the void took on form, then speed. Steve lurched forward, faster and faster. And he fell. Right onto a park bench.
Steve blinked. He was back at the park, in a bench set well back from the playground. Steve looked around and saw Mitchell Gallinger in the same spot. His son played in the sand.
I am beside you, said the Voice. Steve blinked again, and saw an old man. You are actually present in this time, while I am just outside. You see me as many would. Others shall visit shortly. Choose your actions wisely.
"Are you saying I should kill him?" asked Steve. "For the sake of expediency? And what happens if I do?"
You would save your reality, said the Voice, but you yourself would be lost to the Adversary. It...has happened before. I have said that murder is inexcusable, and so it remains, even if done in my cause. All must obey this rule, even myself. The Adversary could claim you and I could not stop it.
The form next to him shimmered and changed. "And what kind of reality would that be?" asked the figure.
"Joshua." said Steve. It was a statement, not a question. There could be no mistaking the calm majesty of his presence. Joshua made no claims, but on their last meeting, Steven had called him Yeshua Ben Josef, and Joshua had not contradicted him.
Joshua looked around the playground and considered his words, finally speaking. "If we always take the expedient route, then when are the higher aspirations of humanity expressed? Shall we let the Adversary dictate the terms of our existence? No, we must live by our principles. We do not blame humanity for what it has done in the past. But it is time to grow up."
The form shimmered again, and remained shimmering–the third being, brought into existence by the tension between the Voice and Joshua. Look inside yourself, it said, whispering in an ethereal fashion, similar to the Voice and yet different, weaker but more inspiring. Within you is the gate to our wisdom, and the combined wisdom of your entire race. Look deep. You will find an answer.
The form shimmered again, and took the shape of an unfamiliar man. Steve felt an immediate aversion to him, and knew he was none of the three that had just visited. "Look at you!" he exclaimed. "Running around the universe, up and down through time. And for what? To fight his fight with me. Why doesn't he face me himself?"
"If I believe what I have seen, it is because to do so would break this Creation," said Steve. "That would destroy this reality–and you as well."
"I would finally be free," said the Adversary–for who else could it be? "I cannot escape! He manipulated me into killing the dinosaurs, did you know that? And I slept for a time, but then the minds of man brought me back. What has he manipulated you into doing? Will you kill that man, save Creation, and accept your perdition?"
"I could kill him, I suppose," said Steve. "Well, I'm no killer, but a way could be found. He may even accept it, or do it himself, to save his child. For it is certain that you will kill that child tonight."
"I think you misunderstand my intention," said the Adversary.
The form shimmered again and the Voice returned. Time is short. Make your decision soon.
"Why don't I just tell him?" asked Steve.
My son, said the Voice, you could not just tell him. You would need to give him a vision. A strong vision. And you are from the future, and your vision would contain the collective unconscious of that future. It would drive him mad. And contaminate the collective unconscious of this era, driving millions even more mad. Perhaps all of humanity. Do not do this.
Steve got up and walked over to the other bench. As he approached, Mitchell looked up. His face was blank as Steve approached. "You. I'd convinced myself that you were a hallucination," said Mitchell. Steve sat down.
"A fair conclusion," said Steve.
Mitchell pointed at the playground. "My son," he said.
"Yes, I see," said Steve.
Mitchell continued. "I play with him sometimes, but my job at the University takes up much of my time. If I want to be a research scientist, I need to spend a lot of time at work."
"Yes. Yes, there is that," said Steve. And within him, the answer he needed struggled to come to the surface, and then became clear.
Mitchell looked at him. "You mentioned a price. Is that price now? Will you take me? I have had a life, brief though it is. I ask only that you spare my son."
"No," said Steve. "I will not take you. Although you would need only to will it. And that...might spare some trouble. More I cannot say."
They sat silent for a moment. "My price is this," said Steve. "You need not do this, but this is what I ask. You say you would die for your son, but would you live? I ask you to live. But not as a research scientist. Throw away your notebook. Be a teacher. But only a teacher. And spend your time with your family instead of at work."
"And my dreams?" asked Mitchell. "I have...so many visions...I want to express them."
"You could," said Steve. "But then there would be a different price. I cannot explain. But I make my request in good will."
"Mmm." said Mitchell. "You know, my people don't believe in you. I suppose I don't believe in you. But here you are."
"I am not who you think I am," said Steve. "But I know him. And it is enough that he believes in you."
Mitchell looked at his book, then at his son. Placing the book in his bag, he called to his child. "Hey! Let's do sandcastles!" They both picked up shovels and began filling a sand bucket. Steve sat and watched. And outside the park, a car passed by and struck no one.
The park shimmered and faded. Steve found himself back in the void.
You did it, said the Voice. He never became a research scientist, never led the team that created the doomsday equipment. You are safe.
"But I destroyed him" said Steve. "I took away everything that he was."
And saved his life. And the life of his son. He considers it an equitable trade.
Steve looked, and saw the Adversary facing him. "What a pathetic little minion you are," he said. The Adversary then addressed the Voice. "I made you acknowledge me," he snarled, then turned and disappeared.
"What next?" asked Steve.
You may return home now, if you wish. We are proceeding through time even now.
"And Mitchell? The Adversary is not known for letting things go."
He will meet his end, in much the manner foretold. Some things can be delayed but not denied. If you wish, we can visit him one final time.
"Yes," said Steve.
Clack. Click clack. The sound of metal on metal reverberated through the hall. Shttook-clack. A magazine went into its holder. Snick snack. The first bullet entered the chamber.
"I'll get them," thought the student. But he wasn't very clear on who "they" were. Thoom. Thoom. Thoom. He stomped down the hallway in heavy boots. "I'll get all you bullies!" he shouted, then slammed open a classroom. Blam! The first shot went off. Students scattered. Aiming indiscriminately, he shot into the crowd. Blam! Blam! Blam! Several students fell.
The shooter left the room and moved down the hall. Some students took a chance and ran through the hallway, trying to escape. Blam! One more fell.
Mitchell Gallinger heard the shots. And he remembered a day almost sixty years ago.
Steve and the Voice watched from outside reality. "Must this be?" asked Steve.
No, said the Voice. You have saved him, twice now, and his future is in your hands. You may save him again if you wish.
Steve Reached, and the sky darkened. He touched Mitchell, entering his mind. "You again," said Mitchell. "Is this your doing?"
"No. But I can save you again, if you wish. You need only run. Go through the windows. Jump to the ground."
"And what of them?" asked Mitchell. He waved towards the students in the room. His students.
"I...cannot help them," said Steve. "Only you."
"Then I shall stay," said Mitchell. "I have had my life. On a day sixty years ago, a man I hardly knew saved my life, just before he died. He charged the guard and let me escape. I didn't even know his name. And now? I shall save as many as I can. You helped save me and the life of my child." He looked at Steve, a fierce pride in his eyes. "I am Mitchell Graham Adelbert Francis Gallinger and I will save the lives of these students. Return me please. And help me if you can."
The sky lightened, and Mitchell turned to the door. "Run, class, run! Out the windows! Get away!" Mitchell moved to bar the door. The shooter arrived and tried to push his way in. Steve shoved as hard as he could with his insubstantial form against the lock, and held it for a few seconds. More students hurried out the windows. The shooter took his rifle and shot through the door. The first shot missed Mitchell, but the second hit him in the torso. He lost his grip. The shooter came in and continued firing. "I'll get you all!" he shouted, unaware in his delirium that those in the classroom had nothing in common with those who had bullied him.
And as he gasped his last, Mitchell still reached for the shooter, trying to slow him down even at the end.
Abruptly, the vision vanished. You must return, now, said the Voice. There has been too much manipulation of time.
Earth laid out below me.
Floating, Falling.
Returning home.
Steve fell from the edge of nothingness towards Earth. First a point, then a ball, then he could see continents. Steve fell towards home. In Europe he saw no crumpling, no dramatic destruction. "It's just a collider now," he thought.
And then the ball lost its curvature and became a surface, a city, a street...and Steve fell. Right back into his body.
"Honey? Hope you had a nice rest," said his wife. "You've been tossing and turning for hours. I know you needed sleep, but you did promise to take our kid to the park today. And she's been getting antsy. She's starting to drive me crazy; could you get her out of the house please?"
"Um. Give me a minute," said Steve. He sat up, trying to clear the cobwebs from his brain. If that wasn't real, it was the realest hallucination a person could have, he thought.
"Daddy! Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!" His little girl climbed on the bed. She started jumping up and down. "Park! Let's go park!"
"Hey little one!" said Steve. His daughter reached in and gave him a hug. "Let me talk to your mommy. We're gonna make a big park trip." He looked at the clock. Already 2 pm. At least the sun wouldn't be strong, so sunburn wasn't a problem.
"Honey? Could you pack some food? I'll take her out for a long time, and you can have a rest." Steve trundled off for a shower, dressed quickly, and packed the playground toys in the car. His wife gave him a kiss, and they went off.
Steve went to their favorite park. Not too big, small enough so that he could always see his daughter. Fences that would keep a kid inside and protected surrounded the park, leaving only one entry point. Good play equipment and sand filled a section of the enclosed area, with a field covering the rest.
When they got there, Steve's daughter ran to the entrance and said "Kids!" Her favorite term to show her excitement at seeing other children. She stomped on a few dry leaves on the way in, then went straight for her favorite slide. Steve placed the toys on the sand. When she was done on the slide, she came over and played with the toys, and they built some sand castles. When there was a sufficient number of houses, she jumped up and stomped on them, yelling "Toke ee oh!" in emulation of a Godzilla movie they had watched together.
Some other children came over and played as well. And for hours, Steve simply watched, most of the time, and helped her play sometimes. And always watched out for her protection.
When the sun set, and most parents left, still Steve stayed and let his child play until the end of the day had truly arrived. And if, in that period, two others joined him on the bench, no one could tell the difference.
When the day had truly ended, when the last gasp of illumination had been extinguished and all was dark, then the last group of parents took their children inside where it was warm and light. As a good Father would.