Bearing an Hourglass

  "I don't want a sword!" Norton protested. But in the end he had to concede it necessary for this training and he accepted Gawain's sword, which was shipped to the park for him. The weapon was enchanted, but they pretended it wasn't, and he made progress in handling it and developing stamina.

  The months passed, and Norton's depression eased without entirely dissipating, like a mountain slowly weathering down. There was indeed pleasure in companionship, even that of a ghost, and in activity, even practice in swordplay. And at one point the sword was useful: two anti-wilderness thugs, enraged by Norton's stern challenge to their despoilment of the park—they had not only littered, they had cut a live sapling down—attacked him with their knives and were brought up short when Norton calmly drew his sword and demonstrated his growing proficiency with it. He cut a lock of hair off each, using swings that somehow seemed to be heading for their necks, and they fled, fearing that an ear or a nose would be next. Norton was not generally a violent man, but he did indeed feel like a hero in that instance. If there was one thing that really set him off, it was abuse of the wilderness; there was so little of it remaining, and what there was, was so carefully cultivated. He deposited the locks of hair in the police box; the authorities would analyze it and have the identities of the culprits in an hour. Unless this happened to be a first offense, which was doubtful considering their attitude, they would be arrested and penalized before the day was out. A wilderness-phobia-spell or litter-eating-enchantment was just the punishment that type needed!

  Gawain, indulging in his periodic checks on the status of his heir, reported in due course that Lila had birthed a fine, healthy daughter. Not as good as a son, of course, but at least it was proof that this pie had been finger-free. "And the next should be a boy, who shall inherit the estate. Primogenitor, you know—the first-born male."

  Norton shrugged. This really wasn't his business.

  "There's no man on the estate now," Gawain said as if just thinking of it. "You could still go and—you know."

  "No," Norton said, but without the force of his prior refusals. After all, over a year had passed, and there was only so much wilderness to discover. The pleasures of a comfortable apartment and a voluptuous woman...

  Gawain pounced on his hesitation with the practiced expertise of a warrior. "At least come see her! I swear, you never saw architecture like hers! And she's a passionate creature, too. She gets bored, you know, alone on the estate."

  "But there are surely other men—"

  "Ah, but none as good as you, Norton! I really would prefer to have my son sired by you! He may grow up to protect the wilderness..."

  Norton wavered and lost. "All right."

  They took the nearest elevator to the basement, then matter-mitted to the city of Gawain's estate. Mattermission was not cheap transport, but the estate was paying for it. Then they took the belts to the address. Soon they were there. It was just as Norton remembered it; the mere sight of the door was a shock to his system. Here he had first seen Orlene...

  "Oh," Gawain said apologetically. "I can't—"

  "I remember. You can't share a room with her. She can't see or hear you, and may doubt you exist." Norton wondered what power determined the ghost's imperceptibility. Could the woman have seen him before she married him? Would he have vanished the moment she said, "I do"? What was the point in this loss of awareness? The supernatural did not seem to make a great deal of sense at times.

  He knocked on the door, feeling like a teenage suitor, though he was now nearing forty. In a moment its viewer scanned him; then it opened. Lila stood there. "Oh, you're Norton!" she exclaimed breathily. "I know you from your picture!"

  Norton looked at her. Voluptuous she was indeed. Too much so; she had evidently put on weight during her pregnancy and not bothered to take it off after. Now she reminded him somewhat of a cow. Orlene had always been trim, even during her gravid period; she had not deposited flab on her thighs or chin. Lila had. She was still voluptuous rather than fat, but before long that distinction would become academic.

  But it was more than that. Lila, in his eyes, was an imposter here. He knew she was legitimate; she had done the job she was supposed to do. She had succeeded where Orlene had failed, delivering a fully healthy baby, and she deserved credit. But his emotion refused to concede that. He could not touch this woman without feeling unfaithful to Orlene.

  Sick at heart, he turned away. He knew he would never return here.

  He was on Mars when Gawain caught up to him again. He was trekking across the cold, red sands, wearing a planet-suit and respirator. The ghost fell in beside him, as he had done in the park on Earth. Gawain, of course, needed no respirator; he was in shirt sleeves. At times Norton wondered about that, too. Surely Gawain had been killed in armor; why wasn't he still wearing that? Did ghosts have phantom wardrobes? Could they change clothing at will? Evidently so.

  "There's really not much to see here," Gawain said. "Just sand, sand, and more sand. Why are you here?"

  "Because it's far from Earth," Norton replied crossly. "I like to see new things."

  "And it makes it harder for me to find you?"

  "That, too."

  "I bet you thought I wouldn't be able to get here, since magic is not an interplanetary force."

  "True."

  "But you forgot I have access to the estate mattermitter. It was science, not magic, that brought me here."

  "Live and learn."

  "And now I have found you again."

  "So I noticed. Now go away."

  "Not quite yet."

  "Gawain, you have your baby! If there's no male heir, a female qualifies. Why don't you retire to Heaven now?"

  "Well, actually. Heaven is not quite assured."

  "Wherever. It can't be worse than impotence on Earth, can it?"

  Gawain shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not. But I'm not going yet, because my business on Earth isn't quite finished. I need a male heir. This is not a legal matter, it's personal."

  "Then don't waste your energy with me! Go find another bull for your cow."

  "Oh, I have, I have! But these things take time."

  "You mean I'm stuck with you for another nine months?"

  "Not exactly. But I do feel responsible for you."

  "You—for me?"

  "Yes, me for you. After all, I got you into this. I brought you to Orlene and I messed with the heir's bloodline. So I set you up and pulled you down. I can't blame you for being upset."

  "That's over now," Norton said grimly. "You meant no harm."

  "Still, it's a burden on my soul."

  "How can a ghost have a burden on his soul? I thought a ghost was a soul."

  "Yes. So the burden has strong leverage. I feel the weight of it, pulling me down toward Hell."

  "But you were destined for Heaven!"

  "Yes, I was, at the time of my death," Gawain agreed. "But the balance was close. You know the bit; it's as easy for a rope to pass through the eye of a needle as for a rich man to go to Heaven. Because I was a man of honor, even though my employment was not the kind you approve, I was more good than evil—barely. Then when I messed up your life, my balance shifted to negative."

  "I thought a person's earthly account was fixed at the moment of death. After all, if damned souls could change their status after death, they'd all be scrambling to tilt themselves back toward Heaven, after sinning freely in life."

  "You're right; it's fixed at death," Gawain agreed. "Or at least the initial setting is fixed; those who go to Hell will eventually win their way to Heaven, but they have a few centuries or millennia of misery before they expiate their sins sufficiently. A dead man has only a millionth of the leverage a live man has; that's why it's so much better to set your course correctly in life. But ghosts are borderline cases, as are the Incarnations. They aren't yet completely committed to Heaven or Hell, you see. If they interfere with the affairs of the living, they must answer for it, and the charge goes on their account. That was the risk I took, tr
ying to arrange for my heir. Most people won't risk it, which is why there are so few real ghosts around, but I'm a fool for lineage. So now I'd better undo the damage I've done to your life, or it's Hell for me, literally."

  At last Norton grasped the nature of the ghost's concern. "I'm sorry if you are doomed to Hell, but the damage is done. If I could rejoin Orlene—I mean, if I could get to know her before any of this happened, I surely would. But that's impossible."

  "No, no, it's not!" Gawain said eagerly. "There is a way! I knew you'd be interested. I talked to Clotho about it, and she agreed to arrange it—if you wanted."

  "Arrange what?"

  Now the ghost was diffident. "Well, I assumed you'd like to travel back to see Oriene, before I married her. Of course, there is a small complication—"

  "I don't trust your small complications!"

  "But it's an opportunity that comes only once in a lifetime! What future on Earth have you got, anyway?"

  "Not much," Norton admitted. "That's why I'm touring Mars."

  "I mean, as a living man?"

  Norton halted abruptly, stirring up a swirl of red dust. It settled about his boots more slowly than he was used to, because of the reduced Martian gravity. That dust could really be something in the storm season! "My life will end?"

  "Well, not exactly," Gawain said, shuffling his feet without raising any dust.

  "Maybe you'd better tell me just precisely exactly what the hell you have in mind, to save your soul from Hell."

  "Nice phrasing, that," the ghost said uncomfortably. "You see, I discovered there is one person, one entity, who can travel back in time, and he's just about to vacate his office. So if you get there before then, you can assume it. You're a good man; Clotho says you qualify and she should know."

  "Who is this Clotho you keep mentioning?"

  "Oh, didn't I tell you? She's another aspect of Fate. There are three, you see; she's the spinner. So if you take that job, you'll have the power to travel in time and you can do anything you want, any time you want. You can go meet Oriene when she's a child or when she's seventeen. Maybe you can spare her the whole problem that caused her death and live with her the rest of her life. It's all right with me; I've got Lila now and a son in the making."

  "You're talking paradox! It's impossible to change the past!"

  "Not for this office. This is the one person who is immune from paradox, because he controls time."

  "What's this about an office?"

  "The office of Chronos. The Incarnation of Time."

  "The Incarnation of—you mean, like Thanatos?"

  "Exactly. In fact, Thanatos was the one who suggested it. He talked with you, remember. He likes you. He recommended you for the position, and the Green Mother endorsed it—I tell you, Norton, it's yours if you want it. You can be the new Chronos!"

  Norton was stunned. "What—what happened to the old Chronos?"

  "Nothing bad. He's getting born, or maybe conceived—I'm not sure when it counts—so he has to step down. He'll go to Heaven; his account is in good order."

  "Getting born? But his whole life should be ahead of him!"

  "No, it's behind him."

  "I don't—"

  "Well, that's the complication. You see, Chronos lives backward. He has to, to know when everything has happened—I mean, when it will happen. That's his job—to time things. So when you assume the office, you'll proceed backward in time, until the date of your birth or whatever; then you'll have to step down, because you won't exist any more. But since you're close to forty, you have about as much life behind you as ahead of you; you'll come out even that way. Time is no office for a young man! And you'll be able to be with Orlene again! Just think of that!"

  "My head is spinning! There are so many questions—"

  "Well, come and take a look! If you change your mind, you don't have to take the Hourglass."

  "The Hourglass?"

  "The symbol of Chronos' power. When you take that, you assume the office, till birth do you part. But we must hurry; we have a long way to go, and I promised Clotho you'd be there today."

  "Today! But I need time to think! A decision like this—I never even heard of the office of Chronos before! I—"

  "You can think on the way. Come on—summon a dunescooter; it will take too long by foot."

  Bemused, Norton obeyed. He spoke into his suit radio, and in a moment the scooter was on the way to his coordinates.

  While they waited for it, Norton pondered his decision.

  To live backward—to see Orlene again, alive and happy—yet he knew it would be impossible to interact with her, for that would change history. If he went to her before she married Gawain, so that she never became the ghostbride, then Gawain would not summon Norton to sire the heir, so Norton would never meet her and love her—paradox. It just made no sense! It was impossible. Obviously he would not be able to interact with her, but only to watch her invisibly, the way Gawain had; Norton would be no more than a ghost to her. And yet even that was tempting, as the only way he could see her at all.

  They reached the nearest transport station, then mattermitted to Mars City and from there to Earth. Gawain faded into invisibility during this part of the journey, because not everyone understood about ghosts, especially customs inspectors. But he faded back in when they were alone, continuing to direct Norton to the correct address. This, as it turned out, was in a rundown section of a declining city. There were no pleasant levels here, no wilderness park topping; just a single level of decrepit pavement and foam-concrete apartment buildings. It was the kind of place a stranger was apt to get mugged.

  Sure enough, a group of young toughs spotted him and spread out to cut him off. Norton was weaponless; he had, after all, been exploring Mars until recently, and it would have been pointless to carry Gawain's enchanted sword there.

  "Don't worry about it," Gawain said. "I'll see you through safely."

  "But you can't touch anyone!" Norton muttered. Gawain smiled. Suddenly he was in the uniform of a riot cop, cattleprod at the ready. "Set me up," he murmured.

  Norton caught on. "Hey, sir," he said loudly to his companion. "This ain't a bust; we're just checking for draft dodgers."

  Gawain waved the prod. "Anybody I catch is a dodger. I guarantee it. I never missed a quota yet. A few pricks on max with this and he'll confess. 'Specially if I ram it up the—here, I'll prove it! Wanna make book on whether I can net one within one minute?" He veered to head toward the biggest of the approaching toughs. "Hey, you—c'mere! Got something to show you." He gestured with the prod, smirking.

  The tough slipped between two buildings and vanished. The others faded back warily.

  Gawain brought a phantom radio to his face. "Hey, Snorkel—spread the net; we've got some live meat here!"

  Suddenly the street was empty. Norton smiled; the ghost did have his uses.

  They came to a halt in a rubble-strewn vacant lot. Norton was surprised, because space was precious. Gawain looked at his watch, and that, too, surprised Norton; how could a ghost have a functioning timepiece? "Fifteen minutes to spare; he'll be along soon."

  "Chronos?"

  "Sure. He has chosen this treasured spot to pass on the Hourglass."

  "You mean this is where he was born, so this is where—?"

  "Oh, no, of course he wasn't born here! That address is far away."

  "But you said he lived backward, so—"

  "He does—and you will too. But it's not a literal retracing of his life. That would be pointless."

  "I think it's impossible! The paradox involved—"

  "I told you—Incarnations are exempt from paradox. His life proceeds forward, for him; it just seems backward to us."

  "I'm not sure I like this at all! It doesn't make sense!"

  Gawain's mien became serious. "Believe me, it does make sense; you just have to learn to appreciate the manner it makes sense. Now Fate has gone to some trouble to set up this excellent deal for you. Note that no one else is her
e to take the Hourglass. The chance of a lifetime is being handed to you on a platter—all because the Incarnations are sorry about that little mistake with the baby. They help one another out in cases like that, you see. You would be ungracious indeed to turn it down at this late hour."

  "But I never asked for it!" Norton protested. "I'm not sure I could handle it! I know nothing about time! All this is so—I mean, why here?"

  "Because this is where they erected a fine monument to Chronos, savior of the world, or something like that. It's a very significant spot for him. For the office."

  Norton looked around. "What monument, where? I think we have the wrong address."

  "In the future, of course," Gawain explained patiently. "He comes from the future, remember. This whole region will be renovated and formed into a splendid park, dominated by the monument. People will throng to visit it. Naturally he feels close to this spot."

  Norton was becoming increasingly nervous. "Why isn't he here, then? There can't be more than ten minutes left."

  "He's approaching from the other direction. You'll see him only at the moment of the transfer of the Hourglass."

  "From the future?" Norton asked, his brain seeming to heat with the effort of digesting this concept.

  "All you have to do is take the Hourglass when you see it," Gawain said. "It will appear right here." He showed where someone had marked a crude X on the packed ground. "You'll have to handle it yourself after that, because we'll be going in different directions."

  "Different directions?" Norton felt like an idiot, unable to organize his thoughts, let alone his attitude.

  "I'll continue forward," the ghost explained. "You'll be going back. You'll be doing your own thing. Actually, I'll probably just relax and go to Heaven, catching it while I qualify so I don't have the chance to mess up again. It doesn't make any difference; you won't see me."

  The ghost's balance would be shifted to positive by this good deed, Norton remembered. Assuming it was a good deed. Well, if it wasn't, Gawain would pay the price! The ghost would not have another chance, for Norton would be committed.