Time Travelers Never Die Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Epigraph

  PART ONE - ALL THE TIME IN THE WORLD

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  PART TWO - FOOTPRINTS ON THE SANDS

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  PART THREE - TIME OUT OF JOINT

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33

  CHAPTER 34

  CHAPTER 35

  CHAPTER 36

  CHAPTER 37

  CHAPTER 38

  CHAPTER 39

  CHAPTER 40

  CHAPTER 41

  CHAPTER 42

  CHAPTER 43

  CHAPTER 44

  CHAPTER 45

  EPILOGUE

  Citations:

  Novels by Jack McDevitt

  ANCIENT SHORES

  ETERNITY ROAD

  MOONFALL

  INFINITY BEACH

  TIME TRAVELERS NEVER DIE

  The Academy (Priscilla Hutchins) Novels

  THE ENGINES OF GOD

  DEEPSIX

  CHINDI

  OMEGA

  ODYSSEY

  CAULDRON

  The Alex Benedict Novels

  A TALENT FOR WAR

  POLARIS

  SEEKER

  THE DEVIL’S EYE

  Collections

  OUTBOUND

  CRYPTIC: THE BEST SHORT FICTION OF JACK MCDEVITT

  THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

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  Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  This is an original publication of The Berkley Publishing Group.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  ACE and the “A” design are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  eISBN : 978-1-101-15125-9

  1. Time travel—Fiction. I. Title.

  PS3563.C3556T56 2009

  813’.54—dc22

  2009031016

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  For Barry Malzberg,

  for his encouragement

  Acknowledgments

  My appreciation to Ginjer Buchanan, who’s been an essential part of these projects for almost a quarter century; to Bert Yeargan and Joe Garner, who showed me the way around a dentist’s office; to Sara and Bob Schwager, who made their presence felt to a degree previously unknown; to Ralph Vicinanza, for his continued support; to Athena Andreadis, who acted as guide and translator at Alexandria; to Robert Dyke, who kept me on track. And, of course, as always, to Maureen.

  Lives of great men all remind us

  We can make our lives sublime,

  And, departing, leave behind us

  Footprints on the sands of time.

  —LONGFELLOW, “A PSALM OF LIFE”

  PROLOGUE

  THEY buried him on a gray morning, unseasonably cold, threatening rain. The mourners were few, easily constraining their grief for a man who had traditionally kept his acquaintances at a distance. The preacher was white-haired, feeble, himself near the end, and Dave wondered what he was thinking as the wind rattled the pages of his prayer book.

  “Ashes to ashes—”

  Shel had been the first time traveler. Well, the second, really. His father had been first. But of all the people assembled at the funeral, only Dave was aware of any of that.

  He stood with hands thrust into his coat pockets. He’d buried friends before—Al Caisson after he’d been struck down by an aneurysm, and Lee Carmody, who’d fallen out of a tree at Scout camp. But neither loss had been this painful. Maybe because Shel had seemed so alive. Maybe because he and Shel had shared so much. It was true the guy had been odd, sometimes annoying, unpredictable. Selfish, even. He didn’t have a lot of friends. But on that final day, Dave realized that he’d loved him. Had never known anyone like him.

  “—In the sure and certain hope—”

  Dave wasn’t all that confident about a resurrection, but he knew with cold clarity that Adrian Shelborne still walked the earth in other ages. Even up ahead somewhere. Shel had admitted to only brief jumps downstream, nothing beyond a month or so, just enough to satisfy his curiosity. But Dave had sensed recently that he was hiding something. Shel, he suspected, had gone deeper into the future than he’d admitted.

  Not that it mattered anymore.

  The preacher finished, closed his book, and raised his hand to bless the polished orchid-colored coffin. The wind blew, and the air was heavy with approaching rain. The mourners, many anxious to be about the day’s business, bent their heads, queued up, and walked past, placing lilies atop the coffin. When it was done, they lingered briefly, murmuring to each other. Helen stood off to one side, looking lost.

  Lover with no formal standing. Not even known to Jerry or the other family members. She dabbed jerkily at her eyes and kept her gaze riveted on the gray stone that carried his name and dates.

  She looked his way, and their eyes touched.

  The mourners began walking toward their cars, exchanging a few last words, starting the engines, driving away. A few seemed reluctant to leave. Among them, Helen.

  Dave strode over and joined her. “You okay?”

  She nodded yes.

  Shel had never understood how Dave had felt about her. He used to talk about he
r a lot when they were upstream. How she’d enjoy Victorian London. Or St. Petersburg before the first war. And, of course, he’d never shared the great secret with her. That was always something he was going to do later.

  For that matter, she had never understood how Dave felt. He’d introduced her to Shel and stood by while he walked off with her. Dumb.

  It occurred to him that maybe he was getting a second chance. The thought no sooner entered his mind than a flush of guilt ran through him. He pushed the idea away.

  Still—

  She was trembling.

  Her cheeks were wet.

  “I’ll miss him, too,” David said.

  “I loved him, Dave.”

  “I know.” He caught her arm. “Let’s get out of here.”

  They started toward the road. Tears leaked out of her eyes. She stopped, tried to say something, tried again. “I would have liked,” she said, when she’d regained a degree of control, “to have had a chance to tell him how much he meant to me. How glad I was to have known him.”

  “He knew, Helen. He was obsessed with you.” She sniffle d, wiped her eyes. “Are you going back to the house for coffee?”

  “No. I think I’ve had enough.”

  “Why don’t you let me take you home?”

  “It’s all right,” she said. “I’ll be okay.” Her car was parked near a stone angel.

  Linda Keffler, Shel’s boss for a good many years, came over and expressed her condolences. “We’ll miss him,” she said.

  She obviously had no idea who Helen was, so David introduced them. “They were close friends,” he said.

  “I’m so sorry, dear. To lose him like that—”

  Helen didn’t try to speak. She just stood, trying to control her emotions.

  Linda looked a bit weepy herself. “Let me know,” she said, “if there’s anything I can do.” Then she was striding toward her car, moving quickly, anxious to be away.

  When she was gone, Helen started for her own car. Dave walked with her. “When you get a chance,” she said, “give me a call.”

  He opened her car door for her. She got in, started the engine, and lowered the window. “Thanks for everything, Dave.”

  She raised her left hand in farewell and drove slowly away. She had known so much about Adrian Shelborne. And so little.

  JERRY was Shel’s older brother. He wasn’t much like Shel. He smiled more easily and was more aware of what was going on around him. He’d been staring down at the coffin, which waited on broad straps for the workmen who would lower it into the ground. When he saw that Helen was gone, he came over. “Dave,” he said, “I appreciate your coming.”

  “No way I wouldn’t have.”

  “I know. I know you guys were pretty close.” He took a deep breath. “It’s hard to believe.”

  “Yeah. I’m sorry, Jerry.”

  “You coming over to the house?”

  “Yeah. I could use a drink.”

  They shook hands, and Jerry walked away. Dave thought how superficial the guy was. This was the first time he could recall that Jerry had actually seemed to care about anything important. If Shel’s father had taken him into his confidence, had given him access to the converter as he had Shel, he wouldn’t have known what to do with it.

  Jerry ducked his head and climbed into his limo. He pulled out into the road and scattered a few pigeons.

  Dave took a deep breath and turned away. Hard to believe. Gone now. Shel and his time devices.

  They’d been destroyed in the fire. Dave had the only surviving unit. Safely hidden in his sock drawer. When he could summon the will, he’d get rid of it, too. Let it go.

  ON the way home, he turned on the radio. It was an ordinary day. Peace talks were breaking down in Africa. Another congressman was being accused of diverting campaign funds. Domestic assaults had risen again. The economy wasn’t doing well. And, in Los Angeles, there was a curious conclusion to an expressway pileup: Two people, a man and a woman, had broken into one of the wrecked vehicles and kidnapped the driver, who was believed to be either dead or seriously injured. They had apparently made off with him.

  Only in California.

  SHEL had never talked much about his father. But Michael Shelborne had been a Nobel candidate on two occasions, for work that Dave couldn’t begin to understand. And he had found a way to travel in time, a feat that nobody except Dave even knew about. He recalled Shel’s mentioning that his father had been disappointed at his career choice. Shel, like his dad, had become a physicist. But he apparently lacked Michael’s genius and had eventually become the public-relations director for Carbolite, a high-tech firm. But if Michael had been disappointed in Shel, what must he have thought of Jerry, who’d become a lawyer?

  Dave already missed Shel’s voice, his sardonic view of the world, his amused cynicism.

  He sighed. The world was a cruel and painful place. Enjoy life while you can. He remembered his grandfather once commenting that he should live life to the fullest. “While you can,” he’d said, his intense sea-blue eyes locked on Dave. “You only get a few decades in the daylight. Assuming you’re lucky.”

  Ray White, a retired tennis player who lived alone near the corner, was out walking. He waved as Dave slowed down and pulled into his driveway. Dave waved back.

  He got out of the car, went inside, and locked up. He didn’t usually drink alone, but today he was willing to make an exception. He poured a brandy and stared out the window. The sky, finally, was clearing. It would be a pleasant evening. In back somewhere, something moved. It might have been a branch, but it sounded inside the house.

  He dismissed it. It had been a long day, and he was tired. He sank into a chair and closed his eyes.

  It came again. A floorboard, maybe. Not much more than a whisper.

  He took down a golf club, went into the hallway, looked up the staircase and along the upper level. Glanced toward the kitchen.

  Wood creaked. Upstairs.

  A hinge, maybe.

  He started up, as quietly as he could. He was about halfway when the closed door to the middle bedroom clicked. Someone was turning the knob. Dave froze.

  The door opened. And Shel appeared.

  “Hi, Dave,” he said.

  PART ONE

  ALL THE TIME IN THE WORLD

  CHAPTER 1

  . . . Gone before

  To that unknown and silent shore,

  Shall we not meet?—as heretofore,

  Some summer morning. . . .

  —CHARLES LAMB, “HESTER”

  ADRIAN Shelborne, at an early age, fell in love with the ancient world. While most of the kids in his school went to the seashore or to theme parks during vacation, his father, Michael Shelborne, M.A., Ph.D., resident genius at Swifton Labs on the northwest side of Philadelphia, used his downtime to take him and his older brother, Jerry, to the Leaning Tower, the Great Wall of China, the Taj Mahal, and the Great Pyramid. They photographed the Sphinx, walked through the Parthenon, and visited the site of the Alexandrian Lighthouse. But Michael’s interests were universal. The family also rode a cruise ship through the Panama Canal and peered down at the Colorado River from the lip of the Grand Canyon. They visited Victoria Falls when he was eight, and he flew past Mt. Fuji at ten. He’d pleaded with his father for a chance to climb Everest, but that, perhaps, in the elder Shelborne’s words, might be better left for another day. Shel was, in most ways, a typical kid and would have loved to be able to say he’d thrown snowballs from the top of the mountain. But, as most of us do, he became more rational, more cautious, as he grew older. By the time he arrived at thirty, there would have been no way to coax him to undertake such a project. Or, for that matter, to venture too close to the edge of the Grand Canyon.

  Everest became the end of the line for it all. Jerry had discovered girls and had never much liked the trips anyhow. He’d wanted to go to Wildwood and sit on the beach all summer. He claimed seniority to his brother in such matters. Consequently, Dad had grown tired of
the carping, so the boardwalk took over for the Great Buddha and riding camels across the desert.

  Shel’s father had hoped his boys would follow in his footsteps but had given up early on Jerry, who made it clear that he was headed for law school. He’d tried not to put any pressure on Shel. Had told him any number of times, “Do what you want; find what’s important to you.” Still, Shel knew what his father hoped for. Knew he was disappointed in his older son. Moreover, Shel was interested in why people fall when they walk off rooftops, or whether the sky really did go on forever, and if it didn’t, what was out there at the edge of space? So he’d gone to Princeton, majored in physics, turned in a mediocre performance, sweated out his doctorate, and come away with the knowledge that he would never be more than someone who confirmed other people’s findings.

  His problem with physics was that he could never quite visualize reality, never understood that space was made out of rubber. That he aged more slowly doing seventy than waiting for his car to warm up. He knew these things to be true, if somewhat exaggerated, but he couldn’t see them.

  Shel’s mother had died in an automobile accident when he was four. He’d been with her at the time but had escaped without a scratch. She’d secured him in his car seat, but had neglected to belt herself in. He remembered vividly being thrown against his restraints and the screech of metal being wrenched out of shape and the desperate cries of his mother.

  His father had not married again. “There’s no way to replace her,” he’d told his sons, who worried for a time that a strange woman would come into their house.

  Then one day in October 2018, when both of his sons were out on their own, Jerry in a law offic e and Shel doing public relations for Carbolite Systems, Michael walked out of the world.