Asimov's Science Fiction (20 page)

"Hector? Mister uber-brow? He still can't keep his shoes tied."

"Doesn't need to. He invented the contour adaptable magnetic clasp around, well, ten years from now. He's become like Einstein, but with marginally better hair."

Older Carl became uncomfortably aware that younger Carl was staring at him. And he was pretty sure why. "But
dude,"
young Carl began. "What
happened
to you?"

"Watch it, kid. Remember when you started using that word? You were calling guys
dud
for almost a year before someone took pity and corrected you."

"No disrespect, but you... we really let ourselves go."

Older Carl scanned the apartment, then waved toward the dining room table stacked with beer bottles and pizza remains. "Look at that autopsy interruptus over there. We never learned to cook, not until we married Marianne, and as far as that went, what can I say? For her, lard was a condiment." Young Carl started grinning this loopy, I-just-had-my-frontal-lobe-removed grin. "No, wait—I know what you're thinking..."

"Marianne Higgins? She finally agreed to go out with me? She finally said
yes!
"

"No, no—this is
not
a good thing. She's going to ruin your life. That's why Hector let me come back. We're going to be
famous!
The first man to travel through time! He's a good friend to us, and he hates what she's done to me, to us, to pretty much every guy she ever came into contact with."

"Oh, but you're wrong about her. She's
great,
just this really wonderful person. You must know how much I love her—you know everything else! Are you telling me you've forgotten?"

"Not at all, not at all. You've got the backbone of lemon Jell-o around her. It's downright self-disgusting. I've seen parsley sprigs with more self-respect."

"You've just gotten
old—
you've forgotten what true love is like!"

"The love she had for us was like a washcloth. Soft and warm and comforting at first, but then after awhile it gets really cold and if you fall asleep with it on your chest you wake up with this frigid, uncomfortable, wrinkled square on your skin that lasts for hours and then you can't find that damn washcloth for weeks until you feel this crusty dry thing jammed into the foot of the bed under the covers all stiff and hard and smelly like a dead fish with your chest hair stuck to it. That's what life married to Marianne was like."

"Old Dude, that's just wrong on so many levels. Your story doesn't make any sense anyway. I'm not dumb, you know—I watch
Doctor Who.
You
can't
be me! That would be like, a time paradox, right? Meeting and talking to your younger self. One of us should have, like,
exploded,
right? Didn't happen."

"Well..." Older Carl started rubbing his face, a nervous habit that had begun years ago—he looked up—younger Carl was also rubbing his face. Older Carl stuffed his hands into his pockets. "I didn't really want to bring this up. And I hope you won't take this the wrong way. But the reason Hector was willing to send me back to today was that after he ran some figures and tested out some scenarios, well, he discovered that the severity of paradoxical consequences varied depending on the individual, and that in certain select circumstances the chances of that consequence being of significance to the rest of the populace approached, well, zero."

"Come again?"

"Hector decided we, you/I, weren't important enough to change anything.
Whatever
we do, we're like, insignificant variables."

"Really?"

"I'm afraid so. The only difference, apparently, is the major dressing used on a roast beef club sandwich at a place called Garalfalo's."

"That's the sandwich shop down the street. I go there all the time."

Older Carl pondered this. "I remember that place—I just couldn't remember the name. Maybe after my visit you'll go there more often than you normally would have, maybe order different things."

"You mean my life is like, a condiment—my significance as a human being boils down to a selection of condiments. Not the bread, not the meat, not a choice of beverage—just the condiment being used?"

"You were always such a pessimist—that was another one of your big problems. Maybe if you'd been a little more optimistic about things you'd have held out for someone better than Marianne."

"Cut out all that crap about Marianne! I don't care if you're older, or even if you're me, you're cruisin' for a bruisin', Mister!"

Older Carl took a self-defensive stance. "Careful youngster, I know your best—or at least your
one—
move. Ten years into your future
I'm
taking lessons."

There was a knock at the door. Older Carl stared at it, a creepy feeling rising from his stomach. He watched apprehensively as the younger Carl went to the door and opened it.

Carl Number 3 stood there, well dressed in suit and tie. The other two Carls stared at him. No one spoke at first.

"He's older, like you," younger Carl finally said.

"The exact same age, I suspect," the older Carl replied, thinking that birthday gifts would be somewhat problematic this year.

"Actually, a few days older, but I've always taken good care of myself." Carl Number 3 entered the room. He held up a small remote control device. "You forgot something," he said.

The older Carl (beginning to think of himself as Carl Number 2 now) frantically searched his pockets. They were empty. "The return device—I'm sure I had it."

"No, you never did—you left it on Hector's work bench. You would have figured that out in a couple of hours. Pretty lame move, Carl."

The young Carl guffawed.
"Dude,
you're so
stupid.
How are you going to get back now?"

"He/I had to wait a little over thirty years, actually, so that we could pick it up off the bench where you," he pointed at the young Carl. "Left it."

"Whoa, dude. I didn't—"

"You
will,"
Carl Number 3 said.
"He
probably wouldn't have made that mistake, if
you
hadn't been so irresponsible most of your life."

"Wait, just wait a minute," Carl Number 2, the former Older Carl, said. "So
you're
me, in about thirty years?"

"That's right, just a little, well, a
great deal
better dressed."

"But you've hardly aged."

"It's the thing about time travel. You don't start aging again until you reach the age you were when you first traveled back. We only know that because you forgot the return remote. If you'd/I'd gone back the way we were originally supposed to, we'd never have known this."

"Wait wait wait!" Carl Number 2 cried. "So you and I are the
same version
of Carl?

How can we be here at the same time?"

"Well, unfortunately, it's a factor of our personal insignif icance. The Universe doesn't seem to care we're both here at the same time."

"Whoa, that sucks, dudes," the younger Carl said.

"Shut up!" Number 2 and Number 3 said to him simultaneously.

But Carl Number 2 still wasn't satisfied with the explanation. "But why did you come back? I was already here—you didn't
need
to."

"I had to come back to counteract your message." He turned to the younger Carl. "Don't listen to him, Carl. You need to marry Marianne."

"What? After all she did to him, to me, to us?"

"I kept my distance, observing," Carl Number 3 replied.

"So we don't get to be buds?" the young Carl interjected.

The other two Carls ignored him. "I could see the young, immature mistakes young Carl was making. Marianne wasn't a bad person, she just needed an older, more mature man. We're together now."

"You bastard!" Carl Number 1 shouted, running toward Carl Number 3. Carl Number 2 stepped between them and struggled to keep the young Carl (forever after to be known as Carl Number 1) from attacking Carl Number 3.

"You had your chance," Carl Number 3 stated smugly. "Come on guys, shake," Carl Number 2 declared. "After all, we're all Carls here."

Carl Number 1 approached Carl Number 3 shyly. "Sorry," he said. "All Carls together, right?" Suddenly he reached out and yanked the return remote from Carl Number 3's hand. "See ya!" He disappeared.

The remaining two Carls stared at each other, stunned. Carl Number 3 ran out into the hall, ran back in again and shut the door. "No sign. He actually went ahead in our place."

"So what's
that
going to do?" Carl Number 2 asked.

"No idea." Carl Number 3 shook his head. "He could do a ton of damage down the timeline. You
know
how he is."

At that moment there was a crash against the door, and then two struggling forms burst in: the younger, red-faced Carl Number 1, and a much older, white-haired Carl clutching young Carl's arm in one hand and the return remote in the other.

"Let go!" Carl Number 1 screamed. "Give that back—it's
mine!"

"Then behave yourself," Old Man Carl said, his voice strained and hoarse. "And I'll be holding on to the return remote for now. You're just a kid."

"What about Marianne?" Carl Number 3 said. "Is she okay?"

"Don't talk to me about that witch!" Old Man Carl shook a thin, tortured-looking fist. "Woman ruined my life. She's been cheating on us with Hector the whole time!"

Three Carls burst from the bathroom, shoving each other, all of them covered with shaving cream. Four more Carls walked in from the kitchen, laden with beers and food, which they distributed to any Carl who wanted some. Carl Number 1's whining protests were ignored.

A line of Carls appeared at the shattered front door. Carl Number 2 asked them to please wait in the hallway. There were some arguments over seniority, but eventually they all complied.

After a half hour or so things settled into a kind of uneasy silence. Carl Number 1 lay slumped against one wall of the living room, drunk and dejected. The old couch bowed at the middle from all the Carls silently sitting there. There were Carls standing, leaning against walls, and Carls sitting on the floor, examining their fingernails.

Carl Number 2 looked at Carl Number 3 and pointed at young Carl Number 1 lying on the floor. "Reminds me of some of the parties he used to throw. Him, him, and him, sitting on that couch, wondering why no one else came." When the moment arrived, they all looked up, and at each other, not really understanding what was about to happen, but sensing with some relief that there are limits to insignificance, and that enough insignificance can become surprisingly significant in a very short time.

The apartment building disappeared in a cloud of smoke and debris. Some said the resulting sinkhole went down for miles. Others said its depth was beyond even that.

Within a few hours a late model convertible stopped and parked well behind the police line. A beautiful young woman and her perhaps twin/perhaps older sister got out for a better look. Some later said the young woman was breathtaking, but the older one—well, they just couldn't keep their eyes off her. A few less charitable observers were overheard to say the older one had obviously had a lot of work done.

"What do you think happened?" Marianne asked in a whisper.

"Oh, I don't know," the older and more experienced Marianne replied. "But I'd say there was obviously way too much Carl. Believe me, I'm an expert."

Then they climbed back into the car and left, each holding firmly to one half of a small remote. Hector would be expecting them, and neither intended to be left behind.

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