The Time Travel Chronicles by Robert J. Sawyer, Stefan Bolz, Ann Christy, Samuel Peralta, Rysa Walker, Lucas Bale, Anthony Vicino, Ernie Lindsey, Carol Davis, Tracy Banghart, Michael Holden, Daniel Arthur Smith, Ernie Luis, Erik Wecks Page B
Authors: Robert J. Sawyer, Stefan Bolz, Ann Christy, Samuel Peralta, Rysa Walker, Lucas Bale, Anthony Vicino, Ernie Lindsey, Carol Davis, Tracy Banghart, Michael Holden, Daniel Arthur Smith, Ernie Luis, Erik Wecks
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their feet and let accidents create history, simply watching the blundering when you have tools at your disposal to change it, to shape it to your will?
That’s not’s just a sin, it’s a cardinal sin. Maybe the only cardinal sin.
I resolved years ago, when I was one of the newly-minted historians, that I would find a way to sin no more. Now, it's just a matter of working out the details.
The devil is always in the details.
∞
Little Rest, Rhode Island
May 18, 1780
“Up the North Road, two roads over. Mebbe a mile. They might not be receiving, however. Their daughter, Susannah, she’s very ill. And…d’ye know Potter’s no longer a judge?” There’s a gleam in the innkeeper’s eye, along with the sly smile that always comes just before a juicy bit of village gossip. “Taken up with that woman preacher, the Friend. Quite the scandal.”
“Indeed?” Katherine replies, with a haughty lift of her chin. “That’s actually good to know, since it is the Friend whose counsel we seek.”
I sigh. We’re clearly not going to get anything else out of the man now, so I tug her elbow and guide her outside.
“Should have let him go on a bit, Kathy. You get useful information that way.”
She blushes—no surprise there—nervously tucking a strand of blonde hair back inside her bonnet. “Sorry.”
Our cover story for this trip is that we’re a newlywed couple seeking marital guidance from Jemima Wilkinson, who answers these days only to her chosen title of “Publick Universal Friend.” For the past four years, since Jemima awoke from an extended illness, she’s claimed that she’s no longer Jemima, no longer female, but now a genderless embodiment of the Holy Spirit. She’s amassed several hundred followers here in Rhode Island and the surrounding colonies who fund her ministry. Some are from the Quaker congregation she once attended and others come from various evangelical sects that sprouted during the revival frenzy of the Great Awakening a few decades back. Her detractors argue that she’s a lazy opportunist who has found a way to live in comfort with little exertion, simply by exploiting the gullibility of a few wealthy patrons like Judge Potter. And none of those detractors believe that she’s celibate, even though she urges her congregation to be.
I don’t know about the celibacy issue. She didn’t look at me the way most women do, and I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s more attracted to Potter’s wife than to the judge himself. What I do know is that the Friend was extremely interested in the bit of prophecy I pushed her way several months ago when I attended a sermon she preached in Charlestown. She was even more delighted when I told her I didn’t want any sort of credit. What pisses me off is that even though I gave the stupid cow the precise day, she merely proclaimed that the darkened noontime sky and blood red moon would come… soon . Maybe within the next six weeks. Moving from her original vague pronouncement that judgment day was nigh to this slightly less vague pronouncement about a specific portent of the End Times barely tweaked Jemima Wilkinson’s impact on the timeline. The tiny blips ironed themselves out quickly and she remains a footnote in history, just another strange messiah who led her followers into the wilderness and then faded into obscurity.
If she’d told them the precise date, this would’ve been a far better test of how much I can alter without alerting the CHRONOS overseers. As it is, I have to move on to the second, riskier stage of the test without full data. That wouldn’t have happened if Jemima was bright enough to follow simple instructions.
We begin the hike up North Road in silence. Katherine Shaw is a welcome change from the chatterboxes Angelo usually assigns me, and it occurs to me that she may be exactly what I need in a research partner. Our paths will cross a lot given her field of
That’s not’s just a sin, it’s a cardinal sin. Maybe the only cardinal sin.
I resolved years ago, when I was one of the newly-minted historians, that I would find a way to sin no more. Now, it's just a matter of working out the details.
The devil is always in the details.
∞
Little Rest, Rhode Island
May 18, 1780
“Up the North Road, two roads over. Mebbe a mile. They might not be receiving, however. Their daughter, Susannah, she’s very ill. And…d’ye know Potter’s no longer a judge?” There’s a gleam in the innkeeper’s eye, along with the sly smile that always comes just before a juicy bit of village gossip. “Taken up with that woman preacher, the Friend. Quite the scandal.”
“Indeed?” Katherine replies, with a haughty lift of her chin. “That’s actually good to know, since it is the Friend whose counsel we seek.”
I sigh. We’re clearly not going to get anything else out of the man now, so I tug her elbow and guide her outside.
“Should have let him go on a bit, Kathy. You get useful information that way.”
She blushes—no surprise there—nervously tucking a strand of blonde hair back inside her bonnet. “Sorry.”
Our cover story for this trip is that we’re a newlywed couple seeking marital guidance from Jemima Wilkinson, who answers these days only to her chosen title of “Publick Universal Friend.” For the past four years, since Jemima awoke from an extended illness, she’s claimed that she’s no longer Jemima, no longer female, but now a genderless embodiment of the Holy Spirit. She’s amassed several hundred followers here in Rhode Island and the surrounding colonies who fund her ministry. Some are from the Quaker congregation she once attended and others come from various evangelical sects that sprouted during the revival frenzy of the Great Awakening a few decades back. Her detractors argue that she’s a lazy opportunist who has found a way to live in comfort with little exertion, simply by exploiting the gullibility of a few wealthy patrons like Judge Potter. And none of those detractors believe that she’s celibate, even though she urges her congregation to be.
I don’t know about the celibacy issue. She didn’t look at me the way most women do, and I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s more attracted to Potter’s wife than to the judge himself. What I do know is that the Friend was extremely interested in the bit of prophecy I pushed her way several months ago when I attended a sermon she preached in Charlestown. She was even more delighted when I told her I didn’t want any sort of credit. What pisses me off is that even though I gave the stupid cow the precise day, she merely proclaimed that the darkened noontime sky and blood red moon would come… soon . Maybe within the next six weeks. Moving from her original vague pronouncement that judgment day was nigh to this slightly less vague pronouncement about a specific portent of the End Times barely tweaked Jemima Wilkinson’s impact on the timeline. The tiny blips ironed themselves out quickly and she remains a footnote in history, just another strange messiah who led her followers into the wilderness and then faded into obscurity.
If she’d told them the precise date, this would’ve been a far better test of how much I can alter without alerting the CHRONOS overseers. As it is, I have to move on to the second, riskier stage of the test without full data. That wouldn’t have happened if Jemima was bright enough to follow simple instructions.
We begin the hike up North Road in silence. Katherine Shaw is a welcome change from the chatterboxes Angelo usually assigns me, and it occurs to me that she may be exactly what I need in a research partner. Our paths will cross a lot given her field of
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