of the human spirit. “You’ll have to do it, though. My hands are trembling too much.”
Don filled in the fields for NOVEMBER 19, 1962. The Kindle told him to enjoy his selection, but he didn’t. None of them did. The headlines were stark and huge:
NYC TOLL SURPASSES 6 MILLION
MANHATTAN DECIMATED BY RADIATION
RUSSIA SAID TO BE OBLITERATED
LOSSES IN EUROPE AND ASIA “INCALCULABLE”
CHINESE LAUNCH 40 ICBMS
“Turn it off,” Robbie said in a small, sick voice. “It’s like that song says—I don’t wanna see no more.”
Don said, “Look on the bright side, you two. It seems we dodged the bullet in most of the Urs, including this one.” But his voice wasn’t quite steady.
“Robbie’s right,” Wesley said. He had discovered that the final issue of the New York Times in Ur 4,121,989 was only three pages long. And every article was death. “Turn it off. I wish I’d never seen the damn thing in the first place.”
“Too late now,” Robbie said. And how right he was.
.
They went downstairs together and stood on the sidewalk in front of Wesley’s building. Main Street was almost deserted now. The rising wind moaned around the buildings and rattled late November leaves along the sidewalks. A trio of drunk students was stumbling back toward Fraternity Row, singing what might have been “ParadiseCity.”
“I can’t tell you what to do—it’s your gadget—but if it was mine, I’d get rid of it,” Don said. “It’ll suck you in.”
Wesley thought of telling him he’d already had this idea, but didn’t. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”
“Nope,” Don said. “I’m driving the wife and kids to Frankfort for a wonderful three-day weekend at my in-laws’. Suzy Montanari’s taking my classes. And after this little seminar tonight, I’m delighted to be getting away. Robbie? Drop you somewhere?”
“Thanks, but no need. I share an apartment with a couple of other guys two blocks up the street. Over Susan and Nan’s Place.”
“Isn’t that a little noisy?” Wesley asked. Susan and Nan’s was the local café, and opened at six AM seven days a week.
“Most days I sleep right through it.” Robbie flashed a grin. “Also, when it comes to the rent, the price is right.”
“Good deal. Night, you guys,” Don started for his Tercel, then turned back. “I intend to kiss my kids before I turn in. Maybe it’ll help me get to sleep. That last story—” He shook his head. “I could have done without that. No offense, Robbie, but stick your birthday up your ass.”
They watched his diminishing taillights and Robbie said thoughtfully, “Nobody ever told me to stick my birthday before.”
“I’m sure he wouldn’t want you to take it personally. And he’s probably right about the Kindle, you know. It’s fascinating— too fascinating—but useless in any practical sense.”
Robbie stared at him, wide-eyed. “You’re calling access to thousands of undiscovered novels by the great masters of the craft useless ? Sheezis, what kind of English teacher are you?”
Wesley had no comeback. Especially when he knew that, late or not, he’d probably be reading more of Cortland’s Dogs before turning in.
“Besides,” Robbie said. “It might not be entirely useless. You could type up one of those books and send it in to a publisher, ever think of that? You know, submit it under your own name. Become the next big thing. They’d call you the heir to Vonnegut or Roth or whoever.”
It was an attractive idea, especially when Wesley thought of the useless scribbles in his briefcase. But he shook his head. “It’d probably violate the Paradox Lawscwhatever they are. More importantly, it would eat at me like acid. From the inside out.” He hesitated, not wanting to sound prissy, but wanting to articulate what felt like the real reason for not doing such a thing. “I would feel ashamed.”
The kid smiled. “You’re a good dude, Wesley.” They were walking
Don filled in the fields for NOVEMBER 19, 1962. The Kindle told him to enjoy his selection, but he didn’t. None of them did. The headlines were stark and huge:
NYC TOLL SURPASSES 6 MILLION
MANHATTAN DECIMATED BY RADIATION
RUSSIA SAID TO BE OBLITERATED
LOSSES IN EUROPE AND ASIA “INCALCULABLE”
CHINESE LAUNCH 40 ICBMS
“Turn it off,” Robbie said in a small, sick voice. “It’s like that song says—I don’t wanna see no more.”
Don said, “Look on the bright side, you two. It seems we dodged the bullet in most of the Urs, including this one.” But his voice wasn’t quite steady.
“Robbie’s right,” Wesley said. He had discovered that the final issue of the New York Times in Ur 4,121,989 was only three pages long. And every article was death. “Turn it off. I wish I’d never seen the damn thing in the first place.”
“Too late now,” Robbie said. And how right he was.
.
They went downstairs together and stood on the sidewalk in front of Wesley’s building. Main Street was almost deserted now. The rising wind moaned around the buildings and rattled late November leaves along the sidewalks. A trio of drunk students was stumbling back toward Fraternity Row, singing what might have been “ParadiseCity.”
“I can’t tell you what to do—it’s your gadget—but if it was mine, I’d get rid of it,” Don said. “It’ll suck you in.”
Wesley thought of telling him he’d already had this idea, but didn’t. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”
“Nope,” Don said. “I’m driving the wife and kids to Frankfort for a wonderful three-day weekend at my in-laws’. Suzy Montanari’s taking my classes. And after this little seminar tonight, I’m delighted to be getting away. Robbie? Drop you somewhere?”
“Thanks, but no need. I share an apartment with a couple of other guys two blocks up the street. Over Susan and Nan’s Place.”
“Isn’t that a little noisy?” Wesley asked. Susan and Nan’s was the local café, and opened at six AM seven days a week.
“Most days I sleep right through it.” Robbie flashed a grin. “Also, when it comes to the rent, the price is right.”
“Good deal. Night, you guys,” Don started for his Tercel, then turned back. “I intend to kiss my kids before I turn in. Maybe it’ll help me get to sleep. That last story—” He shook his head. “I could have done without that. No offense, Robbie, but stick your birthday up your ass.”
They watched his diminishing taillights and Robbie said thoughtfully, “Nobody ever told me to stick my birthday before.”
“I’m sure he wouldn’t want you to take it personally. And he’s probably right about the Kindle, you know. It’s fascinating— too fascinating—but useless in any practical sense.”
Robbie stared at him, wide-eyed. “You’re calling access to thousands of undiscovered novels by the great masters of the craft useless ? Sheezis, what kind of English teacher are you?”
Wesley had no comeback. Especially when he knew that, late or not, he’d probably be reading more of Cortland’s Dogs before turning in.
“Besides,” Robbie said. “It might not be entirely useless. You could type up one of those books and send it in to a publisher, ever think of that? You know, submit it under your own name. Become the next big thing. They’d call you the heir to Vonnegut or Roth or whoever.”
It was an attractive idea, especially when Wesley thought of the useless scribbles in his briefcase. But he shook his head. “It’d probably violate the Paradox Lawscwhatever they are. More importantly, it would eat at me like acid. From the inside out.” He hesitated, not wanting to sound prissy, but wanting to articulate what felt like the real reason for not doing such a thing. “I would feel ashamed.”
The kid smiled. “You’re a good dude, Wesley.” They were walking
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