Probability Zero: A FLASH OF LIGHTNING by Robert Scherrer
Mr. Schonfield hunched over the chronopod control panel on his desk, checking the settings and taking attendance until the bell rang. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “welcome to Applied History I. We will spend this semester exploring cause and effect in American History prior to the Civil War.” One of the Salem High School students glanced down at his schedule and skulked out of the classroom. Schonfield gestured toward a gleaming metal cylinder propped up against the wall behind his desk. “And of course, the thing that makes it possible for us to tinker with the past is the Weiser chronopod. Before the invention of the Weiser field by Jason Weiser back in ‘33, there were two dominant theories about time travel. Can anyone tell me what those were? Yes, Ms., uh, Bradbury."
Terri Bradbury delicately removed a wad of chewing gum from her mouth and placed it on her desk. “Well,” she said, “there was this one idea that the past couldn't be changed."
"Yes,” said Schonfield. “That was one theory. And the other one was...?"
"Uh...” Terri riffled through the textbook. “Not sure."
"Okay,” said Schonfield, “the other theory was that a tiny change in the past would have huge consequences in the future. People used to talk about a rock thrown in a pond. The ripples spread outward, producing bigger and bigger effects as you move forward in time. And which theory turned out to be correct?"
Terri raised her hand. Schonfield smiled. “Yes, Ms. Bradbury?"
"Is this going to be on the exam?"
Schonfield scowled. “I haven't decided yet. But the answer is that neither theory was correct, as we will see today. I'm going to activate the Weiser field, and we'll take our first trip of the semester, all the way back to the Cretaceous.” Schonfield leaned over his desk and flicked a switch. The walls of the classroom vanished, and hot, humid air buffeted the students.
Terri wrinkled her nose. “Eeew, what is that smell?"
"Rotting vegetation, mostly,” said Schonfield. “The world's future petroleum supply.” The classroom, minus walls and ceiling, nestled in a fern-covered valley, flanked by steep forested hills on all sides. Schonfield pointed to one of the hills. “After school today, I will use the Weiser field to bring a twenty-kiloton nuclear device to the other side of that hill, about ten miles away. Now, watch and learn.” He pressed a button. Purple-white lightning wreathed the hill, followed by a low rumble that shook the classroom. A few students dived under their desks.
"Relax,” said Schonfield, “it's just an atomic bomb, not an earthquake. We'll be gone before the fallout reaches us. Now, by my calculations, we have exterminated several hundred dinosaurs, thousands of smaller animals, and millions of plants. Let's see how this affects the future."
Schonfield fumbled with the control panel, sliding ahead to the Eocene. A lone Eohippus scurried through the grass. “At this point,” said Schonfield, “we're viewing the newly-altered timeline outside the classroom. But the Weiser field also allows us to display the original, unaltered timeline.” He punched a button and a sepia-colored scene superimposed itself over the outside view. A sepia herd of Megacerops grazed at the rim of a lake. “Note the rather large change we've produced. Our tampering has wiped out those weird-looking rhinos and that lake."
"That's really mean!” said Terri.
"We haven't killed them,” said Schonfield. “They simply never existed in the new timeline we've created."
"It's still mean."
"We'll discuss the ethics of time travel in the spring semester. Now let's make another jump, ahead to nineteenth-century Salem.” Schonfield slapped the switch with his palm, and a handful of rickety wooden buildings appeared, crowding around a rutted dirt road. A dry wind blew dust across the classroom floor.
"Welcome to the Old West,” said Schonfield.
Terri coughed. “Yuck, it smells bad here, too,” she said.
"As we explore history this semester, the one thing you'll have the most trouble getting used to is the smell. As Jason Weiser said, ‘History stinks.’ It's just a consequence of the horse-drawn transportation system."
As if on cue, a rider plodded up the street on a mangy, dirt-colored horse. A woman fluttered out of one of the buildings, arms outstretched to greet him. Schonfield hit a button, and a sepia version of the Old West popped into view. The sepia buildings, along with the horse and rider, tracked their newly altered counterparts, but the woman was nowhere to be seen.
"Note the more subtle changes,” said Schonfield. “The buildings, the horse, the rider appear in exactly the same location, but our distortion of the timeline has added a woman friend. Does that make up for the rhinos, Terri?"
"It's cute,” said Terri. She grinned. “You're a regular matchmaker, Mr. Schonfield."
"Okay,” said Schonfield, “now let's go home.” He flicked the switch, and the classroom popped back to its original space-time coordinates at Salem High. A gaggle of students strolled across the lawn just outside the classroom window. “Let's see how we've changed the present,” said Schonfield. He tapped a button, and a sepia group of students appeared, superimposed exactly over their real counterparts. One of the students stepped a few inches to the right of his sepia doppelganger, crushing a moth in the grass.
"We now know,” said Schonfield, “that neither theory of time travel was correct. We can change the past, but the time stream has its own kind of friction. Colossal changes are slowly damped with time, until—” Schonfield stepped out the classroom door and retrieved the mangled body of the moth “—there are almost no discernable changes at all. Does anybody know what this friction effect is called? Anyone?” The students fidgeted silently. “This will be on the exam,” said Schonfield. He held up the dead moth. “We call it the Butterfly Effect."
Short Story: THE JOLLY OLD BOYFRIEND by Jerry Oltion
Wherein the Ghost of Christmas Present gets a whole new meaning....
Gina couldn't sleep. She and Todd had been in bed for maybe an hour, but they'd gone there angry after another of their pointless arguments, an argument about how to stack the coffee mugs, of all things, and Gina couldn't put it behind her. Todd had broken two mugs, tipping them out of the cabinet onto the countertop just to prove that they were unstable the way she'd put them in there. Never mind that she'd never broken one in her life, never mind that they were her mugs and this was her apartment.
Worse, tomorrow was Christmas, and she was afraid of what she might find under the tree. She'd been pressuring Todd for an engagement ring. What if he had bought her one? What if he hadn't?
He didn't sleep over every night, but it was getting more common. They'd been talking about him giving up his apartment and moving in. Now she didn't know. She'd thought she wanted that, but after an evening that ended with broken coffee mugs she wasn't sure.
She was running it around and around in her mind when she heard a crash in the living room. A crash, a thump, and “Ow, ow, ow!” in a voice that she thought seemed familiar but couldn't place.
She jerked upward and grabbed the flashlight she kept on the headboard, but she didn't turn it on. No sense attracting trouble. Beside her, Todd raised his head and murmured, “Mmm?"
"Someone's in the living room!” she whispered.
He sat up quickly, overbalanced, and grabbed her arm for support, then turned and fumbled for the can of pepper spray she kept beside the flashlight.
"We're armed!” he shouted, his voice half an octave lower than usual. “Leave now and nobody gets hurt!"
There was another thump in the living room, then a light came on. “I'm sorry,” came a voice, male, definitely familiar. “I'm ... I think I'm lost. I'm not dangerous."
"Who are you?” Gina shouted.
"Dumb!” hissed Todd. “Now he knows there's a woman here."
The intruder had given a name, but she hadn't heard it over Todd's criticism and the beating of her heart.
"Who?” she said again.
"Be quiet!” Todd said, and she missed the name again.
From the living room the voice said, “Where am I?"
Todd shouted, “You're in the wrong place, that's where you are. Get out of our apartment right now."
"Right. Sorry. I don't know how I got here. Sorry about the fireplace. I'll just ... Gina?"
The voice clicked. Her old boyfriend, the one who had dumped her for the sorority girl six months ago.
"Sergei,” she whispered. Here in her apartment. But he was supposed to be dead. She'd gotten email from Christy about it just a couple weeks ago. A car wreck in Kazakhstan or something while he was visiting the homeland with his parents. She'd cried, even though she was still mad at him. But there was no mistaking that voice, that faint hint of a Russian accent even though he'd been born in Wisconsin to second-generation immigrants.
To Todd she said, “Pepper spray the bastard."
"Gladly.” Todd threw the covers aside and rose out of bed, silhouetted against the light coming from down the hallway. He strode out into it like a Greek god, his shoulders wide and his tight little butt rippling with muscle. He made it to the end of the hallway, just out of her line of sight, but instead of the hiss of pepper spray and the howl of anguish Gina had expected, Todd burst into laughter.
"What?” Gina said. She jumped out of bed and grabbed her bathrobe, swirling it on as she rushed out after him to see what could be so funny about Sergei Popovich in her apartment on Christmas Eve.
Todd stood there at the end of the hallway, shaking his head. Across the living room stood Sergei, dressed in a Santa suit and covered with soot and ash from the fireplace. His hat and fake white beard were both askew. He was holding his arms out, hands wide open to show they were empty. At his feet rested a lumpy red cloth bag.
"I'm really sorry,” he said again. “I don't know how I got here.” He stumbled a little and reached for the arm of the couch to support himself, and for a second Gina saw the photos on the mantel right through his chest.
Holy shit, he really was dead. Her heart, already beating hard, took off at a totally new speed.
She stepped past Todd and took a good look at Sergei. “What are you doing here?” she asked.
"I ... I must have unfinished business,” he said. “The last thing I remember is the front end of a bus coming at me. I'm dead, aren't I?” He sat down heavily on the hearth. The brass handles of the fireplace doors rippled in and out of visibility through his chest.
"All right, this is weird,” Todd said.
"Tell me about it,” Sergei replied. He looked up at Todd, then at Gina, then he took a deep breath and pushed the bag of toys aside and knelt down on the carpet where they had been. “I don't know how long I've got, so let me start with an apology. Gina, I was a total idiot. I treated you badly, and I apologize. I have no excuse and no explanation. If you can ever forgive me, I'll ... I'll rest in peace."
Gina had dreamed of this very moment, of him realizing his mistake and apologizing, and in her daydreams she had always told him to get lost, but now, faced with his returned spirit, she couldn't do it. “Apology accepted,” she said softly.
There was a long moment when nobody breathed. Sergei didn't disappear. After a few seconds he said, “There must be something more.” He stood up, looked to the sack at his feet, picked it up, and untied the cord at the top. “I appeared in your fireplace in a Santa suit with a sack of presents. Maybe I'm supposed to deliver them to you.” He reached into the sack and pulled out a four- or five-inch cubic box wrapped in glossy black paper with a silver metallic bow on top. He read the tag that dangled from the side, and said, “For Todd. That must be you."
He held it out for Todd, and Todd took it gingerly from his hands.
"It's heavy,” Todd said.
"Probably a lump of coal,” Sergei said. “Ha ha. Little joke. Aren't you getting cold?"
Todd looked down at himself, naked as a jaybird, and nodded. “Don't do anything stupid,” he said and retreated into the bedroom.
Gina looked at Sergei. Sergei looked at her. There was something in his eyes, something in his expression, a longing that took her back to the very first days when they'd started going out. They hadn't been able to get enough of each other. The chemistry was obviously still there.
Sergei pulled the fake beard down below his chin. “You look beautiful,” he said.
She swallowed. “You look pretty good yourself, especially for a guy who's been hit by a bus. Oh, Sergei! Why did it end like this?"
"Because I was stupid,” he said. “I didn't know what a rare and wonderful person you are, and I—"
"That's enough of that,” Todd said, coming back into the living room in pants and a sweatshirt. He still held the black package in one hand, and the pepper spray can was tucked in his waistband. “You apologized, she accepted, end of story. Let's move on.” He walked past Gina and did what she had been unable to bring herself to do: He reached out and touched Sergei. Grabbed his shoulder. “You're pretty solid for a ghost, there, bud."
Sergei didn't shake off Todd's hand. Instead, he reached up with his own hand and touched himself on the face. “I do seem to have a little more substance than the usual ghost, don't I?” he asked. Yet when he turned, Gina could see the fireplace right through his chest. Not clearly—it was like looking through fog—but he was definitely not solid there.
"Let's try walking through something,” Sergei said. He moved to the side and stepped toward the couch. Todd dropped his hand. Sergei walked forward tentatively and stuck one leg out as if he was trying to walk right through the couch's armrest, but he clonked his shin against the wood. “Ow! Okay, no passing through stuff."
"You know,” Todd said, “I don't think you're dead. I think you're just some schmuck who broke into our apartment and thinks he can make up with an old girlfriend."
"I would be very happy if you were right,” Sergei said. “How can we test this theory?"
Gina snorted. “We can see right through you! Jesus, Todd, give the guy a break."
"No, no,” Sergei said. “He has a point. This could all be an elaborate hoax. I am ... was ... a physics student. There could be some new breakthrough in optics that allows me to project an image around my body.” He narrowed his eyes, thinking, then snapped his fingers. “The internet. Look for my obituary."
"You're kidding,” said Todd.
"No. Try it. If I was hit by a bus in Kazakhstan, it should be on the internet.” He shivered. “And if I wasn't, then maybe I am ... somehow ... still alive! Maybe I was just injured, got amnesia, and made my way here. This was Gina's apartment when we were dating, and that was one of the happiest times of my life; it makes sense that I might return here if I were searching for my identity."
"Yeah, right, in a Santa suit,” Todd said.
"It is Christmas, isn't it? Maybe I mugged a Salvation Army bell-ringer for clothing."
"And stole his bag of presents, one of which has my name on it? Come on."
"You're right,” Sergei said. “It's far more likely that I'm dead.” He reached out to the mantelpiece to steady himself, and Gina watched the fireplace bricks ripple through his insubstantial body.
She turned away and went into the kitchen, where she had left her laptop computer on the dining table. She lifted the cover and waited for it to wake up, then opened a browser page and typed “Sergei Popovich obituary” in the search box.
The top hit was in Russian. She clicked on the “translate this page” button and walked into the living room with the laptop in her hands as the page loaded. She read the text aloud as it scrolled onto the screen: “December 15. Killed today in automobile collision were Anatoly and Maria Popovich, their son Sergei, and daughter Annya. Vehicle driven by Popovich collided with—"
"Annya too?” wailed Sergei.
"That's what it says here. I'm sorry.” She didn't offer to show him the picture of the little car wedged in under the front of the bus. Dozens of bus passengers stood around on the snow-covered ground, looking at it in that curious but detached way that people do after they've been on the scene for a while. One of the passengers was taking a picture up the valley, which was full of snow-covered trees.
Sergei reached into his sack again. “Let me finish this so I can go back to oblivion. I can't stand this.” He pulled out another present, this one smaller and wrapped in green and red paper with a red bow on top. He read the tag. “Michael? Who's Michael?"
"The kid next door?” Gina said.
Sergei's eyes narrowed. “Mickey?” He reached into the bag again and came up with another present. “Elaine. That's Mickey's little sister, isn't it?"
Gina nodded.
"Maybe you can give these to them in the morning.” Sergei set both presents on the couch and reached into the bag again. This time he came up with a tiny gold-foil package with a silver bow. “Ah, Gina,” he said, reading the tag. He held it out to her.
She set the computer on the couch and took the package. “Should we open them now?” she asked.
Sergei looked down at his quasi-insubstantial body. “I don't seem to be disappearing completely yet. Maybe you should."
Gina looked at Todd. Todd looked at her, then at Sergei. “If it'll help get you out of here, okay, rip away,” he said. He grabbed the bow on top of his package and wrenched it loose, pulling a long strip of paper away with it.
Gina popped the tape on hers with a fingernail, peeled the paper back, and saw the classic round-edged velvet box that jewelry came in. Her heart had been slowing down a little, but it started beating faster again. Jesus, was it a ring? Before they broke up she had been hinting at Sergei—okay, more than hinting—that she wanted to get married. Could this be the engagement ring she'd never gotten? But now she was practically engaged to Todd! That ring was probably under the tree.
She looked over at Todd, who was just opening the box he'd freed of its paper. He shook out a shiny, irregular black rock about the size of his fist.
She laughed. She couldn't help it.
"You bastard,” Todd growled. He lunged for Sergei and punched him in the face. Sergei staggered back and fell against the fireplace tools, scattering them across the floor.
"Todd! Stop it!” Gina dropped her present and grabbed Todd and pulled him back while Sergei struggled to get up. Sergei's hand gripped the dustpan, and Todd pulled the can of pepper spray out of his belt and sprayed him square in the face.
"Aaaggh!” Sergei yelled, turning aside and covering his eyes with his hands, but it was too late. He started sneezing and coughing and blubbering uncontrollably, and Gina found herself sneezing and coughing, too.
"Damn it, Todd, what did you do that for?” she shouted.
"He was going for the poker,” Todd said.
"Bullshit. He had his hand on the dustpan."
"And he gave me a lump of coal!"
"You maced Santa Claus because he gave you a lump of coal?"
"He's not Santa Claus."
Sergei was crawling into the kitchen, trailing snot and tears and soot and ash behind him as he went. Gina helped him to his feet and propelled him into the bathroom instead, where she stuck him into the shower and turned the water on full blast.
"Aaaii!” he yelled again, but this time it was probably just because the water was cold. He eagerly stuck his face into the stream even so, and let it wash off the pepper spray. The Santa suit was getting drenched, though, and the shower tiles that Gina could see through it sagged along with the water-laden cloth.
Someone was banging on the front door. “Stay there,” she told Sergei, and went to see who it was.
Todd beat her to the door. Charlie Dixon, Mickey and Elaine's dad, stood there in his pajamas. “What's going on in there?” he asked.
"Nothing that concerns you,” Todd said belligerently, and Charlie took a step back, but Gina said, “We're having an argument, but Todd was just leaving."
"I am not,” said Todd.
"Yes, you are,” Gina said, grabbing his coat off the back of the chair by the door and handing it to him. “You wouldn't want Mr. Dixon to have to call the police, would you?"
Charlie looked past Todd at her. “You're crying,” he said.
"It's just pepper spray,” said Gina.
"Pepper spray? Are you all right?"
"I will be as soon as Todd leaves,” Gina said.
Todd turned toward her with the pepper spray in his hand, but Gina held her ground. “You're an arrogant bastard, and I want you out of my apartment. Now."
"I think you'd better do what she says,” said Charlie.
"Or what?"
"Or you'll be spending Christmas in jail."
Todd considered that for a moment, obviously weighing the idea to see if it would be worth it. Apparently violence came up short. He turned to Gina. “If that's the way you want it."
"I do,” she said.
"I'll be back for my stuff later."
"It'll be in a box by the front door."
He gave her one last withering look—the same look she'd given Sergei when he'd announced that he was breaking up with her—then shoved his way past Charlie and stomped down the stairs. The door banged against the wall, then shut behind him.
"I'm sorry we woke you up,” Gina said to Charlie. “Oh, wait a minute...” She ran into the apartment, grabbed the presents for Mickey and Elaine from the couch, and brought them back to him. “These are from Sergei. You remember Sergei?"
"I do,” Charlie said. “And if you don't mind my saying so, I liked him a lot better than that doofus you just kicked out."
"Me too,” said Gina.
He hefted the presents in his hand. “You have a Merry Christmas,” he said.
"Thank you. Merry Christmas to you, too.” She closed the door as he turned away, then rushed back to the bathroom, half afraid that Sergei would have vanished, but he was still there, stripped to the waist and mopping his face with a towel.
"I have one last apology to make,” he said.
"For what?"
"For not being dead."
She looked at him standing there in the bathroom, his hairy chest as solid and inviting as ever. The Santa jacket lay in a sodden heap on the floor, its surface shimmering slightly with light that didn't reflect quite true.
"This was all a trick?"
"The apology was genuine,” he said. “I was a total jerk, and if it takes me a hundred years to make it up to you, I'll dedicate my entire life to the effort. The see-through Santa suit, though; well, let's just say the physics lab has been doing some interesting things with waveguides."
"So you figured you could fake being a ghost and—and what, scare Todd off?"
"Nothing so simple. I'd heard stories about him. I figured I'd put him under some stress and let him show his true colors. It worked a little better than I expected.” He sniffed, wiped his face with the towel, and grinned the foolish grin she remembered from so many good times before.
Was this a good time? She didn't know. Her whole life was in a shambles, and so was her apartment. But she'd felt that moment of connection when she'd looked into Sergei's eyes in the living room, and that had been one of the happiest—well, the richest, anyway—moments in recent memory. Sergei could certainly get her heart beating again, and not just by startling her.
And she supposed he could put up a web page with a fake story about his death. Since it was unlikely that any other Sergei Popoviches had died in the last few weeks, his would be the first one returned by a search engine.
"Why did you leave me for that vacuous blonde?” she asked him.
He was already red, but his face grew even redder. “Um. Truth? You wanted to get married so bad, it scared me."
That was the last thing Gina expected to hear. She opened her mouth to protest, then shut it without saying a word. She had bugged Sergei about it over and over, and since he left she'd been pushing Todd just as hard. She really did want to be married, for the companionship and the security it represented, and who knew why else. She had never really thought it through. She just knew she wanted it. Apparently a little too much.
"Okay,” she said. “Guilty. What now?"
Sergei stepped around her and went into the living room, where he retrieved her half-opened present. “Now you open your gift,” he said. “I got you a lump of coal, too. Slightly more compressed than Todd's."
He knelt down in front of her and waited for her to open the package. She took her time, savoring the moment.
It was the most beautiful ring she'd ever seen. It was two braided ropes of gold and silver, swirling around each other to encircle her finger and coming together at the top to encage a glittering diamond.
"Gina, will you marry me?” Sergei asked.
She could hardly breathe. She had to swallow twice before she could find her voice.
"Let me think about it,” she said.