Through the window, I stared off into the descending gloom of the night sky. I sighed, a low, deep, heavy sound. My thoughts ran through my head at unearthly speed, my body frozen by comparison. Regardless of where or when my thoughts went, however, my focus was always on those that I knew or knew of that had never, would never, could never exist, entirely because of my actions.
"There's a woman here to speak with you, Master. She says she has an appointment."
I looked over at the butler, standing in the doorway. He had been working in the mansion for years now, and was still hesitant to speak, as if afraid that the sound of his voice would displease me. He was of slightly above average height, with a slight below average build. He was the epitome of the stereotypical English butler, complete with greyish-white hair and mustache, an antiquated accent, and even a monocle on a thin golden chain. He watched me expectantly; his big, brown eyes unmoving, expressionless: a perfect poker face.
"Show her in, William."
William's lips turned upward slightly in a meaningless, pro-forma smile. He nodded, then hastily turned around and exited the library, his gleaming pate bumping into the doorframe in the process.
I gave another resigned sigh, walked over to the bar set in the south wall, and poured myself a glass of Coke. I had nearly finished it when I heard footsteps in the carpeted hall coming toward me from behind. "Doctor Long?" I turned around, and was pleasantly surprised for the first time in years.
I don't like to admit it, but I'm old enough to remember some of the most beautiful women in recent history, but as this newcomer walked into my library, I realized that she made all of them seem like hideous hags by comparison. This woman's beauty would cause heart attacks! I thought, a half a moment before I realized she was saying something. Reluctantly, I started paying slightly more attention to my ears than my eyes.
"I have always been your biggest fan, ever since I read A Mile in the Devil's Hooves, and when I got this new job, and then less than a month later I was assigned to interview you, I thought they were pulling my leg, but then they said it was no joke, it was just the luck of the draw, and I said that I'd kill to even get to meet... am I babbling? I'm babbling, aren't I?"
Total elapsed time, 2 seconds, I thought sarcastically, resisting a powerful urge to glance at my watch. "Not at all, Miss...?" "Cummings. Evelyn Cummings."
"Miss Cummings. Ah, there you are, William!" William had walked in behind Miss Cummings without a sound. "William, would you set up a guest room in case Miss Cummings needs a place to stay for the night? Oh, and have the valet pull her car into the garage. You did come in a car?" She nodded. "After that, have Adam start dinner." Upon hearing this, William smiled, nodded, turned around, and exited the library, exactly as before. He even ran into the doorframe again.
"Are you inviting me to stay the night?"
"I suppose I am, miss. It's already dark, and the interview you came for could last a long time. Since it's more than 300 miles along winding dirt roads to get back to New York, I'd rather you stay the night and make it home in one piece tomorrow than drive into a tree in the dark. Would you care for a drink?"
"Um, yeah. Scotch, no ice. You know, I could have sworn one of the maids I passed on the way in here was Sarah Carson, the movie star from last century. Of course, Carson would be, like, a hundred by now, so I guess it couldn't be her."
Uh-oh! "I know. Carson's grandson said the same thing when he visited last year. The way I look at it, if you populate the planet with billions of people, eventually at least a few will look exactly like someone famous. Besides, on a bad day, Jenny has trouble remembering her name, let alone being smart enough to earn a triple Ph.D., like Carson did."
I turned back to the bar and poured the lady's drink, the dark-brown liquid sloshing into the short, wide glass, filling it almost to the brim. I then topped off mine with another can of Coke. This is gonna be a long night.
While Miss Cummings sat in one of the chairs in front of my desk and set out an audiodisc recorder, I handed her the glass of scotch, then walked over and closed the door. While I was there, I flipped a switch on the wall, turning on the lights up in the chandelier. Of course, what I didn't tell Miss Cummings was that it also turned on a useful little device that prevented any recording or transmitting devices from doing anything I didn't want them to. It covered everywhere in the house and several square miles of the surrounding area. It's always fun to work in a technological environment thousands of years behind what you understand.
As I leaned back into the swiveling chair across the desk from her, Miss Cummings pushed a button on the recorder that my jammer told me started up the recorder on the desk, the one in her purse, and the wire sewn into her no-nonsense outfit which was transmitting to still another in her car. "Okay, let's start. I'm here talking to Dr. Dick Long, on August 4th, 2042. So, Doc, where are you from, and how old are you?"
"I'm from a little place called Mon that used to be in Texas, just barely on this side of the old US border, back before President Cheney annexed Mexico for its oil fields. My parents used to joke that the town name stood for 'middle of nowhere'." Careful... "I say used to, of course, since the Neo-Genetix bio-terrorism incident ten years ago turned the entire area toxic. A tornado had gone through the area a few years before that, and I went to look at the aftermath, but I couldn't even find any sign the town had ever existed. As for my age, I think I'll just say that I'm over 21, and leave it at that."
"Alright, fair enough. How about your personal life? Are you married? Kids?"
"No. No wife, no girlfriend, no kids that I know of. I haven't seen my parents in what seems like forever. So I guess by most standards I really don't have much of a personal life."
I didn't guess far wrong on the length of the interview. It lasted past midnight, and required several refills for Miss Cumming's glass. Despite my fears, I didn't need to use my jammer to change the recordings very much.
***
I got up just after dawn, noting as I did so that the little video display in the table beside the bed showed that Miss Cummings was still asleep. As quietly as I could, went in the bathroom, took a shower and put on new clothes, then slipped downstairs.
I went in the library again, having the jammer check to make sure Miss Cummings' recorders weren't still going. I went over to the bookshelves and pulled out a book so ancient the ornate steel binding was nearly worn through with use, and the pages had turned bright orange with age. I started reading through it, images of times long gone filling my mind as I did so.
Date: 2.6.22.43 P.E.
Lylyth showed off her Department's new prototype today. We all wondered what the acronym TENSE stood for. (Note to self: Remember, it's Temporal Entropy Nullification System-Experimental, not Temporal Energy!) I warned her that even on the off chance that it works, she'd be unable to control the point in the timestream where she would end up. Somehow she talked me into a bet about it: If the thing works, I have set up a blind date for her older daughter with cousin Reyfyr (although why someone as cute as Jiny needs to be set up on a date is beyond my comprehension). If it doesn't work, she stops teasing me about my horns being small, straight, and black, instead of large, curled, and a 'proper' grey. As much as I appreciate the effort her team put into TENSE and the possibilities it could represent, I hope I win. All those 'this is why size matters' jokes in the company email system are humiliating.
Date: Day 2, circa 30,000 years ago.
Well, Lylyth won't be bothering me about my horns, but that's scant comfort. The thing works, but not only was the point in time uncontrolled, the targeting scanner was drastically out of alignment. The friggin' thing sent ME instead of the rock we were using as a test subject! And of all the places to end up, I'm somewhere in Africa (or maybe the Middle East, my astronomy is good, but not good enough to pinpoint my location). There are herds of the ovinids our species evolved from/will evolve from. The first minor steps towards the modern bipedal stance and the progression from hooves towards usable hands aren't even remotely noticeable. Frankly, if I didn't have a degree in Paleontology, I wouldn't be able to tell the difference between them and the more mundane goats and sheep in the area. Earlier today I saw some of those hairless apes from the Americas hunting some of them down. I didn't even know those things had ever existed in this part of the world! Strangely, there appear to be two subspecies here, one of them with dark-brown skin, the other with a cream-colored complexion.
Day 3 in the past, Midmorning
Okay, by now I really wish I had paid attention when my Subquantum Physics professor and that girl in the front row were arguing over the effects of biological distortion due to excesses of temporal energy, rather than writing bad poetry in my notebook. If somebody finds this journal, I don't want to alarm you, but I've fallen victim to such distortion in an ironic fashion: when I woke up, I found that I was one of those apes from my waist up, although I still have my horns, and my skin and fur are still as red as ever, rather than the brown or creamy skin color of the apes. Another attack on the ovinids. I got attacked by a tusk tiger today, and barely escaped with my new skin intact. I need a weapon of some kind.
Day 3, Dusk
Sometime after noon, a pink, hairless, simian tail showed up, although unlike a monkey's tail it has a thick triangular pad on the end. It also seems to be completely prehensile and completely unable to stay still, even for a moment. Believe it or not, I'm actually writing this with my tail. I've managed to cobble together a bow and some arrows, but my accuracy with them is a miserable joke. Another raid on the ovinids today. Damn those dirty apes!
Day 4, Morning
Okay, now this is getting ridiculous. I woke up in the middle of the night because I had rolled over and bruised the membrane of my new bat wings. If I ever get back to the present, I'll do great on the talk show circuit! Or, failing that, I'll have a steady career as a circus freak! More raids on the ovinids. The ones that are left are getting skittish. I'd better start putting together some better weapons. This bow is useless, and I don't want to have to fight those apes bare-handed.
Day 12, Afternoon
If anybody reads this, you'll notice it's been a week since my last entry. I had decided to stop writing, because of the long odds against anyone seeing it except me. On the other hand, I had to tell someone what was happening, even if it's just a book. Those apes attacked the ovinids again last night. I can't just watch them die, even with my misshapen body. I'll teach the apes a lesson, but I realize I could die, and I wanted there to be some record of my actions in case I do.
Day 14(?), Night
Okay, are you ready for this? I attacked the ape camp with what weapons I was able to make (mainly a fire-hardened spear, a slightly better bow with poisoned arrows, and a lot of gunpowder that I threw in their fire). I killed about a dozen before I was wounded, as one of the males buried his stone-bladed axe deep in my chest. I figured I was good as dead, but in seconds my body had expelled the primitive weapon and sealed the wound, without even leaving a scar. I then lashed out with my bare hands at the ape that had struck me. His head actually exploded in a bloody, pinkish fountain from the force of my blow. The apes saw that and scattered. I'd like to say I had the presence of mind to leave, too, but I was suddenly stricken with mortal lassitude, and fell asleep before I could do more than take a couple of steps. When I woke up this evening which, for all I know, could have been the next day, or a month, or even a year later, the tail and wings were gone. Unfortunately, so were my horns, and my legs had become those of the apes: straight, with only one primary joint and long, fleshy paws with five digits, rather than normal cloven hooves. My skin is cream-colored now, although my fur is still red. Go figure.
Day 30, Afternoon
Well, I've spent the past two weeks testing the effect I first witnessed during the attack on the apes. Having done so, I've come to an unsettling conclusion: I'm effectively immortal. Check that: I can't readily be killed by violence, although I suppose disease, chemical, or radiation exposure could do the trick, and old age will take me in a few decades. The quick-healing thing also seems to have a couple of unusual benefits, chief among them is that I haven't felt the slightest twinge of fatigue, nor the need for food, water, or even air since I woke up in this form. The second is that it appears to have fixed my bad eyesight, and hyper-enhanced my auditory, olfactory, and tactile sensory acuity. I wonder if all of those apes have senses this sharp. I suppose I had better get used to saying 'us apes.' Damn!
Day 32, Midmorning
The past, present and future ended today. For all my care, for all my attempts to keep it from happening, a nightmare has come to the waking world. I finally relocated the herd today. There were barely a dozen ovinids left. As I sat there, a chilling, icy spear thrust up my spine as I saw the apes make their final strike on the herd. I say final, because they killed them all.
I had barely gotten through the Day 32 entry when I heard a loud bang from the kitchen and a scream from Adam. I dropped the book and dashed to the kitchen, where I helped him put out the fire in his hair, then poured him a bowl of cereal (I still haven't figured out why he turns the stove on to make cereal).
When I got back to the library, a nightmare akin to the ones in the journal was waiting for me. Miss Cummings was reading it. She looked up as I entered. "Dr. Long, is this where you got the idea for A Mile in the Devil's Hooves_?"
I could actually feel the sweat being exuded across my body. "You could say that. Would you like something to drink?"
"Sure, another scotch would be great. You know, if you read between the lines, the description sounds like a demon or devil or something."
I went to the bar, careful to try not to seem hurried. I pressed a hidden button on the bar, then filled a glass with scotch and handed it to Miss Cummings. To my surprise, she downed the whole thing at once and asked for another, which I provided. She gulped that one, too. In seconds, she started to look sleepy. A big, relaxed smile and an adoring expression spread across her face. She sat down with a heavy thump. The book slid, forgotten, from her fingers.
"Huh, huh, huh. I feel good." I stared into her eyes. "Master, what's wrong? How can you be mad when everything's so great?" I noted the immediate change from Dr. Long to Master .
"You've seen the journal, Miss Cummings. And it does sound like a demon. The sight of The explosive flames caused by throwing gunpowder in a campfire, my twisted body, my new healing abilities, and my adrenaline-supercharged punch terrified the early humans so badly that the various parts of my shape were forever etched in your minds as things to fear. Those horrendous images came to light in countless myths across your myriad societies. Imps and Incubi, Satyrs and Satan, Baalrogs and Darklings and countless others, all of them came from my mutated form. I'm just not shaped like that anymore." Then my tone turned icy.
"I *am* something for humans to fear, but even as the source of all the fear in humankind, I too, fear something. I couldn't believe it when you silly apes developed a language and alphabet essentially identical to ours. I knew my journal would put me in extreme danger if anyone ever found it. I suppose I could have destroyed it, but by now it has too much sentimental value. It's my only remaining link to my past in the now-nonexistent future."
Miss Cummings released a deep sigh of contentment. "I feel really, really good, Mashter. But kina shleepy, too..." Her speech was slow, drowsy, like someone in a deep hypnotic trance. Of course, that was essentially the case.
"Enjoy it while it lasts. Remember all those glasses of scotch? They weren't just scotch. They also contained nanobots: microscopic robots designed to turn a human like you into little more than a talking pet. There won't be a thought in your head that I don't put there. You'll have no wants or needs except catering to my whims. You'll smile a lot and do whatever I tell you to do, be it jumping off a skyscraper or cutting your own head off. You'll serve me, and only in doing so will you find pleasure. On the other hand, you won't really think anymore. Ask Adam. Or Jenny. Or William. They'll tell you. Or they would tell you, if the three of them put together retained as much mental power as an earthworm. You're about to become a living marionette. What do you think about that?"
"It shhownshhh like a dream come true to me, Mashterr..." I looked in her eyes again. Glassy now. Very glassy.
***
"Doctor Long? I'm Harry Mann from Terra Today."
"Nice to meet you. Would you care for a drink?"
"I'd love one. Scotch if you got it."
"Eve, be a dear and get Mr. Mann a glass of scotch. And while you're at it, refill mine. Remember, the scotch is the light brown stuff in the square glass bottle, and the Coke's the black stuff in the plastic bottles." I handed Eve my glass, empty except for the slowly-melting ice cubes in the bottom.
"Right away, Master!" Mr. Mann apparently couldn't keep from ogling her as she headed off to the bar in the south end of the library, practically drooling on himself as his beady, porcine eyes lecherously drank in her every move.
Mr. Mann's mouth split into a lascivious leer as Eve approached, handing him his glass of scotch. "Y'know, you must have the devil's own luck!"
My smile vanished as I raised my glass, as if in a toast. "You have *no* idea."
© Craig Eubanks
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