Edvina smiled radiantly and stepped with a light supple touch that was startling at first to many people, but was eventually seen as having a grace on its own. Still fresh from the rejuvenating mist of the time stream, she twirled in her soft hand the standard black memory stick that decoded the assigned changes she initiated. This was a worthwhile edit in time, she thought.
“Depose a patriarch or summon a wise council today, did we?” Isaac asked, having just left his own assigned stream.
Her smiled changed shape as to say: Whatever you think.
“No, of course you didn’t.” Isaac looked down at the stick – at least, Edvina decided it was the stick he was leering at and not her legs. The time stream didn’t allow for much clothing… “I prevented calamity.” He announced. “Gave an idea to a fellow to improve an earthquake warning. We’ll see the data in the Terminal, but safe to say – thousands were saved.”
“A good idea by Committee… If you’re going to walk with me do keep pace about yourself.” They went down the hallway lined with individual streams. They looked like someone captured the northern lights, wildly twisting with greens, blues, and reds, she always thought.
“A good idea to send me, you mean.” His legs had to work to keep up, Edvina was pleased to see.
“Selections are randomized. All weavers are equal.” They continued down the hall, Edvina almost willing silence between the two. Weavers, like herself, would step into streams after selecting the date, or pop out of streams that the Committee required a change from. She recognized Urban returning from his duty and waved. He looked at Isaac and paused just a moment before Isaac swallowed him in conversation. Edvina politely navigated her way out of their forced chatter.
She stepped in to the round room at the end of the hall before the others could and made her way to her small section. She placed her hand on the smooth wall causing it glow. A control panel formed out of the wall, she quickly summoned her clothing and stepped into her pants and uniform. With a slight sigh and even slighter wavering of her tall stance, she glanced at Isaac and placed her memory stick in a small tube by the panel. A strand of thin green light scanned the stick. An instant later she retrieved it and slid the stick into her pocket. The panel bled back into the wall.
Isaac and the other weaver’s panel dissolved away just a few moments later. They were talking about something Edvina didn’t care to pick up when a fine vapor filled the room. Any mite or speck of dust they picked up in their time travels would be instantly sought out and destroyed painlessly, they were reassured.
“Let’s see how we did.” Isaac said once the mist was vacuumed through the ceiling.
They entered the ground floor of the forum, circular again but vast, rising up as if it were a hallow skyscraper, higher than anyone’s sight could provide. People rushed across the floor, walking along the outskirts of the second level, and the third level, and the fourth. Like a colony of ants. The three headed towards a large round desk in the center floor where more people sat behind monitors. Hanging above the desk at the height of the third floor read the phrase:
ENDURANCE IN SAFETY
Right below floated a chart featuring names of the weavers listed in order of lives saved. The top name flourished in gold: Maxwell Zamenian, by his name was 1,104,006,850,040. In a moment’s time, that number dropped by 10,000. Still, Maxwell glittered in gold.
“Urban here fixed the led piping in a small Roman city.” Isaac brought the young man to Edvina’s side, looking down towards the middle of the chart for her own ranking which sat painfully in the middle of the pack. “The birthplace – of the parents – to the great Augustus Cesar. Fixed up another nasty bit of weaving that wiped out that family tree.” He slapped Urban on the back, who laughed uneasily. “Old Scarlett mistakenly… Oh well, she’s been demoted. Mistakes do happen, don’t they, Edvina?”
“The weight of a weaver is lost to none.” She replied, then smirked at Urban. “Well executed.”
“Yes,” Isaac interrupted. “But sometimes weight should be lost on people.” He nodded towards the clerk behind the desk.
“Excuse yourself, Isaac.” She shot him a glance.
Her name, already exemplary in its mediocrity, suddenly fell eighty-two spots. Edvina Holloway turned red. The bottom score.
“I..” There was a mistake. This wasn’t right. “I…” Her eyes darted around, none of the weavers looked her way. “I introduced a new strain of wheat into a famine… It should have improved resistance to drought?”
The pudgy Terminal clerk walked over and handed her a small piece of paper. She already knew the blunt words printed on it. “Demotion after Redemption.” Back to a senior clerk, crunching numbers of the weavers. Some flourished in that position, often turning away the chance to become a weaver. But where the rush in a desk? How could anyone ensure eternal presence from a chair? There is no glory in administration. And once demoted, there was no second chance. Weavers need be perfect.
“Thank you.” She told the clerk, squinting down at the coward. Then back to the charts.
-3,200,548
“No one’s been negative.” Urban gawked at the board. “Ever.”
“It’s a mistake.”
“No mistake, Edvina. Societal Endurance in Safety. We mustn’t lose lives in any era.” The clerk said, and handed her a second paper. “Your chance of Redemption, as required. Of course, tasks are randomly selected among the weavers – to avoid any favorability leading to bias, inevitably leading to failure. The chance of saving over 3 million lives are, slim. Good luck.”
She ripped the message open: Year 2165. Resolve flight failure of the Jupiter-class rocket. What good would that do? Edvina thought. A few dozen lives on that ship – maybe. Nowhere near where she needed to be.
“Oh, Edvina. That simply won’t do.” Isaac had squirmed his way behind her. “But, let me accompany you on your final trip down the Gateway. It will be my pleasure.”
She hardly heard him. She couldn’t have failed. Weaving is what she was made for. How did 3 million lives go wrong? Was it a plague? Did the new strain somewhere bring rise to a despotic king? It didn’t matter – another weaver would fix it later. But not her.
“The weight of a weaver is lost to no one.” Isaac reminded her.
There was one place she could save hundreds of millions of lives and be in no danger of demotion. Empty the powder keg before it could erupt, she thought. 1913. The twentieth century’s first World War.
Every weaver studied this timeline, its complex string of relations between nation-states reverberating from wars and customs long since passed. Never again would single individuals change the course of history as they did in that time. If Germany decisively took Belgium, conquering France, Edvina reasoned they would pivot their focus immediately to the eastern front and defeat Nicholas II’s Russia. It would prevent 41 million casualties in that war alone.
From there, the Second World War would be unnecessary, the Middle East would never fall into hegemony of the European powers, the proxy wars of the Cold War, terrorism, everything! Not trillions of lives like Maxwell, perhaps not, but enough to rise far above demotion.
She started towards the gateway, Isaac right at her heels.
“Just – don’t follow me, Isaac. God damn it!” She shouted. Some people turned towards her, but most watched the board awe-struck. Her number continued to fall more and more into the negative and uncharted territory. Urban was one of those lost in the glare of a historical event – the losing of lives.
She deftly ran through the forum, and nearly tore off the disallowed clothing before sprinting through the Gatway. Twirling streams of color passed in the hallway as she zeroed in on her assigned location.
“Whatever you’re planning, Edvina. Remember the laws of weaving!” Isaac called after, still far behind Edvina.
She ignored him and finally arrived at her station. Taking another look at her instructions, resolve a flight failure! She cleared the control panel and punched in Berlin, Germany, 1913.
Isaac arrived just before she step through and looked at the panel in horror, “Edvina! NO! The twentieth century is restri –“
She fell into the stream.
Damp soil kissed her feet surrounded by glistening grass. A faint wind blew her hair, tossing it gently over her shoulders.
“Berlin?”
There was no sign of the great city from the twentieth century. No shadow of buildings or scent of rising bread in the bakeries. No society teetering on the edge of total war. She quickly looked up at the Sun. It sat safely in the ecliptic plain. The correct hemisphere. The correct latitude. This was Berlin. But..
“Oh my God.”
She turned to jump back through the rip. Maybe there was still time. A change in World War I? It would ripple in time for thousands of years! Influence every generation and completely alter time itself. She was a fool! This wasn’t Berlin 1913 CE. No. It was Berlin – 1913 BCE. Four thousand years earlier. The principal events of the twentieth century were restricted, and no one knew the penalty. At least, no one who’s ever returned.
Edvina scrambled to the rip, but found nothing. Only thin air. Her punishment.
The New Martian 