Read Part I

 

 

“I don’t like it,” Norman-Two answered.

“We’re messing with the primary time streams,” Norman-One observed. “There are, theoretically, millions – billions of alternate possibilities, and…”

“…we don’t really understand what…”

“…happened in the prime chronal stream…”

“…that is, our time stream…”

“…to cause the duplications.”

“Maybe you should think this over some,” I cautioned Norman-Prime, but caution has never been Norman’s strong point.

“It can’t miss,” he said. Before I could move to stop him, Norman-Prime turned the machine’s dial, flipped the toggle to “Back,” and pressed the button.

And nothing happened.

Norman-Prime stood there as before, a befuddled look on his face; his eyes were focused on something behind me.

“Damn it.”

I closed my eyes, gritted my teeth, and turned. Another Norman stood behind me. He was holding another time machine.

“Hold still,” I told him, and marked a ‘3’ on his forehead. “All right,” I said, “what’s your story?”

“I’ve never seen anything like it, George. It was like watching the whole thing on television – I saw myself come in, saw myself push the button, but I couldn’t do anything about it. I even saw the other two pop in, but I couldn’t move, couldn’t talk, couldn’t do anything until I – well, Prime – pushed the button that last time.”

“So we’ve learned one thing,” I said, “namely that, bad science-fiction notwithstanding, you can’t change anything that’s happened in the past.”

“Agreed,” all four Normans chimed in.  “Unless…”

“…the chronal vertices are somehow…”

“…realigned during the Phanse pulse insertion…”

“…of the physical representation of…”

“…quantum states at the level of…”

“…the zenojargonastic wavelength of…”

“…osawaddoteppic material transfer.”

“So,” I went to the fridge and pulled out another beer – I didn’t even remember finishing the first one – “what do we do now?”

All four Normans started talking at once. “Stop!” I shouted.

I pointed at Norman-Prime. “You. Talk. Everyone else, shut up.”

“Well,” Norman-Prime began, “You know, I haven’t moved at all since I pushed the button to go backwards. Now, remember, when I pushed the button the first time, I was standing there;” he pointed at the spot where Norman-One had appeared, “And then I pushed it the second time, I was standing at the window there.” He pointed at Norman-Two, where he stood by the window. “And Norman-One and –Two appeared right where I’d been where I pushed the button. Makes sense, right?”

The other Normans and I agreed.

“So, when I pushed the button to go back – why did Norman-Three appear over there, instead of where I’m standing?

“Well,” a Norman began,

“…it’s not possible under classical physics for two…”

“…masses to occupy the same…”

“…portion of space-time without…”

“…causing a major quantum flux event that would annihilate…”

“…all of the normal matter in both masses…”

“…and destroy pretty much everything else…”

“…for a pretty wide radius, and so…”

“…it’s likely that the mass conflict started…”

“…a rearrangement of the space-time matrices around…”

“…the previously existing masses in the…”

“…time frame of the moment where the…”

“…duplicate reappeared, so that he…”

“…materialized in an area where there wasn’t any conflict…”

“…and that’s interesting, because it indicates…”

“…that there is some adjustment of the time stream in…”

“…each instance where we’ve used…”

“…the device, proving an unknown…”

“…effect on causality that we can’t…”

“…understand or predict…”

“…without a lot more experimentation…”

“STOP!” I shouted.

I heard the door at the top of the basement stairs open, and my wife’s voice barked down the stairs. “What’s going on down there?”

“Nothing, dear,” I called. “Just looking at Norman’s new invention.”

I heard Belinda’s hard, sensible shoes thumping down the wooden stairs; in a cold panic, I managed to shove Normans One through Three into the little storage closet at the end of the workshop before my wife stalked into the room, scowling (as usual.)

“What are you doing?” Behind her, Norman-Prime smiled feebly.

“Nothing, dear.”

She sniffed at the air, and frowned at the beer I still held in my hand. “You better not be smoking down here.”

“We’re not.”

Belinda walked over to the workbench.  “What a mess,” she snarled. “What is this thing you’re fooling around with now, anyway?”

“It’s a…” Norman began.

I grabbed his arm. “It’s just a way to improve TV reception, dear. No big deal. I’m helping Norman with the electronics, that’s all.”

“So you’re working on something useful for a change?  That’s a new one for you, Norman,” Belinda said.  Norman blinked, but said nothing. He knew better.

“All right, then. Don’t make a mess. Not any more mess than you’ve already made, anyway.”  With a final glare, Belinda turned and stalked out of the workshop.  As soon as I heard the door at the top of the stairs close, I let the three duplicate Normans out.

“All right,” I said, “we have to figure a way out of this mess, and fast. And what ever else happens, none of you push any buttons.”

“Well,” a Norman began,

“We have three devices now instead…”

“…of one, so that means we can parallel the hooplaster derivators, and…”

“…daisy-chain the tiplimiter diodes into the…”

“…chronfrannistatic gillister pads…”

“…with the vodulatic voltimeters in reverse…”

“…and the cases grounded to the parallel ports…”

“…of the power supplies, and then…”

“…reverse the inductor polarity…”

“…that, and the removing the chronological verifier circuit…”

“…and tripling the power input…”

“…while boosting the resolution of the wave-form regulator…”

“…of all three devices hooked up in parallel…”

“…might undo everything we’ve done…”

“…if we can program it right.”

“George, can we borrow some tools and your laptop?”

I got them a screwdriver, a soldering iron, and my old laptop computer.  Then I sat, sipped beer, resisted the urge for a smoke, and watched.  The four Normans took the time machines apart, extracted the circuit boards and wired, soldered, programmed and just generally fiddled with it all for a good half-hour.

“All right,” Norman-Prime said at last. “I think we’re ready.”

“Yes,” the other three Normans chimed in.

“What did you do?” I asked.

“Well, it’s kind of hard to explain. We reprogrammed the left-hand cycling on the setacetical chronoprogession and reversed the frannistatic wave-phase inhibitor gronification pathways. That should retrace the ophetic chronal alternative pathways and shut off the dimensional shunts that are allowing more than one of me – of us – to be in one β-axis time stream at one moment.”

“No,” I said, “I didn’t get any of that.”

“We fixed it up to undo everything we’ve done,” Norman-Two said.

“OK.  That I understood.”

“All of you – me – gather around, the field won’t go far.”  The four Normans crowded around, Norman-Prime in the middle surrounded by doppelgangers.

“See you in a minute, buddy!” Norman-Prime assured me again, and hit the red button.  The four Normans shimmered briefly, and vanished in a flash of light.

A fraction of a second later, there was a second flash of bright white light.  It blinded me for a moment; I rubbed my eyes, squinted, fidgeted and in a moment was finally able to see clearly again.

Eight Normans stood there, blinking at me.  I felt my jaw drop. Two Norman-Primes, with no mark on the forehead. Two Norman-Ones. Two Norman-Twos. Two Norman-Threes. Two combined, cobbled together time machines.

“It repeated the whole process,” one of the Norman-Primes said.

“But it should…”

“…have unraveled the dimensional…”

“…time stream disruptions…”

“…caused by the repeated influx…”

“…of chrononavigational particles…”

“…unless we forgot to reverse the leptotransmogrifier pathways…”

“…and timed the Moss-Steinfeld pulses to negative wave-form…”

“…which would have initiated a quantum wave pulse…”

“…that could conceivably have completely…”

“…disrupted the fabric of space time and…”

“…eliminated all baryonic matter within a ten or twelve light-year radius…”

“…or just as likely, generated a killer strangelet…”

“…particle that would suck the entire solar system…”

“…down into a miniature black hole…”

“…which would be a bad thing,”

“Very bad,” I interrupted. “Listen, Norm – Norms – this is rapidly going from bad to worse, and it’s getting crowded in here. Can you figure out what’s wrong and fix it without destroying the Earth, or do I have to explain your mysterious identical octuplets to Belinda?”

“We can figure it out,” one of the Norman-Primes assured me. “We’ve got twice as many minds working on it now.”

“One mind,” I corrected him, “duplicated eight times.”

“Only technically,” a Norman-Two answered. “Since we were inserted into the time stream some moments ago, we’ve been having somewhat differing experiential streams…”

“…which leads to the establishment…”

“…of differing quantum states in each…”

“…of our material forms, which now that I think of it…”

“…may require another adjustment of…”

“…the Tergaster field-strength level and…”

“…the polonium plasma particle rectifiers…”

“…polarity, which may serve to…”

“…rewind the chain of alterations to the main time frame.”

One Norman-Three looked at me, his face reposed in supreme confidence. “ We just need to do some reprogramming.”

“That’s right,” three or for more Normans agreed, while the others stood there nodding.

“Well, get to it. I don’t have enough beer for all of you.”