Nebula Awards Showcase 2009 by Ellen Datlow Read Free Book Online Page B

last thoughts were of you. She wished me to tell you that while her life was short, it was made happy by the time she spent with you.”
    She saw the tears streaming down my cheeks, and said, “Forgive me if my words cause you pain, my lord.”
    “There is nothing to forgive, child. Would that I had the means to pay you as much as this message is worth to me, because a lifetime of thanks would still leave me in your debt.”
    “Grief owes no debt,” she said. “Peace be upon you, my lord.”
    “Peace be upon you,” I said.
    She left, and I wandered the streets for hours, crying tears of release. All the while I thought on the truth of Bashaarat’s words: past and future are the same, and we cannot change either, only know them more fully. My journey to the past had changed nothing, but what I had learned had changed everything, and I understood that it could not have been otherwise. If our lives are tales that Allah tells, then we are the audience as well as the players, and it is by living these tales that we receive their lessons.
    Night fell, and it was then that the city’s guardsmen found me, wandering the streets after curfew in my dusty clothes, and asked who I was. I told them my name and where I lived, and the guardsmen brought me to my neighbors to see if they knew me, but they did not recognize me, and I was taken to jail.
    I told the guard captain my story, and he found it entertaining, but did not credit it, for who would? Then I remembered some news from my time of grief twenty years before, and told him that Your Majesty’s grandson would be born an albino. Some days later, word of the infant’s condition reached the captain, and he brought me to the governor of the quarter. When the governor heard my story, he brought me here to the palace, and when your lord chamberlain heard my story, he in turn brought me here to the throne room, so that I might have the infinite privilege of recounting it to Your Majesty.
    Now my tale has caught up to my life, coiled as they both are, and the direction they take next is for Your Majesty to decide. I know many things that will happen here in Baghdad over the next twenty years, but nothing about what awaits me now. I have no money for the journey back to Cairo and the Gate of Years there, yet I count myself fortunate beyond measure, for I was given the opportunity to revisit my past mistakes, and I have learned what remedies Allah allows. I would be honored to relate everything I know of the future, if Your Majesty sees fit to ask, but for myself, the most precious knowledge I possess is this:
    Nothing erases the past. There is repentance, there is atonement, and there is forgiveness. That is all, but that is enough.
    TED CHIANG
    Back in the 1980s, the physicist Kip Thorne described a kind of time machine that was consistent with the principles of Einstein’s general relativity. This time machine wasn’t like a vehicle, but more like a road you could travel along, and the direction of travel determined whether you moved into the past or the future. You couldn’t travel to a date earlier than the creation of the time machine, in the same way that you can’t keep driving when there’s no more road. Furthermore, Thorne’s analysis indicated that you couldn’t create a paradox with this time machine, and that only a single, self-consistent timeline was possible.
    For a long time I thought about writing a hard SF story around this idea, but one day it occurred to me that the basic mechanism might not appear out of place in a low-tech setting. I eventually decided that an “Arabian Nights”-style story would be an interesting way to use it, because the recursive nature of time travel fit with the convention of nested stories, and the idea of a fixed timeline seemed to mesh well with Islamic notions of destiny.

NEBULA AWARD, BEST SHORT STORY
    ALWAYS

    KAREN JOY FOWLER
    K aren Joy Fowler is the author of five novels and two short-story collections. Her first