Читать онлайн «The Man Who Folded Himself»

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemb,ance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

First BenBella Books Edition July 2003

Copyright © 1972 by David Gerrold Revisions Copyright © 2003 by David Gerrold

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in case of breif quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

EfWBfLLA

Benbella Books

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Gerrold, David, 1944-The man who folded himself / David Gerrold. - 1st BenBella Books ed.

p. cm.

ISBN 1-932100-06-7 (alk. paper) - ISBN 1-932100-04-0 (pbk. : alk. paper) 1. Time travel -Fiction. 1. Title.

PS3557. E69M34 2003 813'. 54 -dc21 20021454554

Cover illustration copyright © 2002 by Alan Gutierrez Cover design by MelodyCadungog

This book is for Larry Niven, a good friend who believes that time travel is impossible.

He’s probably right.

In the box was a belt. And a manuscript.

ft ft ft

I hadn’t seen Uncle Jim in months.

He looked terrible. Shrunken. His skin hung in wrinkled folds, his complexion was gray, and he was thin and stooped. He seemed to have aged ten years. Twenty. The last time I’d seen him, we were almost the same height. Now I realized I was taller.

“Uncle Jim!” I said. “Are you all right?” He shook off my arm. “I’m fine, Danny. Just a little tired, that’s all.

” He came into my apartment. His gait was no longer a stride, now just a shuffle. He lowered himself to the couch with a sigh.

“Can I get you anything?”

He shook his head. “No, I don’t have that much time. We have some important business to take care of How old are you, boy?” He peered at me carefully. “Huh—? I’m nineteen. You know that. ” “Ah. ” He seemed to find that satisfactory. “Good. I was afraid I was too early, you looked so young—“ He stopped himself. “How are you doing in school?” “Fine. ” I said it noncommittally. The university was a bore, but Uncle Jim was paying me to attend. Four hundred dollars a week, plus my apartment and my car. And an extra hundred a week for keeping my nose clean.

“You don’t like it though, do you?”

I said, “No, I don’t. ” Why try to tell him I did? He’d know it for the lie it was.

“You want to drop out?”

I shrugged. “I could live without it. ”

“Yes, you could. ” he agreed. He looked like he wanted to say something else, but stopped himself instead. “I won’t give you the lecture on the value of an education. You’ll find it out for yourself in time. And besides, there are other ways to learn. ” He coughed; his whole chest rattled. He was so thin.  “Do you know how much you’re worth right now?”

“No. How much?”

He pursed his lips thoughtfully; the wrinkled skin folded and unfolded. “One hundred and forty-three million dollars. ”