I'll be using a wide variety of addressees-plus a wrinkle I thought up. I'm going to send a letter in the usual multiple covers to the Executive Computer, Secundus, Year 2000 Diaspora, to be opened by and read by the computer (untouched by human hands!) with a program to hold the message and deliver it to the Colony Leader, Tertius, the day after we left.
I don't believe in paradoxes. Either Minerva got that message before you were born, and filed it in dead storage, and passed it on to Athene, and now (your now) Ira has it and has passed it to you two-or it failed to get through at all. No anomaly, no paradox-either total successor total failure. I got the idea from the fact that the executive computer opens and reads and acts on endless written messages without referring them to the Chairman Pro Tern or to any human unless necessary.
Basic Message: (This was in my first note and will be in every letter.) I made an error in calibration and arrived three years early. This is not Dora's fault, and be sure to tell her I said so before you tell her what happened. Reassure her. Despite her tomboy rowdiness, she is very vulnerable and must not be hurt. If I had given her sufficiently accurate figures, she would have hit any split second I asked for; of this I am certain.
Basic rendezvous time and place remains ten (10) T-years after you dropped me and at meteor-impact crater in Arizona, other rendezvous times & places figured from basic as before.) My error changes the Gregorian date of rendezvous to 2 August 1926-but still ten T-years after drop, as planned.
If Dora will worry less if she finds the error in the data I gave her, here are time marks she can rely on: Gregorian dates of total eclipses by Luna of Sol with respect to Terra between Gregorian 2 Aug 1916 and 2 Aug 1926.
1918 June 8 1923 September 10
1919 May 29 1925 January 24
1922 September 21 1926 January 14
If Dora wants to be still fussier, she can get any ancient Solar System date from Athene she wants; the Great Library at New Rome perpetuated endless stuff of that sort. But Dora has in her own gizzards everything she really needs.
Recapitulation:
1. Pick me up ten T-years after you dropped me.
2. I'm three years early-my error, not Dora's.
3. I'm tine, healthy, safe, holding, miss my darlings, and send love to all of you.
Now the hairy & scary adventures of a time-traveler- To begin with, they have been neither hairy nor scary, I've been careful to attract no attention, as retiring as a mouse at a cat show. Whenever the locals rub blue mud in their navels, I rub blue mud in mine just as solemnly.
I agree with the politics of anyone who speaks to me, attend the church he does-while sheepishly admitting that I've missed lately-I listen instead of talking (difficult as you may find that to believe), and I never talk back. If someone tries to rob me, I will not kill him or even break his arms; I'll shut up and let him have all he can find on me. My fixed purpose is to be on the lip of that crater in Arizona ten years from now; I shan't let anything jeopardize keeping our date. I am not here to reform this world; I am simply revisiting the scenes of my childhood.
It has been easier than I expected. Accent gave me some trouble at first. But I listened and now speak as harsh a Cornbelt accent as I did as a youngster. It is amazing how things have come back. I confirm from experience the theory that childhood memories are permanent, even though one may "forget" them until restimulated. I left this city when I was younger than you two are; I have been on more than two hundred planets since then, I have forgotten most of them.
But I find that I know this city.
Some changes...but changes in the other entropy direction; I am now seeing it as it was when I was four T-years old. I am four years old elsewhere in this city. I have avoided that neighborhood and have not yet tried to see my first family-the idea makes me a bit uneasy. Oh, I shall, before I leave to travel around the country; I'm not afraid of being recognized by them. Impossible!
I look like a young man and much-I think-as I looked when I was in fact a young man. But no one here has ever seen what that four-year-old will look like when he grows up. My only hazard would lie in trying to tell the truth. Not that I would be believed-no one here believes even in space travel, much less time travel-but because I would risk being locked up as "crazy"-a nonscientific term meaning that the person to whom one applies that label has a world picture differing from the accepted one.
Kansas City in 1916- You put me down in a meadow; I climbed the fence and walked to the nearest town. No one noticed us-tell Dora that she did it slick as a pickpocket. The town was pleasant, the people friendly; I stayed a day to get reoriented, then moved on to a larger town, did the same there and got clothes to change me from a farm worker into someone who would not be conspicuous in a city. (You dears, who never wear clothes when you don't need them-except festive occasions-would have trouble believing how status here-&-now is shown by clothes. Far more so than in New Rome-here one can look at a person and tell age, sex, social status, economic status, probable occupation, approximate education, and many other things, just by clothing. These people even swim with clothes on-I am not farcing; ask Athene. My dears, they sleep in clothes.)
I took a railroad train to Kansas City. Ask Athene to display a picture of one from this era. This culture is prototechnical, just beginning to shift from human muscle power and animal power to generated power. Such as there is originates from burning natural fuels or from wind or waterfall. Some of this is converted into primitive electrical power, but this railroad train was propelled by burning coal to produce expanding steam.
Atomic power is not even a theory; it is a fancy of dreamers, taken less seriously than "Santa Claus." As for the method for moving the Dora, no one has the slightest notion that there is any way of grasping the fabric of space-time. (I could be wrong. The many tales of UFO's and of strange visitors, throughout all ages, suggest that I am not the first time-tripper by thousands, or millions. But perhaps most of them are as reluctant to disturb the "native savages" as I am.)
On arrival in Kansas City I took lodging at a religious hilton. If you received my arrival note, it was on stationery bearing its emblem. (I hope that note is the last I will have to entrust to paper and ink-but it took time to arrange for photoreduction and etching. The technology and materials available here-&-now are very primitive, even when I have privacy to use other techniques.)
As a temporary base this religious hilton offers advantages. It is cheap, and I have not yet had time to acquire all the local money I will need. It is clean and safe compared with commercial hiltons costing the same. It is near the business district. It offers all that I now need and no more. And it is monastic.
"Monastic"? Don't look surprised, my loves. I expect to remain celibate throughout these ten years, while dreaming happy fantasies of all my darlings, so many years & light-years away.
Why? The local mores- Here the coupling of male and female is forbidden by law unless specifically licensed by the state in a binding monogamy with endless legal, social, and economic consequences.
Such laws are made to be broken-and are. About three squares or a few hundred meters from this monastic hilton, the "Y.M.C.A.," starts the "red-light" district, an area devoted to illicit but tolerated female prostitution- and the fees are low. No, I am not too lazy to walk that far; I've talked to some of these women-they "walk a beat" offering their services to men on the street. But, my dears, these women are not recognized artists, proud of their great vocation. Oh, dear, no! They are pathetic drabs, furtive and ashamed. They are at the bottom of the social pyramid, and many (most?) are in thrall to males who take their meager earnings.