Free City Beyond Time: Tales of the Fall of Metachronopolis by John C. Wright Page A

thinks his changes will improve things, even when he starts to fade.”
    Suddenly, the older woman eyes were glistening with tears. She turned away.
    Catherine stood still, not knowing what to do or say. The library loomed dark around her.
    The older woman said in a forced tone, “I had forgotten what I looked like, how full of hope I was. How foolish I was. And this place, this library, all those damned things on the wall.” She waved her hands toward the museum shelves.
    The older woman turned. “You don't even know what I'm talking about, do you? They can only reach areas of time they know; Lee has to read these books—they're all history, you know—and run his hands over these artifacts to get into the mood to find the time they come from. Otherwise the mirror is just fog. He can't get into the future, unless he can clearly see how it will be.”
    “What caused the… the divorce?”
    “Come along.”
    The older woman turned toward one of the doors and opened it. Rose-red light, as of the dawn, spilled through the open door. On that side of the door, the windows of the little reading room beyond showed twilight. Birdsong rang through the air. On this side of the door, it was midnight, and the windows here showed the same landscape, the same trees and statues, except for the stars floating in the black night.
    Catherine stepped into the room. Here was a fire place, several chairs, a small table. The room was filled with rosy shadows. Along the ceiling flickering shadows leaped and flowed, but there was no fire in the grate.
    The older woman stepped toward the window, and pointed. “Look.”
    Outside, there was a bonfire roaring. Scraps of blackened paper, pages from books, floated and swirled in the boiling clouds. Covers of books cracked and burned in the mass of the fire. There were piles of other books upon the lawn and; a man who looked like Lelantos, except that his hair was white, was tossing books one at a time into the flames. Tears were trailing down his harsh, lined face.
    “When is this?” Catherine said, looking out at the future version of Lelantos. The books were not alone. On the lawn next to the pile of unburnt books loomed the wreckage of slashed portraits, broken busts and other artifacts from the collection in the museum.
    “Another date I won't forget,” the older woman said. “It is the time he really tried to give it up.”
    “Time travel?”
    “Lee can't find any future further forward than this. He couldn't imagine himself ever giving it up; he couldn't imagine what the house would look like without all his ancient artifacts cluttering it up. But every time he goes back in time, more paradoxes collect. He gets more forgetful. Once or twice it got so bad he turned insubstantial. That scared him. He went back, and, even though he couldn't touch anything, he managed to undo what he had done, and he was solid when he came back again. I don't mind when he does it for some good reason, like the investments when he plays the market, or to help us during the war—there's going to be a war in a few years, dear—but going back to the Middle Ages to play with Arthur and his knights, or when he's off to Troy to try to save Hector's life… I even think he sneaks off to watch gladiatorial games in Imperial Rome. In fact, I'm sure of it. He's addicted to bloodshed. He went back to watch the battle of Poitiers a dozen times. Once he told me that one of his brothers goes back to Hiroshima just before the atom bomb, and commits terrible crimes, horrid things, rape and torture, just to do them, just because he can get away with it, because all the evidence will be burnt away and no futures depend upon what will come out of it. But I don't think he was talking about a brother. He was talking about himself. He was trying not to smile when he told me. He can't quit. He'll never quit. And one day he'll just evaporate.”
    At this point the older woman was openly in tears. Catherine was looking at her in