Free Unidentified Funny Objects 2 by Robert Silverberg, Jim C. Hines, Jody Lynn Nye, Mike Resnick, Ken Liu, Tim Pratt, Esther Frisner Page A

dolphin’s clicking laughter translated through a synthesizer. “Ingeniously cruel. How did she respond when you refused?”
    Stranger didn’t answer.
    “You did refuse, right?”
    “YOU’RE INSANE.”
    “That’s beside the point,” said Scaramouche. “What’s important is that you survive. And since you’ll know your younger body is susceptible to cancer, you can start screening earlier. You didn’t discover the tumor until our shootout at the ice cream factory, right?” She giggled. “I thought I had finally built a bullet that would work on you. Hit you right in the ass. Made the whole ‘getting-the-shit-kicked-out-of-me-by-cartons-of-ice-cream’ thing totally worth it.”
    Stranger wasn’t exactly bulletproof, but bullets liked him. They tended to lose their way and tumble to the ground when fired in his direction. At point blank range, they simply refused to leave the gun’s barrel. “You want me to sentence my past self to this? ”
    “I want to offer your past self the chance to save your life.” Scaramouche’s frozen, grinning face tilted to one side. “Or are you saying the younger you wouldn’t sacrifice himself to save a fellow hero?”
    “The paradox—”
    “Timeline split, just like the Parallel Universe War of ’09. Or the evil Gold Panther and his ridiculous goatee. Don’t sweat it. The universe is very bendy. It will be fine. Probably.”
    Stranger struggled to focus through the mental haze that clung to his thoughts. “That’s what you really want. To create an alternate timeline. One where Scaramouche never had to worry about the Stranger.”
    “It was either that or steal some fossils and try to raise an army of dinosaurs. I may do that anyway, because who doesn’t love dinosaurs, right?”
    Stranger studied the tank again. The acid wouldn’t hurt him, but it would almost certainly kill Kelly. He couldn’t suppress all of those individual explosives at once.
    “What’s it going to be, John?”
    It took him a second to realize Scaramouche had called him by his human name. “I’m not—”
    “Stop it.” Scaramouche waved a gloved hand. “Voiceprint matching. Facial comparison software on the mouth and chin your old mask left exposed. General build and body language. Not to mention ‘John Knight’s’ convenient Powerball win years back. Yet, despite your millions, you kept your job in the newsroom. All the better to keep tabs on the city, right? Until recently, when you—I mean, he—went on longterm medical leave.”
    Kelly was staring at him. “John?”
    “How could you not know, Kane?” Scaramouche asked. “You’re supposed to be a reporter!”
    “If you knew, why didn’t you say anything?” asked Stranger.
    “This was more fun.” Scaramouche waved a hand impatiently. “Go on, show her. You’re dying anyway, right?”
    With a sigh, Stranger removed his helmet.
    “Whoa.” Scaramouche jumped back. “Never thought anyone could make me feel pretty. When did the alien acne start?”
    “Side effect of the treatment.” He touched the swollen lumps. Uneven stubble covered his scalp and much of his face.
    “Why didn’t you tell me, John?” asked Kelly.
    Stranger managed a small, self-deprecating smile. “I was afraid some psychopath would use you against me.”
    “You’ve tried to kill him so many times,” Kelly said to Scaramouche. “Why would you save him?”
    “Because this is a ridiculous way to die!” Scaramouche shouted, suddenly furious. “Killer robots, psychotic alien gladiators, zapped into the seventh dimension of Hell, that’s how people like us are supposed to die. If nothing else, we should tumble over a waterfall to our deaths together like Sherlock Holmes and Moriarty.”
    “I thought Holmes survived,” Kelly said.
    “Shut up. The point is, fuck cancer. Cancer’s not even an ironic death. It’s just stupid!”
    Stranger had never been able to outthink Scaramouche. “If you let me die—”
    “Then they import a new