The Bazaar of Bad Dreams

‘Sad but true,’ he said, and highlighted the Y button. What came up was similar to a message he had seen before: Ur Local is protected by all applicable Paradox Laws. Do you agree? Y N.

Now that was strange. The New York Times archive wasn’t protected by these Paradox Laws, whatever they were, but their pokey local paper was? It made no sense, but seemed harmless. Wesley shrugged and selected Y.

WELCOME TO THE ECHO PRE-ARCHIVE!

YOUR PRICE IS $40.00/4 DOWNLOADS

$350.00/10 DOWNLOADS

$2500.00/100 DOWNLOADS

Wesley put his fork on his plate and sat frowning at the screen. Not only was the local paper Paradox Law-protected, it was a hell of a lot more expensive. Why? And what the hell was a pre-archive? To Wesley, that sounded like a paradox in itself. Or an oxymoron.

‘Well, it’s under construction,’ he said. ‘Traffic fines double and so do download expenses. That’s the explanation. Plus, I’m not paying for it.’

No, but because the idea persisted that he might someday be forced to (someday soon!), he compromised on the middle choice. The next screen was similar to the one for the Times archive, but not quite the same; it just asked him to select a date. To him this suggested nothing but an ordinary newspaper archive, the kind he could find on microfilm at the local library. If so, why the big expense?

He shrugged, typed in July 5, 2008, and pushed Select. The Kindle responded immediately, posting this message:

FUTURE DATES ONLY

THIS IS NOVEMBER 20, 2009

For a moment he didn’t get it. Then he did, and the world suddenly turned itself up to superbright, as if some supernatural being had cranked the rheostat controlling the daylight. And all the noises in the café – the clash of forks, the rattle of plates, the steady babble of conversation – seemed too loud.

‘My God,’ he whispered. ‘No wonder it’s expensive.’

This was too much. Way too much. He moved to turn the Kindle off, then heard cheering and yelling outside. He looked up and saw a yellow bus with MOORE COLLEGE ATHLETIC DEPARTMENT printed on the side. Cheerleaders and players leaned out the open windows, waving and laughing and yelling stuff like ‘Go, Meerkats!’ and ‘We’re number one!’ One of the young women was wagging a big foam Number One finger. The pedestrians on Main Street grinned and waved back.

Wesley lifted his own hand and waved feebly. The bus driver honked his horn. Flapping from the rear of the bus was a piece of sheeting with MEERKATS WILL ROCK THE RUPP spray-painted on it. Wesley became aware that people in the café were applauding. All this seemed to be happening in another world. Another Ur.

When the bus was gone, Wesley looked down at the pink Kindle again. He decided he wanted to utilize at least one of his ten downloads, after all. The locals didn’t have much use for the student body as a whole – the standard town-versus-gown thing – but they loved the Lady Meerkats because everybody loves a winner. The tourney’s results, pre-season or not, would be front-page news in Monday’s Echo. If they won, he could buy Ellen a victory gift, and if they lost, he could buy her a consolation present.

‘I’m a winner either way,’ he said, and entered Monday’s date: November 23, 2009.

The Kindle thought for a long time, then produced a newspaper front page.

The date was Monday’s date.

The headline was huge and black.

Wesley spilled his coffee and yanked the Kindle out of danger even as lukewarm liquid soaked his crotch.

Fifteen minutes later he was pacing the living room of Robbie Henderson’s apartment while Robbie – who’d been up when Wesley came hammering at the door but was still wearing the tee-shirt and basketball shorts he slept in – stared at the screen of the Kindle.

‘We have to call someone,’ Wesley said. He was smacking a fist into an open palm, and hard enough to turn the skin red. ‘We have to call the police. No, wait! The arena! Call the Rupp and leave a message for her to call me, ASAP! No, that’s wrong! Too slow! I’ll call her now. That’s what—’

‘Relax, Mr Smith – Wes, I mean.’

‘How can I relax? Don’t you see that thing? Are you blind?’

‘No, but you still have to relax. Pardon the expression, but you’re losing your shit, and people can’t think productively when they’re doing that.’

‘But—’

‘Take a deep breath. And remind yourself that according to this, we’ve got almost sixty hours.’

‘Easy for you to say. Your girlfriend isn’t going to be on that bus when it starts back to—’ Then he stopped, because that wasn’t so. Josie Quinn was a member of the team, and according to Robbie, he and Josie had a thing going on.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I saw the headline and freaked. I didn’t even pay for my breakfast, just ran up here. I know I look like I wet my pants, and I damn near did. Thank God your roommates are gone.’