First Rule of Time Travel

By far the worst thing about time travel is saving Hitler’s life. Now don’t you yell at me, Monica – in my defence, I am saving him from myself. Earlier I did kill him first so that’s got to count for something, right? Well, it turned out to be a bad idea because I ended up breaking reality.

Just a smidge.

You can’t really hold it against me, because you didn’t exactly train me for this. But I can fix it.

I step through the time portal onto the roof of the Hotel Kaiserhof, in Berlin of 1932, and I see myself – my earlier self – by the edge. And damn it, I’m late because other me is already taking aim! If he gets a shot off from that atomic sniper rifle, it’ll wipe out not just the Führer but also the future.

I sprint across the roof and shout “Wait!” but other me is too focused. Right as he pulls the trigger, I dive and hit him. The rifle fires with a terrifying whine and a streak of superheated yellow plasma rips into the sky. There’s an explosion high above us, big enough to take out a mid-sized laundromat, but thankfully it only hits clouds.

In the streets below, people scream and Hitler flees. My terrible job is done.

“What the hell!” says other me.

“You’ll thank me later.” Earlier? Whenever.

So, I know, you said we should never interact with our past selves, because time paradoxes and yadda yadda. I’ll admit, that stuff is way over my head and you’re smarter than me. I only signed on with your lab because I figured your research wouldn’t go anywhere and it’d be a slack paycheque. Who could have guessed you’d actually crack time travel?

Anyway. I had to do it, okay? I had to stop myself from shooting, because for some reason, killing Hitler erased you from the timeline. And, well, you want to point fingers at someone, maybe start with your ancestors, whose lineage is suddenly very suspect.

Well, it no longer matters as I’ve fixed it.

I draw my time sword and slash a hole in the fabric of reality, and step back into the future.

Our office is just as I left it. Your desk is back, but… dang. Your stuff’s not there. Did my plan fail? Did I miss something?

I hear a commotion outside, and I open the blinds to see the streets of New York. There’s a parade but everyone’s in uniform. Hmm. With armbands. And there’s banners hanging from the buildings. Red and black and white ones. Hmm. And off in the distance, Lady Liberty has been replaced by a colossal brass dictator.

Hmm.

I close the blinds.

“Shit shit shit!”

I check my computer. Happily there’s still an internet, and it’s all too eager to give me historical information on the rise of – what!? The Atomic Reich?

An article tells me that when Berlin witnessed the mysterious explosion in the sky in 1932, it gave them a leg up on atomic power, and the bomb didn’t end the war, it started it.

Looks like I made things just a tad worse then. Well, I think you’ll agree, it’s your fault for not being here to stop me! I don’t really know what I’m doing, and I don’t think anyone could have predicted this.

I’ve just got to be faster, that’s all. I configure my time sword to arrive earlier, then slash another hole in reality and pop back to the past.

This time I see other me crouched over a big weapon case, still assembling the atomic sniper rifle. I approach him.

“Excuse me,” I say. He startles and points the damn thing at me. “Whoa, easy there!”

“Holy crap,” he says, lowering the rifle. “Are you… me?”

“Yes, I’m you – from the future.”

“Oh, wow! That’s amazing! Say, did Monica ever give me that promotion?”

“Er… not that far from the future.”

“Hmm,” he says. “Listen, I’d love to chat, but I just gotta do a thing real quick.”

“Actually, that’s why I’m here. Listen, you can’t kill Hitler. It messes up the whole future. Can’t even fire that rifle.”

He looks crestfallen – and yeah, let me tell you, I get that. What’s the point of going back in time if you can’t even kill Hitler? That’s like the first rule of time travel. But he does hand the rifle to me when I hold my hand out.

“So why can’t I shoot him?” he asks. We see our would-be target crossing the busy Wilhelmplatz, irritatingly oblivious.

“I’m glad you asked,” I say. “See, time travel is pretty complicated. As I understand it–”

Then someone barks “Wait!” and when I turn I see the other previous me, the one that first tried to stop the assassination, charging at me. Before I can react he slams into me. I nearly go over the edge. The rifle does.

All three of us crowd at the railing and watch the weapon spiral lazily to the street below. It clatters at the feet of you-know-who, who jumps and exclaims.

“Ooh!” we hear him say, as he picks the weapon up. “Was ist das?”

Hmm.

Shit shit shit.

All three of us cut holes into time and step through them.

I don’t know where the others ended up, but I’m in a burning hellscape. Our office, the whole city, is rubble. The sky is covered in black clouds, and is literally on fire, and everything is shaking as gargantuan robots stomp about shooting death rays all over the place. And of course there’s still no sign of you, because you just couldn’t be arsed to resume existing.

And on top of all that, I can’t breathe and my eyes are burning so I quickly reconfigure my time sword and cut another hole. I think I know how to prevent this. Just have to make sure I get there before we knock the rifle off the roof.

Okay. Berlin, 1932. I see third me explaining to first me why we can’t shoot Hitler, and – there! Second me just appeared and started charging towards the others. I sprint and tackle him just before he slams into third me. We hit the ground with an oof, but it looks like third me is still holding the rifle, so mission accomplished!

“Shit shit shit!” says second me, beneath me. His arm is outstretched to the sky, and I see his time sword spinning in the air and clattering over the edge of the roof. All four of us rush to the railing and look down, just in time to see Hitler laughing maniacally with the sword in his hand.

Okay. I know it’s technically not a “time sword” but instead a… what did you call it? A chrono-bono splasher? Splisher? Splicer! A chrono-spacial splicer, yeah. But that’s a dumb name; everyone says so. And I know that technically I wasn’t supposed to borrow it, and if you were here you’d probably say I stole it – but you’re not here, so I guess that means I didn’t do anything wrong.

But I sure do wish you were here, because I’m reasonably confident things just hit the fan, and you’d know how to fix it. Probably with something lame like using math.

I cut another time sword hole and leap into the future.

The office is intact again, but there’s three guys in it, wearing what I can only describe as spaceman armour. Heavy black steel, mechanized whirring, gold insignia – red capes! – and lots of blinking red lights. Two are wearing helmets molded like skulls, and the third has an officer’s cap, and he snaps to me.

“Aha!” he says. “We’ve finally found you.” Then he swings a time sword at me!

I barely get my sword up to block his, and I let out a fierce battle cry that definitely isn’t just me screaming in panic. He cuts at me again and again, and bisects my desk as I jump behind it. He’s off balance and I take my opportunity to fight back by grabbing the closest thing near me and throwing it at his face – a half-full bag of paper clips.

He shrugs them off and sneers. And then the other two space Nazis draw their own time swords – because of course they do – and all three rush me.

I battle cry again and duck out the office, and sprint down the hall. There’s more troops in other offices, and when I glance over my shoulder the commander is gaining.

Okay, I need to fix this. I don’t really know how, but first things first: escape. I mash the configuration of my sword to whatever and slash open a hole and dive through.

Suddenly the dead air of the office is replaced by a frigid sea breeze, the sad carpet by polished wooden planks, and the flickering grey lights with a splash of stars against the night sky. A couple men in old-timey sailor costumes startle around me. Unless they are old-timey sailors, of course. Then I suppose they’re uniforms, not costumes.

But I don’t have time to introduce myself or admire the starscape, because somehow that Nazi commander got through my time hole, and now he’s here too. He lands with a thud and the planks beneath him groan. Actually, the whole floor moves, heaving my stomach. Turns out we landed on a ship.

“Surrender!” he shouts. “The CyberFührer 9000 will have your head! We will pull out all your time secrets!”

Yeah, except I don’t have any, because you’re the genius and I’m just the assistant.

“Never!” I shout. He lunges again. The crew around us scramble away from our blades and the deck lurches beneath our feet as we trade slashes and chops. Look, I really don’t understand why you’re so opposed to “time sword” as a name, because we’re literally sword fighting with them. Anyway, I digress.

He hacks the railing in half as a wave sprays us with ice cold water. I see an opening and swing with all my might – and my sword bounces off his spaceman armour.

“Ha ha ha!” he laughs. Then he punches me with his free hand – a pneumatic gauntlet that sends me flying across the deck and probably breaks something in my ribcage. I wheeze and a moment later I see him standing over me.

“This was amusing,” he says, “but it’s time for you to die, my friend.” He raises his sword with a cruel grin – and then there’s a flash of light behind him and a man roars. Next thing I know I see me run into the officer from behind, just as the ship lurches again, and suddenly the Nazi goes tumbling off the deck with a scream.

My saviour helps me to my feet, and I see me, but much older. A wild beard and tattered clothes, but also a bunch of strange animal pelts and a bow slung over his shoulder.

“Holy crap!” I say. “Are you… me?”

“Yes, I’m you – from the future.”

“Oh, wow! That’s amazing! Say, did we ever save Monica–”

He sighs incredibly loud. “I’ve spent the last decade in the Jurassic, and that’s what you ask me?”

“The Jurassic!? But why?”

He looks dramatically into the horizon, and mutters, “Never find me there.”

“What do you mean? Are you just hiding? We have to do something to fix things–”

“–You can’t fix this!” he roars, grabbing me by the collar. “Believe me, I’ve tried.”

“There’s got to be something.”

“There isn’t! Everything I do just makes things worse. It’s like my life is the Titanic.”

“That’s… an odd metaphor,” I say.

He shrugs. “We’re on it.” Then he grabs me by the collar again, and his eyes balloon. “And don’t you dare try to save them! This ship must sink. It really is for the best.”

“But–”

“–Trust me.” His voice is a whisper.

I disentangle myself from his grip. “Well, maybe that’s so, but I won’t just give up.”

“You will eventually.”

“I can fix things.” He scoffs, but I know I’m right. I can’t believe I’d ever turn out like this guy. Though, seeing real live dinosaurs does sound cool. Another day! First, the Time Reich. I really wish you were here. You’d know just what to do. You’d probably tell me to make small changes, since the whole thing is so overwhelming. To work backwards and figure out where I first got lost. Probably tell me to sit still and think things through before I actually did anything.

Hmm. Maybe that’s it. Maybe I can’t fix things.

I slash my time sword and step between dates, just as the Titanic slams into an iceberg.

Berlin, 1932. The Hotel Kaiserhof. I get there well before my initial me arrives, and when he does, I explain the situation to him. He argues that doing nothing is insane, but he hands over the rifle case all the same, and the atomic rifle is never assembled. Then we put up a net, so other mes don’t come sprinting blindly out of a time hole and off the roof, throwing future tech at the enemy. With the lot of us assembled together and filled in, we settle down for a very boring day of people watching in Wilhelmplatz. The target arrives, the target leaves – and nobody dies or loses any gadgets.

It’s uneventful, like a work day. Speaking of which, we say our farewells and go our separate ways. I’m the last to depart. I take one last look at Berlin, ’cause there’s no way I’d be able to afford a ticket to visit where I’m from – unless I got a raise, hint hint – and then I slash my time sword and return home.

And I gasp, because–

“Monica!” I say. “You’re here!”

“Uh, yeah,” you say, “I was just in the john.”

I run up and hug you. “You have no idea how much I missed you!”

And you disentangle yourself and push me back. “A little inappropriate. Hey, did you steal the prototype chrono-spacial splicer?”

“I borrowed it.”

“You’re fired.”

“Uh,” I say. I’m sure I could come up with a credible defense if I thought it through, but instead I slash time again and slip into the Jurassic.