Historia, Part XXI

The courtyard of the sentry station was very large, and their were a number of cots scattered about. It wasn’t until he inspected his on cot very closely that Clifford realized it was merely a park bench with the backing cut off. The ground was mostly grass, with some bits of broken asphalt here and there. The strangest thing was a length of what Clifford knew to be railroad track, about twenty feet long, just sitting in the middle of a pristine bit of grass. He had a hard time taking his eyes off it.

But right now, the railroad track wasn’t his concern. Only what Schrodinger had just said. Those words echoed in his mind until they snapped at a certain intersection between synapses and sent his thoughts into a rage-spiral.

Clifford just sat in shock for just a moment before unleashing a torrent of mutterings and curses. The mouse simply listened to all of it, blinking occasionally. Once Clifford’s momentary rage had subsided he leaned back on the cot and looked deep into Schrodinger’s eyes, “How am I supposed to replace Father Time?”

The mouse rocked forward and settled on all four legs, “I’m not sure, Clifford. All I know is that you are supposed to replace him. Now can you walk? We have to get moving.”

Clifford shook his head, “Oh no we don’t. I’m noticing something here, Schrodinger. I’m noticing that you need me to accomplish your goals. Remember when you whispered in my ear that there was untold wealth in the pyramid and it was mine if we could get there? I don’t care about the gold, or the jewels. I just want to know everything. Why are you using me?”

The mouse jumped down off the brick wall and made his way tot he foot of Clifford’s cot. Doctor Sora Thii offered him a hand and lifted him up onto the cot, “Clifford... I can see that you won’t be moved. Where do you want me to start?”

“How about from the beginning? That old thing in Carnacabidos was terrified of you, let’s start there.”

Schrodinger nodded, “It was a woman, by the way. Her name is Fate. She’s actually the last surviving of three sisters. They were once powerful members of the elite class, but they fell from grace. She knows me because she studied at the Book Place of Alex and Rhea.”

Clifford lifted a hand, “She said you were the progentater of the experiment. What is that?”

The mouse leaned back, resting against Clifford’s good foot, “The progenitor of the experiment, is what she said. Many, many years ago there was a book written that claimed that mice had ordered the construction of the Earth in order to solve a great question. The only thing I can assume is that, at some point, that book, which was a work of fiction, became accepted as reality, or at least the part about mice anyway. It’s actually kind of funny.”

Clifford exhaled loudly, “No, it’s not funny. Look, Schrodinger, I’m here in the middle of a war I don’t belong in, in the middle of a city I’ve only ever heard about in fairy tales, and I’m not even sure what’s going on anymore. My life really doesn’t make any sense.”

Schrodinger smiled, and for some reason Clifford thought it was the most evil smile the mouse could muster. Schrodinger spoke, “Then I guess it is time to explain you, Clifford Jenkins. It’s time to explain who you are, where you come from, and I suppose I should tell you about your gift.”

Clifford ran his hands through his hair, “Yeah, it’s about dad-blamed time you did!”

“Doctor Thii, please bring me the book.” Schrodinger waited until the doctor brought over a thick, dust-covered book and laid it on Clifford’s lap. “Do not open the book, Clifford, but just look at its cover.”

Clifford examined the front and back of the book, and gently ran his finger along the ends of the pages, a think patina of dust coming off with each touch, “I don’t get it. It’s the same History book I had at the University in Nostalgia.”

Schrodinger’s smile didn’t fade, “It is Nostalgia, Clifford Jenkins. It is everything you know. This will come as a big shock, and that is why I need the good doctor to take the book back from you.” Sora Thii reached over and took the book, but Clifford’s finger inexplicably clinched when she first touched the book, but he relented. Schrodinger nodded, “Clifford, that book is your life. You live within it. You are bound by it.”

“What!?!”

“Everything that you are, all that you do, is that book. In fact, everything around you is that book. At one point in the distant past all of history was... not so much erased as disjointed. There was a group of scholars who tried to piece everything together, but their template was fundamentally flawed, and they brought in bits and pieces of fiction to supplement their history. That’s why the Fate believed I was a progenitor of the experiment, even though I’m not.”

Clifford could feel his own mind reeling, “What does that mean?”

Schrodinger patted Clifford’s foot, “It means that history is not history, at least in the truest sense of the word. History has become a jumbled mess that needs someone to make sense of it. You are that one, Clifford Jenkins. Your gift is so rare that, I would wager, you are the only person ever to have it. You live this book, Clifford, but at the points where the scholars made mistakes you have the ability to correct their thinking. You can, in essence, change history to the correct path. Actually, I think your gift is more the ability to make history suit your needs, which is far more human than anything else. Humans change their environment to fit the needs they encounter, you merely have taken it to another level. You can change history to fit your needs.”

Clifford looked at the mouse blankly.

Schrodinger continued, “Think about it for a moment. In the King’s Valley, as we climbed down the wall, you saw buildings lining the river for as far as you could see, right? And yet, in the valley none of those buildings were there, although we followed the river’s course. And the river ran uphill, yes? Yet when you put the turkey’s entrails into the water they ran against the current back downhill. Is it possible that, because you believed the river to lead to Historia it flowed uphill to fit your mental image, even though ever bit of it’s fluid dynamic motion ran with gravity?”

Clifford shook his head, “I don’t know what you’re saying, Schrodinger. Are you telling me I can time travel or some crap?”

Schrodinger shook his head, but the grin remained, “No, Clifford Jenkins, I’m telling you that you can’t time travel. But you make time travel around you. The difference is so subtle that you never even knew you were doing it. Sometime long ago Nostalgia was deserted, but you remained behind, the only one living there. But you never realized it, because you forced history to bring people to you.”

Clifford closed his eyes, and he suddenly felt very faint. He could tell he was about to pass out, “No! That’s not possible!”

Schrodinger nodded, “It’s very possible, Clifford. That’s why you can’t open that book. You can’t look ahead. That book is your life. That book is all our lives. Destroy it and you destroy the world. But if you use it to replace Father Time, then you can set history aright.”

Clifford was shaking, and suddenly Doctor Sora Thii looked very nervous. She spoke softly to Schrodinger, “He’s not accepting this, General. He’s going to pass out.”

“Then let him rest,” the mouse said quietly. He then climbed up onto Clifford’s shoulder, “Rest for a while, Clifford. I know it is hard to believe, but you must believe it. The truth in this case is far stranger than the fiction could ever be.”