The Gilded Age, a Time Travel Read Online Free PDF

Quite simply, you must do so.
    “Please
understand, Zhu,” he added, “we cosmicists are conservationists. We believe in
the mandate of nonintervention. Nonaction is as vital as action. We scorn the
aggressive, exploitative pursuit of oppressive new technologies that so
typified the technopolistic plutocracy three hundred years ago. We approached
t-porting cautiously, mindful of its dangers. We formulated the Tenets of the
Grandmother Principle for the proper conduct of t-port projects.”
    He
pulled out a page of hardcopy, handed it to Zhu. “We want you to learn the Tenets
backwards and forwards before you go. You must make every effort to observe
them. There are seven, plus the Closed Time Loop Peril. Trust me, you do not want to create a new probability.”
    “Okay,”
Zhu said, taking the paper page, turning it around curiously in her hands. And
sighed. Now she had to, like, study? “Because if I do create a new
probability, that could unravel all of spacetime as we know it. Right? Am I
getting this right?”
    He gave
her a sharp look. “Exactly right.”
    “Then,”
Zhu said, “you’re really serious? I’ve already lived in 1895? Before I was born ?”
    Chiron’s
sapphire eyes bored into her.
    “But
how can that be?” she wailed. “I don’t remember!”
    “Of
course you don’t. You don’t remember because you haven’t yet experienced it in
your personal timeline. Time is a forward-moving experience for us, Zhu. Till
you experience your life in 1895, you haven’t experienced it in your
consciousness yet. Not till you t-port there. Understand?”
    She
shifted on the divan, clutching her prison uniform. She wasn’t sure she
understood. “But why me?”
    He
nodded, expecting the question. “We’ve got evidence that you—or someone like
you—were there.”
    “Really!
What evidence?”
    “Well,
first off. . . .you’re a Chinese woman.”
    Zhu
laughed out loud. Was he racist and sexist, after all, this sophisticated
cosmicist with his Cosmic Mind rap? “Well, yeah. Just me and several billion other
Chinese women.”
    “And
you’ve got a neckjack. Primitive as it is, yours is better than several billion
other Chinese women.” He licked his lips nervously. “We’ll be installing a
monitor in your neckjack that will carry an Archive of relevant files,
including Zhu.doc, as I mentioned. The monitor will make sure you get to where
you’re supposed to go, keep you informed, stuff like that. Muse will have full
holoid capability, if you ever need to view a file. Much more advanced equipment
than the knuckletop I took on my Summer of Love Project.” He gives her another
sharp look. “Okay. So prepare yourself, Zhu. The shuttle will be ready in two
days.”
    “Two
days?”
    “Yes.
Because of the unfortunate incident at Changchi”--he was choosing his words
carefully, now, which instantly raised her hackles again--“the monitor will also
ensure that you’re fulfilling the object of the project.”
    “Oh,
I see. You’re really installing the monitor because you don’t trust me. Because
I’m an accused criminal.”
    “Oh,
you’ve got other qualities,” he said as if she’d made a joke. “You’re educated.
Decent gene-tweaking. Nice eyes, by the way. And no family responsibilities.”
    “I’m
a Daughter of Compassion, sir. And a skipchild.”
    “I’m
a skipchild, too.”
    “Yeah,
but you’re Chiron Cat’s Eye in Draco. My skipparents got tired of playing mommy
and daddy with me. They abandoned me to the State when I was fifteen.”
    “I
know. The Generation-Skipping Law can be harsh.” Chiron was fumbling for the
right words, a condition that looked odd on him. “Listen, Zhu. We’ve researched
the project. And we’ve chosen you. I’ve chosen you.” He plunged on.
“There’s isn’t much data on Chinese women in San Francisco, 1895. Mostly they
were smuggled into the city as slaves. Immigration authorities never knew who
they were. Their masters changed their names,