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eBook Category: Science Fiction Hugo Award Nominee
eBook Description: It is not the first disembodied voice Harold has ever heard--but this one is different. The Voice instructs him to leave the packing crate he calls home and find the house--and wife--that await him. Harold just barely notices the others, just like him, trudging silently and purposefully to their new homes. The houses are cleaned, the bathtubs converted into makeshift incubators--there is nothing he can do about it, but Harold knows The Voice is preparing his world for an invasion from the future.

eBook Publisher: Fictionwise.com, Published: Starlight 1, ed. Patrick Nielsen Hayden, 1996
Fictionwise Release Date: June 2001

65 Reader Ratings:

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Available eBook Formats [MultiFormat - What's this?]: eReader (PDB) [30 KB] , ePub (EPUB) [27 KB] , Rocket/REB1100 (RB) [16 KB] , Adobe Acrobat (PDF) [183 KB] , Palm Doc (PDB) [17 KB] , Microsoft Reader (LIT) [38 KB] , Franklin eBookMan (FUB) [89 KB] , hiebook (KML) [67 KB] , Sony Reader (LRF) [49 KB] , iSilo (PDB) [14 KB] , Mobipocket (PRC) [18 KB] , Kindle Compatible (MOBI) [46 KB] , OEBFF Format (IMP) [27 KB]
Words: 4783
Reading time: 13-19 min.
Microsoft Reader (LIT) Format: Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud ENABLED
Adobe Acrobat (PDF) Format:  Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud DISABLED
All Other formats: Printing DISABLED, Read-aloud DISABLED

We divide our jobs according to ability. Being somewhat stronger than the woman, I work to dislodge the bathtub from the wall, then lever it into the hallway and shove it down the splintering wooden stairs. And meanwhile the woman has cleaned the living room a dozen times, at least, the windows covered with foil and the air heavy with chlorine.

Vans and small trucks begin to deliver equipment. Thermostats and filters have been adapted from local stocks, I suppose. More sophisticated machinery arrives later. Jugs of thick clear fluid are stacked in the darkest corner. Perfect cleanliness isn't mandatory, yet the woman struggles to keep the room surgically clean, hoping that the Voice will applaud her efforts.

She's first to say, "The Voice comes from the future."

Obviously, yes.

"From the distant future," she adds.

I can't guess dates, but it seems likely.

"And this is a womb," she remarks, pointing at the old bathtub. "Here is where the future will be born."

The Voice speaks differently to different people, it seems. I assumed that the tub was an elaborate growth chamber, but how exactly does one grow the future?

Taking me by the waist, she says, "It'll be like our own child."

I make affirmative sounds, but something feels wrong.

"I love you," she assures me.

"I love you," I lie. Nothing is as vital to her as her illusions of the loving family.

Does the Voice know that?

In the night, between work and sleep, she invites me to her side of the bed. It's been a long time. My performance is less than sterling, but at least the experience is pleasant, building new bonds. Then afterward we cuddle under the sheets, whisper in secret tones, then drift off into a fine deep sleep, dreams coming from the darkness.