Killing Time
There are certain primal forces, created at the beginning of the multiverse, that even the gods fear. The first beings that the Creator made, they embody the very building blocks of reality. They are the Inevitable Gods, and they are unstoppable.
It is said that if you could kill Death, you would live forever. That might be true in theory, but the fact of the matter is that in order for someone to die, Death has to collect that person's soul and deliver them to whatever afterlife is appropriate. Since Death cannot collect his own soul, killing Death would naturally be impossible. Such is the irony of the multiverse, that the very embodiment of Death cannot actually experience it.
However, Time is another matter. If you killed Time, Death would be around to collect his soul, and without Time, no one would age. Without aging, no one would die of being old, and so theoretically one could live forever, barring unfortunate accidents such as being run over by a runaway ox cart full of dung or mistakenly eating a bagel covered with blue fuzz.
You would think that the Creator would have placed some safeguards against such a thing happening, such as simply putting a line in the laws of reality to the effect of “Inevitable Forces cannot be killed”. However, the Creator apparently never foresaw such a thing happening when He set up the cosmos, as there is no such law. The closest thing is a stipulation in each Inevitable's contract that states each is required to be immortal and never age. However, there is nothing keeping the Inevitables from dying from other causes. It's possible that the Creator was having an off day.
Of course, since Death himself has a sort of default immunity to passing on, it may be that the Creator never actually thought of it. To be fair, mortals and even the younger gods rarely interact directly with the Inevitables. The Inevitables work mostly behind the scenes, spending much of their existence out of phase with reality. It is only at the moment of your death, for example, that you see that Inevitable (and by then it's usually too late to do anything but meekly go to whatever afterlife you are destined for).
You would also think that an Inevitable like Death would be reluctant to cart one of his fellows off to the Great Beyond (assuming someone killed one of them). However, Death is something of a persnickity fellow, and he actually quite dislikes Time, probably out of jealousy. You see, Time is the constant companion of all mortals, while Death only gets to visit them at one selected moment. So Death would probably be willing to assist in such matters as killing Time. Among other reasons, removing Time from the equation would make Death's job that much easier and leave him more free time for watching reruns of
Regardless, killing Time is not as easy as it sounds. First, you have to catch the old man. Then, you have to actually do the despicable act…
Eridain Calumna Spear-Thrower, better known simply as Ed, sat on his bar stool, scowling. He wouldn't normally have been scowling, sitting as he was in his favorite tavern, The Hole In Your Head (commonly known as “The Hole”). However, Ed was scowling because there was, surprisingly, not a beer in front of him. The bartender, a corpulent fellow by the name of Wank, had unceremoniously cut him off.
“Can't you just give me one beer?” Ed whined.
Wank gave him a dirty look. The bartender had cut off Ed's supply of the life-giving golden fluid because Ed was without the funds to pay. Normally, this wouldn't be a problem, since Ed had an assortment of colorful stories of his adventures (some of them, but not many, were even true), and other customers were normally willing to buy Ed a pint or two in return for hearing them. However, as Ed had been doing little but sitting on his stool in the Hole, there weren't any patrons left who were willing to carry him. His stories had gotten boring. It also didn't help that the other patrons had figured out that Ed was more or less a complete fraud.
Oh, once upon a time Ed had had an adventure or two that was worth mentioning. He'd faced down dragons (and so what if he wet his pants and run screaming when he did?). He'd gotten his share of treasure (which was quickly lost when the original owners returned to claim it). He'd…well, okay, he hadn't done much else since. But still, that should have been enough to get him a beer.
“Why don't you go do something useful?”
This time, it was Ed's turn to give Wank a dirty look. “Something useful” was one of the code words that other people used for “manual labor”. Ed had an allergy to manual labor, and was prone to breaking out in fits of laziness when exposed to it.
“Like what?”
“Hero-type stuff,” the bartender said. “The crap you're always telling stories about. Go kill a dragon or something. Bring some bandits to justice. Go fight a tyrant.”
“Yeah, but that'd get me killed.”
“What, you wanna live forever?” Wank jeered.
“Well, actually, yeah,” Ed replied. If I live forever, he thought, that means I'd be famous. Somewhere in the depths of Ed's stunted mind, “famous” equated with “get free beer”. Getting free things, especially free things with alcohol in them, was one of Ed's most important goals in life. But being that he wasn't likely to live forever, be famous, or even get a beer without doing some honest (or dishonest) work for it, he went back to sulking.
“Excuse me?” a querulous voice asked. “Did I hear you say you wanted to live forever?”
“Well, it's just a figure of speech…”
Ed turned to see a bearded old man standing beside him. “Figure of speech or not,” the old man said, “you can.”
“What?”
“You can live forever,” the old man said patiently. “As in never die.”
“Yeah, right,” Ed snorted. “What do I have to do, kill Death?”
“No, you idiot,” the old man said. “You can't kill Death.”
“So what do I have to do? Kill the dragon guarding the Fountain of Youth?”
"There is no Fountain of Youth," the old man replied.
"Get to the point," Ed growled. "I'm not gonna sit here playing Twenty Questions with you all day."
"Very well," the old man said. "What can a man never have enough of?"
"Beer."
"Other than that."
"Loose women."
"Other than that."
Ed was about to say, "Money" when the old man cut him off.
"Time, you boob, time."
Ed squinted, thinking. "Uh, about 11:30?"
With a thwack, the old man's cane came down on top of Ed's head. The old man was clearly getting impatient with Ed's towering intellect. "No, you fool. A man can never have enough time."
"Oh, I get it," Ed said, wincing and hoping the whack didn't leave a lump. "What?"
"What eventually kills most people?" the old man asked frustratedly, attempting a different tack.
"Sexually-transmitted diseases?" Ed guessed.
Thwack. Once again, the old man struck Ed on the head with his cane.
"Ow! Okay, I know this one. War?"
Thwack.
"Ox-cart accidents?"
Thwack.
"P- Poisoned beer?" Ed guessed fuzzily, on the verge of losing consciousness.
Thwack.
When Ed woke up, the old man was leaning over him. "Next time, you idiot, just let me give you the answer."
Ed sat up, holding his head, which was pounding like he'd just come off of a three-day bender. To make matters worse, he hadn't even had the pleasure of getting drunk before getting the headache. "Okay, so what's the answer?"
"Old age." There it was, simple and more or less staring him in the face, as the geezer had to be close to nine hundred years old and on Death's doorstep. "We just get old, and we break down. But ask yourself, why do we age?"
Ed opened his mouth, but a warning glance from the old man caused him to shut it without saying anything.
"Exactly. Because of time. We age because time keeps moving forward. We grow older, and eventually we die. Without time, we'd stay the same age we are now, forever."
"So you're saying I should stop time?" Ed immediately flinched, expecting to be hit with the cane again. Nothing happened.
"You're finally catching on," the old man chuckled. "Slow but not hopeless. Actually, it's not so much stop time as to actually kill Time."
"Oh, that's easy," Ed said. "I do that all the time. I kill five or six hours a day in here."
Thwack. Ed's vision blurred. "No, you idiot. That's wasting time. Mind you, he doesn't much like that, but I'm talking about actually killing Time."
"Killing Time? You mean, as in, Time is a person?"
"Not a person. He's an Inevitable."
Ed tried futilely to make his eyes uncross. "You mean like a god?"
"No, you boob. Inevitables are above the gods, or behind the gods, I guess you could say," he explained. "Time's a primal force, like Death. Even the gods fear these guys."
"So how'm I supposed to kill him?"
"Eh, that's the easy part. Getting to him is the toughie." The old man scratched his bearded chin. "We can't normally see the Inevitables, like Time, Death, or Taxes; but they're always there. You just have to figure out how to get Time's attention, that's all. Then you can do him in."
Thus enlightened, Ed nodded eagerly and ran out of the Hole, visions of immortality dancing in his head. When he thought about dying, he usually pictured it happening with him as an old man, lying in bed with a woman half his age. That would be a good death. But now, it didn't have to happen at all.
A vague and not-very-logical plan began to form in Ed's mind, a plan that went something like this:
- When Time shows up, kill him.
- Live forever.
- Get famous.
- Get free beer.
- Repeat Steps 3 through 5 throughout eternity.
The tough part was, of course, Step 1, which involved getting Time's attention. But how could you get the attention of an Inevitable Being that normally didn't deign to make personal appearances to mortals?
Ed was, of course, a coward and none too bright in the conventional sense, but he did possess two positive qualities: a keenly-developed sense of self-preservation, and a special sort of twisted logic all his own. And now, his perverted form of logic and reasoning somehow led him to an idea.
"Clocks!" Ed exclaimed. "Clocks measure time. If I smash a bunch of clocks, it'll look like I'm trying to stop Time. Then he'll have to show up!"
With that, Ed ran back to the dark, smelly room he rented at a local boarding house. He grabbed his favorite sledgehammer (which he normally reserved for robbing tombs), and ran out, pausing only to smash the boarding house owner's mantel clock.
The would-be immortal hero then spent the next few hours running around town, smashing every clock in sight and singing, "I'm stopping Time!" This did not seem in the least strange to the other inhabitants of the
Ed had just finished taking his favorite sledgehammer (which he had nicknamed "Mr. Smashy") to the large clock that stood in the town square, when he heard a voice behind him.
"What do you think you're doing?"
Assuming it to be the mayor or another person of no account, Ed continued swinging the hammer, pounding several leftover gears into small bits. Being that he had already stopped the clock, this was just for fun.
"I said, what do you think you're doing?"
"Oh, I'm stopping Time," Ed said cheerfully, swinging Mr. Smashy in a high arc above his head.
"I'm afraid that's not going to stop me," the voice said. "You see, clocks only measure me. They don't control me."
Ed's eyes widened as he realized just who was behind him. He expected it to take longer for his quarry to arrive; of course, he should have realized that Time is always punctual. He turned to see another bearded old man standing behind him, this one with an elegant white beard. He appeared regal and condescending, as if he waited on no man (which, come to think of it, was an apt description). He bore a staff and an hourglass at his waist, and an assortment of sundials, watches, and other timepieces strapped to his arms. Ed slowly lowered the hammer.
"As I was saying, those clocks don't control me," Time repeated. "However, I am fond of them...they're my pets, of sorts. Little beings that, unlike yourself, always perceive me as I am. And smashing them...how do the mortals put it? Oh, yes - it pisses me off."
Dumbstruck, Ed dropped the sledgehammer. Its head struck his foot, but he barely noticed. He'd set out to attract the attention of an Inevitable Being, but he hadn't expected said Inevitable Being to actually show up. He'd halfway convinced himself that his plan to become immortal was nothing more than an excuse to spend his afternoon smashing things.
"B-duh...b-duh...b-duh..."
"Yes, yes, let's get this over with," Time said. "You can either apologize, or I shall age you until you're older than Methuselah and have Death take you."
"Beg pardon?" another voice interrupted. Ed and Time both turned to see another figure arrive. He wore a black cloak and carried a large, glowing scythe. As the hooded figure got closer, they could see his skeletal hands protruding from the robe's sleeves. His face was locked in a perpetual smile, as it was (of course) a skinless skull. "Was I needed?"
"Er, yes," Time replied. "I was just about to age this mortal to the end of his life. He'll be ready for you in a moment."
"On the contrary," Death answered. "I got the message it was you I was supposed to come pick up." The Reaper took a piece of parchment from one of the folds in his robe. As he perused it with his empty eye sockets, Death said, "Seems this young man here" - he motioned with his scythe to point at Ed - "is gunning for you."
Time blinked. Clearly, the old man had never considered the possibility that a mortal might want to do him in.
"How's that?"
"He's planning to kill you," Death said. "And as for myself, I heartily approve."
Ed stood, dumbstruck. He had also never expected to get a personal appearance from the Grim Reaper himself. The two Inevitables continued to argue.
"You what?" the bearded Father Time asked.
"Well, let's face it," Death said, "if you were out of the picture, I'd have a lot less work to do. Take old age off the table, and all I've got to deal with are murders, suicides, disease, and accidents."
"Yes, but that gets back to this young man killing me, which I can't have."
As the two argued, Ed got up his nerve. With as devious look in his eyes, he picked up the sledgehammer. Raising it above his head, Ed charged at Time, intent on caving in the back of the old man's head.
Of course, Time didn't get his job by slacking off. He neatly sidestepped Ed's swing and, with a word, aged Mr. Smashy by a millennium. The sledgehammer dissolved into a shower of dust and rust particles. Ed stared, dumbfounded, as his weapon disintegrated in his hands.
"See, now that's not very fair of you," Death said. "All I want is a little bit of free time. Day in and day out, I'm collecting souls dying of all kinds of causes. If you'd just cooperate a little, it'd be nice."
"I'm sorry, but no," Time answered. "I'm not going to cack off just so you can have a coffee break."
"Can't you just, say, run things a little slower? Slow down the rate people die at? That'd let me catch up on things. I'm already behind on getting these souls delivered."
"Sorry," Time replied. "I wait for no one. Speaking of which, we're wasting me. Here, take this boy and we can be off." He turned to Ed, raising his hand menacingly as he prepared to age the cretin until he was nothing but moldering bones.
"Hey, hey, now, wait a minute here," Death argued. "You can't go around doing things like that." He consulted a scroll. "I'm not scheduled to pick this 'Eridain Calumna Spear-Thrower' up for another fifty years. Barring any unforeseen accidents, of course. If I take him now, it's going to throw off my whole schedule for the next century. These things are planned out well in advance."
Time rolled his eyes. Of course, being one of Predestination's best friends, he should have realized as much. Granted, they did have some leeway in such things, but picking up Ed's soul early just might throw off some cosmic schedule of events. "Look, it's just one soul. It's not even a particularly good soul."
"No," Death said firmly. "Can't do it."
"But you were just willing to upset your precious schedule if it meant bagging me,'" Time grumbled.
"Well, I've got to set some priorities."
“Excuse me,” Ed spoke up finally, “but can I say something here?”
Time turned to him, annoyed. “Close it, boy. I'll be with you in a moment. In the meantime, prepare to meet your maker.”
“See here, now,” Death broke in.
“Excuse me,” Ed repeated himself. With his sledgehammer gone (and it had been his favorite sledgehammer), he had suddenly lost all taste for doing in Time. Granted, he had also lost all ability to do in Time, as he had no weapons, but he had also lost the will. Being the coward that he was, he didn't see any reason to die just this minute. “Can't I just apologize and we all go our separate ways?”
Father Time thought about it a moment. “Well, I did give you the chance earlier. But I think that moment's passed now.”
Ed's mind reeled, desperately trying to find something that would keep him from instantly becoming older than his great-great-grandfather. “But you're Time. Can't you bring that moment back?”
“That's not the way it works, son.”
“Look, I'm sure this is all very fascinating,” Death interrupted, “but I have a schedule to keep. Either bump off Time here, or I've got to be going.”
Ed thought about it. “Can I borrow your scythe a minute?”
“No. Sorry, union rules.”
“Well, I can't kill him with my bare hands,” Ed complained.
“Why not?” Death asked. “I've seen mortals do it all the time. I've collected lots of souls that were strangled with bare hands.”
“But…well, I'm too lazy to kill him with my bare hands, okay? Can't you, you know, get me a weapon or something?” Ed whined.
Death shook his head. “Sorry. You stab 'em, I only slab 'em. That's the way it works.”
“Damn.”
Death craned his bony neck to look at one of Time's wristwatches. “Look, I've really got to be going. There's a busload of nuns running off a cliff in another dimension, and I've got to go get them.” With that, Death vanished, off to catch up on his schedule, leaving only Ed and his nemesis, Father Time.
“So,” Ed said, brightening up, “you can't kill me now, can you?”
Time rolled his eyes. “Not right now, no.”
“And I'd imagine Death would already be pissed at you for making him get so behind in his schedule,” the would-be immortal hero continued.
Father Time thought about that. “Obviously.”
“So, you still want me to apologize, or something?”
“You killed my pets,” Time said.
“Can you buy me a beer?”
Rolling his eyes, Father Time vanished.
Ed never did get his beer.
Some time later, in another dimension restricted only to the gods, Death sat on a barstool, drinking a beer. “Shouldn't you be out collecting souls?” the bartender, a horned demon, asked.
“Eh, they can wait.” Without Death collecting the deceased, there would undoubtedly be outbreaks of zombies on several worlds. Such things were known to happen from time to time when Death got delayed on his rounds. They could keep. For now, all Death wanted was a beer.
See more articles from: Loose Canons
Comments
Discuss this article on the Chainsaw Buffet forums.