by Rudi Dornemann
The time traveler pulled up a chair, placed her holorecorder on the table and pressed a button just in time for her ghost to appear.
Across the table, her ghost was apparently sitting on air.
“We need to talk,” said the ghost, “about some things you need to do. And not do.”
The time traveler nodded. “Go ahead,” she said.
The ghost laid out times, dates, places, people to watch out for, objects to be sure not to misplace or to avoid if they were falling from a great height.
The time traveler nodded, checking that the recorder’s green LED still glowed. She could have sworn that, under the otherworldly blur, the ghost was looking older already. That had to be a good thing.
The ghost must have talked ten minutes before she paused. “Actually,” she said, “I made it all up. I’m not your ghost exactly.”
“What?” said the time traveler. “Then who are you?”
“I’m the ghost of your clone.”
“I have a clone?”
“You will,” said the ghost, “The Rosenkrantz institute has a secret cloning project. That’s what all the samples were for. They had nothing to do with your fitness for time travel.”
The traveler held her head. The organization that had invented the time machine and recruited her to use it apparently had a deeper, perhaps more sinister agenda. “What should I do?”
“I have no idea,” said the ghost. “To be completely honest, the clone wasn’t exactly your clone, but a clone of your twin sister.”
“I don’t have a twin sister.”
“Not in this universe, you don’t…”
“Wait a minute!” The time traveler jumped up, bumping the table.
The ghost shuddered in the air; perhaps that’s what ghosts did when they were surprised.
“You’re the ghost of the clone of my twin sister from another dimension?”
“Exactly!” said the ghost. “Well, no. I made that up too.”
“Then who are you?”
“You have a multiple personality disorder, and recorded this whole mad spiel as a joke on my most boring self.”
“That can’t be,” said the time traveler. “I got the recorder right before I left, in factory packaging.”
The ghost pointed to the depressed button on the recorder’s top–“PLAY” not “RECORD.”
“But how? I haven’t had time. And how would you… I… know what I was going to say?”
The ghost/hologram grinned, “Isn’t time travel great?”