Time Cube

“What a wonderful garden,” Khima said, scanning the snowcapped mountains across the valley. “What do you call it?”

Dark complexioned Khima had short black hair. He wore a cream-colored robe and a low, green, cylindrical cap. The man to whom he spoke had a light complexion with short white hair and wore a lightning-white tunic. Both men looked about thirty, athletic, and in excellent health.

“Wyoming,” said the lighter man, sitting at an open-air desk on the bank of the river. “My father had a place here.”

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“Wy – O – Ming,” Khima murmured, savoring the sound. His eyes followed the water splashing happily over the rocks and the line of pine trees climbing the mountain slope. Mule deer grazing in the meadow raised their heads at the sound of an eagle screeching then buried them back in the tall grass.

“Have you chosen your garden?” asked the lighter man.

“An island in the Sudd wetlands, the place my father used to take me fishing.”

The lighter man gestured to his left and a wooden armchair appeared. “Please have a seat. I’ve been looking over your time cube.”

“It’s rather slim,” Khima said, sitting. “I was only six when I died.”

“Time cubes have no required size, and many aren’t actually cubes,” the man said. He raised Khima’s wafer-thin cube between his fingers. “This has all the events in your life, all the decisions, all the hopes, all the disappointments.” He set the cube in a box with others then turned to Khima and asked, “What do you remember?”

“Besides fishing, my fondest memories are trading in the bazaar with my mother and taking classes at the mission.” Khima’s smile faded to a frown. “My worst was dying. Not death itself, that came quickly, but leaving my family.” The lighter man waved for Khima to continue.

“My mother and I were visiting her sister outside Mangalla. My father didn’t go with us. He had to stay home and protect our cattle from Murle bandits. That day the Murle raided Mangalla. I was killed fetching water from the well.”

The lighter man nodded. “Welcome to Ever-Endeavor and welcome to Time Cube Management.” He pulled the box of cubes over in front of Khima. “We start training new employees with time cubes from their own life.”

“Are these all mine?” Khima asked, seeing the various cubes.

“What was, what was not, and what might have been,” the man said. “The very thinnest ones were possibilities that never happened because you survived childbirth and recovered from pneumonia. The thicker ones pick up with possible futures if that stray bullet had not struck you.”

He pointed to a very tall cube. “In this one you live to old age, become an airline pilot, and raise a large family in a prosperous Juba community. As an apprentice manager, you are authorized to visit any point on any time cube, past, present, or future—yours and those you are managing.”

“But nothing will change?” Khima said.

“We can influence choices but not their consequences. There are no guarantees. Even informed choices may end badly. But knowing what a time cube holds helps us to advise those we manage.”

Khima pointed to a dozen brightly colored cubes in a separate section of the box. “Are these mine, too?”

“No, those come from others on your behalf—mostly hopes and dreams.”

Khima turned a fluorescent green cube in his hand. “A dream?” he asked.

The man smiled. “That one is a prayer. When you told your father you wished one day to become an airline pilot, he prayed it would happen. If you had lived, that prayer may have helped us to guide you. All of these,” he waved his hand over the bright cubes, “exist now only as beautiful lost memories.”

Khima stroked the colorful cubes with his open hand. “Surely all dreams are not lost. You have had some successes?”

“Oh, many. We get requests all the time,” said the man in the lightning-white tunic. “Jacob Marley—a man who was already with us here in Ever-Endeavor—asked to go back to warn his old business partner. We gave him permission and sent along three managers with time cubes from his partner’s past, present, and future. That turned out very well.

“Another time,” he raised a finger, “Clarence, an apprentice manager like yourself, was upset when a good man in his charge was contemplating suicide. Clarence gave George Bailey access to time cubes for possible pasts and presents. That enabled George to appreciate his contributions and affirmed that his life had meaning.”

The light man shrugged. “Alas, most of our advice goes unheeded. Everyone who arrives at Ever-Endeavor, which everyone must, confronts the choices they made in life and the consequences—for themselves and for others—without deceptions and without masks, no matter how much they hid behind them in life.”

Khima winced. “That would be like hell.”

“That is hell. The pain one inflicts on oneself and others is recorded here.” The light man gestured to the box of cubes. “The living can always correct their path, but once here, if they’ve never confronted their shadows, the pain merges permanently with their final time cube.”

Khima shook his head. “Time Cube Managers have a tough job.”

“If you find it easier, you can work from your garden. I’ll transfer the time cubes there.” The man in electric-white pointed and rows of filing cabinets appeared stretching out to the Wyoming sunset. “We have many opportunities: politicians, businessmen, schoolteachers, priests, drug dealers. Where would you like to start?”

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