I remember the day I received my copy. It was 2005 and I had just turned nine. Rav Sabbati led me into a dark corner of the Beit Midrash at the Sinagoga Al-Hambra, handed me this and told me that he understood I had an interest in cross-universe travel and that he could help me with it. He would let me have this book now, and if I turned nineteen and was still interested, he would connect me with the Consortium pour le voyage et lâetude dâunivers alternatifs, in Lyons.
Since then, my copy of this book has seen thousands of timestreams in hundreds of universes. Itâs gazed upon the mechanized horror of Nazi Germania and the crumbling boulevards of Paris under Soviet occupation. Itâs served as a improvised notebook for recording the singsong language of the walen (Dutch-affiliated whale communities; long story) and the consonant-heavy folksongs of the Muscovite Nyandertalets.
This book has ridden in the bag of the striking garment workers of the Arbeiter Ring as a roiling New York City faced off with the National Guard. Itâs seen the Appalachian Free State and the Negro Revolt, and stood stopped a Union bullet at Ninth Manassas in 1934. Itâs ridden the steppes of the great Khazar Empire with the Ninth Armoured Reconnaissance Division âKhagan Yosefâs Ownâ. Itâs seen the underwater kingdoms of the Eelmen of the Pacific Rift. Itâs staunched bleeding wounds and holes in dikes. Itâs been signed by soldiers and musicians, commercial airship pilots and the conductors on the underwater trains that crisscross the Pacific. In the back cover is the small, cramped signature of John Peacock Flannery OâNann (W-Deseret), the first Neanderthal President of the United States.
Interestingly, there has never yet been an Earth Iâve seen where humans, or hominins did not tread. I think that counts for something.Â
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