Robyn Michaels

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The soft whir of the temporal stabilizer filled my small apartment as I made final adjustments to my equipment. My hands trembled slightly as I checked the coordinates one last time: Vienna, June 3rd, 1889. After fifteen years of research and development, countless failed attempts, and three nearly fatal accidents, I was finally ready to meet him.

“Recording device operational,” I muttered to myself, tapping the silver pin on my lapel. “Period-appropriate clothing verified.” I smoothed down my dark wool suit and adjusted my cravat in the mirror. The outfit had cost a small fortune, but authenticity was crucial. One anachronistic detail could destroy everything.

The air crackled with ozone as I activated the field. My stomach lurched as reality twisted around me, the familiar walls of my apartment stretching and distorting like melting wax. Then darkness. Then light.

I found myself standing in a dimly lit corridor, the worn carpet beneath my feet patterned with faded flowers. The air was thick with the smell of tobacco and leather-bound books. Somewhere nearby, a clock chimed four times.

Room 13 was at the end of the hall. I approached slowly, my heart thundering in my chest. This was it. The moment I’d dreamed of since graduate school. The chance to interview the most brilliant mind of the nineteenth century on the very day he died.

I knocked softly on the heavy wooden door.

“Enter,” called a weak voice from within.

The room was smaller than I’d imagined, and darker. Heavy curtains blocked most of the afternoon light, leaving only a few pale rays to illuminate the figure propped up in bed. He looked frailer than in the photographs I’d studied – gaunt and pale, with dark circles under his eyes. But those eyes themselves were as sharp and penetrating as ever as they fixed upon me.

“Herr Wagner?” I said, using the alias I’d carefully constructed. “I’m from Der Standard. Thank you for agreeing to speak with me.”

Crown Prince Rudolf of Austria-Hungary – heir to the Habsburg throne, liberal reformer, and scientific genius – gave me a thin smile. “Please, sit. Though I’m afraid I may not be very good company today. My headache is quite severe.”

I took the chair beside his bed, trying to keep my hands steady as I withdrew my notebook. “I understand, Your Imperial Highness. I’ll be brief. I wanted to ask you about your latest scientific theories, particularly regarding the nature of time…”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “Curious. I don’t recall agreeing to an interview today. Especially not about that particular subject.”

I felt a bead of sweat roll down my neck. “Your secretary arranged it last week, sir. Perhaps in the confusion of your illness…”

“My secretary.” He gave a dry chuckle that turned into a cough. “Would that be the same secretary who I dismissed three days ago? The one who, as you surely must know, was caught selling information to the newspapers?”

My mouth went dry. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. “I… there must have been some miscommunication…”

“Indeed.” Rudolf reached for the bell beside his bed. “Though I suspect the miscommunication is not quite what you’re suggesting. Your accent, for instance – not quite right for a Viennese journalist. And that pin on your lapel… such unusual craftsmanship. Almost as if it were manufactured using techniques that don’t yet exist.”

The blood drained from my face. “Your Highness, I can explain…”

“Oh, I rather think you can.” His smile widened, showing teeth. “In fact, I’ve been expecting someone like you. Though perhaps not quite so soon. You see, I’ve had certain theories about the nature of time. Theories that, if properly developed, might allow for… well. For exactly what you’ve managed to achieve.”

I stared at him in shock. “You knew? But… but that’s impossible. Your papers on temporal mechanics were never published. History records that you died today, your work unfinished…”

“History.” He spat the word like a curse. “Do you really think I would leave my life’s work to the mercy of historical record? To the tender considerations of my father’s censors?” He reached beneath his pillow and withdrew a small leather-bound notebook. “Everything is in here. Everything I discovered. Everything I proved. Including the fact that this visit of yours was coming.”

My head spun. “I don’t understand…”

“No, you don’t. But you will.” He opened the notebook, showing me pages dense with calculations and diagrams. “You see, I didn’t just theorize about time travel. I calculated its implications. Its paradoxes. Its inevitable consequences. And I realized something rather fascinating about today – about June 3rd, 1889.”

I knew that date. Everyone knew that date. It was the day Crown Prince Rudolf was found dead in his bed, apparently from natural causes related to his ongoing illness. The day the Habsburg line’s last hope for modernization and reform was extinguished. The day that set in motion a chain of events that would eventually lead to…

The realization hit me like a physical blow.

“You…” I whispered. “You’re not dying at all, are you?”

He closed the notebook with a snap. “Not yet. But I will be, very soon. Because you’re going to kill me.”

“What? No! I would never…”

“Oh, but you must.” His voice was calm, almost gentle. “Because you already have. Because it’s already happened. Because if you don’t, the paradox will tear reality apart. Think about it – why did you choose this day to visit? Because it was the day I died. But I only died because you came here. Because you had to come here. The snake eating its own tail, you see?”

I stood up so quickly my chair toppled backward. “This is insane. I’m leaving.”

“No. You’re not.” He reached into his bedside drawer and withdrew a small vial filled with clear liquid. “You’re going to take this vial of poison, which I have prepared specifically for this purpose, and you’re going to watch me drink it. And then you’re going to return to your time, carrying the burden of what you’ve done – what you were always going to do – and the knowledge that the future you know only exists because of this moment.”

“Why?” I choked out. “Why would you…?”

“Because I’ve seen what’s coming. In my calculations, in my dreams… I’ve seen the war that’s coming. The millions dead. The empire torn apart. And I’ve seen what happens if I live – if I take the throne and implement my reforms. It’s worse. So much worse.” He held out the vial. “Sometimes the only way to save the future is to ensure it stays exactly as it is. Even if that means ensuring your own death.”

My hand shook as I took the vial. Somewhere in the distance, the clock began to chime again.

“History records that I died peacefully in my sleep,” Rudolf said softly. “Let’s not make liars of them.”

I stayed until it was done. Until his breathing slowed and finally stopped. Until I was sure that history would unfold exactly as it always had. Then I activated my return sequence, my vision blurring with tears as reality twisted around me once more.

Back in my apartment, I immediately rushed to my bookshelf and pulled down my old copy of “The Habsburg Scientific Papers.” Flipping to the section on Rudolf’s theoretical work, I found the same texts I’d studied for years. But now, reading between the lines, I could see it – the hidden messages, the subtle hints, the careful equations that had led me to choose this exact moment for my journey.

He had known I was coming. He had always known.

And somewhere in his private papers, sealed in the imperial archives for another fifty years, waited a leather-bound notebook containing the truth about the day Crown Prince Rudolf died – and the temporal physicist who killed him to save the future.

I touched the silver pin on my lapel, still recording, and whispered, “Interview complete.”