Lyon's Legacy: Catalyst Chronicles, Book One by Sandra Ulbrich Almazan Page B

physicist. People know more about alternate universes in my time than they do in yours, but I think you should still be able to find some information. You can always read some science fiction; it doesn’t all come true in my time, but a surprising amount does.
    I’m telli ng you all this because I don’t want you to die the way my ancestor did in my universe. Please keep in mind, Great-Granddad, that IT DOES NOT HAVE TO BE THIS WAY. For all I know, it won’t happen to you at all; this universe may be different enough to ensure that it won’t. But not even I can predict your future; this is just one possible future, one I hope you can avoid.
    On December 6, 1980, you and Great-Grandma perform a charity concert at a local venue. Among the fans in the audience is Joseph Balani, a Filipino exile working as a security guard at the Museum of Science and Industry. As you’re leaving the stage, he rushes up and stabs you in the chest. You don’t make it to the hospital in time.
     
    I had to pause. When I was a child, it’d been awful enough learning about Sean’s murder, but he’d been more of a family myth than a real person to me. Now that I’d met him, it felt even worse. Just putting the words down on paper was a battle; I knew I wouldn’t have been able to tell him face-to-face, even if he’d listened. But this was the only way to make sure it wouldn’t happen here. I drained my coffee, then continued,
     
    I can’t tell you how to cheat death—I’m sure you and Great-Grandma can think of something. But please take this warning seriously. Balani blames you for his political exile. He doesn’t hurt just you; he screws up the life of every Lyon after you. You don’t know what it’s like to grow up as one of your descendants. Because you died so young in my universe, we’re expected to replace you. And that’s impossible. I used to hate you...
     
    I wondered if I should cross that last part out or start over. At one point, I’d wanted to scream those words at him, but I no longer had the heart to. Then I thought about him and smiled. He of all people would understand.
     
    I have more musical talent than my cousins, so my dad’s family pressured me to become a musician. But I’m not as gifted as you, and it’s not my passion the way genetics is. They tried to make me tour, but it didn’t work out. Meeting the real you, not some mythological figure, helped me come to terms with my family—and myself. I know people will always compare me to you, but it’s not going to bother me so much anymore. No matter what they want from me, I’m going to live my own life. I hope your life is a long and happy one, and that you get to spend more time with Great-Grandma and Granddad John. Maybe you’ll even live long enough to see “my” birth. To quote from one of your best-known songs, knowing isn’t everything, but sometimes it’s the only thing.
     
    Love from your alternate great-granddaughter,
     
    Joanna Lyon
     
    I placed the letter in an envelope, sealed it, and wrote “For Sean—Do not open until December 1, 1980” on the front of the envelope. That would give him a few days to back out of the concert or hire more bodyguards; I hoped it was enough.
    Now, how to make sure he’d get the letter at the right time? For that, I’d have to trust my great-grandmother. I stuffed Sean’s letter inside another envelope, then wrote a short note: “Baby, Please hold onto this letter until the right time. It will bring you good luck. Love, An Admirer.” From what I knew of her, she was superstitious enough to believe that. I wrote down as much as I remembered of her snail mail address and hoped a post office would help me later with the rest.
    I tucked the letter in my purse, then checked the envelope for my plane tickets back to the base. It was empty. How had I lost them? I dumped the purse out on the table and checked every pocket, but I couldn’t find anything. For a black moment, I wondered if