A Stitch in Time

Sanna spent many sleepless nights agonizing over her final snip in the lead up to her examination. Tailoring was a tricky art and selecting the right project to prove to show she was ready to be called was a delicate balance. The challenge lay in selecting something suitably impressive to demonstrate that she had the requisite skill, but not so difficult that the effects might spiral out of control. The more ambitious the snip, the more chance that a mistake would cause a snag, which would be embarrassing. Or even worse, a rip. That was a guaranteed failure and sending down, no second chances given. Being entrusted with the fabric of time was a great responsibility, after all.

Sanna did not share the dreams of her most ambitious classmates, the ones who would take extreme risks in the hopes that they would be called as a Pattern Maker, or maybe even a Weaver. She only wanted to pass her examination with a positive result and be called to an important but un-extraordinary position as a Stitcher or a Mender.

Wars were always an apprentice’s first thought for the examination, but Sanna never really entertained it beyond the first fleeting moment. Preventing conflict on that level was tricky because it usually took much more than one tweak or tuck to make an alteration of that magnitude. Sanna only knew of one apprentice who had ever successfully abated a war during their examination, by convincing a submarine captain to make a phone call instead of launching a missile. That apprentice had been given an immediate position as a Weaver and was now the most Illustrious Spinner in charge of all Tailoring. Many particularly fame-hungry apprentices had tried to replicate that success over the years, employing convenient assassinations or timely warnings, but more often than not there was someone else waiting in the wings, or another trigger that would be pulled, and the war would occur anyways. The Pattern would simply undergo a slight detour and delay from the apprentice’s attempt, or, in the worst-case scenario, the interference would accelerate or amplify the events. The Seam-Rippers who administered the examinations always panicked a little while undoing those kinds of mistakes.

And there were always the down-Pattern effects if one could manage to stop a war. The major changes to technology developed over the course of the conflict, the couples who would never meet without the relocation of populations and have families and offspring that could benefit the future, and the other side of that equation: the thousands of people who survived and went on to have innumerable descendants, some of whom would invariably be unpleasant, or possibly even more damaging than the war itself.

For similar reasons, Sanna excluded large scale disasters from her list of possible snips, as well as political assassinations. Any situation where a single tweak could affect large numbers of lives at once was tricky. Some of her classmates would probably take the risk and try to course-correct ships or nudge a gunman’s aim to the side. One ship-wreck in particular had famously been the focus of dozens of examinations, until word leaked that there were some nasty, unforeseen consequences from avoiding that particular collision. However, some of those apprentices would probably be successful and offered the best positions as a reward for taking those kinds of risks. But Sanna was not a risk taker.

The timing of the snip was also crucial. Going back too far would give generations for even minor effects to compound into possibly catastrophic consequences. On the other hand, too recent of alterations might mean changing an important piece of the Pattern that had yet to manifest. Another opportunity for unforeseen consequences.

Sanna was going to play it safe, and pick a single, discrete event that she could reasonably alter in the ten-minute window they had during an examination. Ten minutes to have a net positive impact on the world. It could be done. She would do it. It was simply a question of how, and when.

She ran through the short list in her head and discounted them one by one. Showing up in the right back alley just in time to prevent a horrible murder, and more importantly, to identity the would-be serial killer? The exact timing of those attacks was hard to pinpoint to a ten-minute window, and she wouldn’t be able to remain long enough to give evidence even if she did spot him. Convincing a pilot that she should wait an extra day before takeoff? Again, with a mystery at the heart of the disappearance how could Sanna find the pivotal moment to intervene. Nothing seemed right, and, ironically, she had run out of time.

Sanna entered her examination with a sense of impending dread. She had tried so hard to find the right solution, the perfect option. She had run every scenario over and over in her mind, seeking the ideal outcome. All she had done was waste time and possibly give up her chance to be a Tailor. She felt her future slipping away, spilling from between her hands. She could almost see it puddling around her, a rainbow of unfulfilled hopes and dreams.

With a final, desperate, wild thought Sanna seized on the image, the shifting swirl of colours, spilled on the ground. Like oil.

A small change to create a positive outcome, but without saving so many lives that there was a high possibility of future impacts. Or maybe a different type of lives.

Her mind raced over the encyclopedic index of history all the apprentices learned. With a deep breath she entered the examination chamber, giving the Seam-Ripper the instructions to send her back. “March 23, 1989,” she said. “Midnight. Prince William Sound.”

The Seam-Ripper smiled. Was it approval? Was it pity? Either way, they knew what Sanna meant as they did not ask for the exact coordinates, instead silently twisting the dials to start her journey back in time.

There was the feeling of history compressing in on her, colours and sounds blending and rushing past her face. And then Sanna landed. She took a deep breath of salty, ocean air, shivering in the sudden breeze. And then she stepped forward, bracing herself against the gently rolling motion of the large ship as she made her way to the bridge to do something she never thought she would. She was going to course-correct a ship.