The solution had been clear. To destroy the man, kill the child. It was so clear. It should have been simple, so simple. Steal the machine from a fool, go back and kill a defenseless baby. No one would know. No one would care if a baby died. No one would care if Utopia was never born.
The solution to all his troubles had been so very clear. But it was also painfully clear that the entire universe was against him – in the form of a man in a red cape, a woman with dark hair and a dead writer.
