Asimov's SF, January 2012 by Dell Magazine Authors Page A

license,” she said. “Benny, we have lots of pictures?"
    "Yes, Hutch. I have a substantial record."
    "I suggest,"said Jake, “we call it in now. Let them know what we have. Before somebody else stumbles across it.” He looked at Hutch. “What's wrong?"
    "I think we should direct Benny to destroy the record."
    "What?” Jake looked stunned. “Why?"
    She hesitated. She was thinking how nice it would be to go back to a hero's welcome. To become famous.
    "Hutch?"
    "I think we should forget what we saw here. Just go away and leave it."
    "Have you lost your mind?"
    "After we call it in, they're going to come out here and dig everything up. They'll take the creature back to a lab and dissect it."
    "Of course they will. Hutch, this is one of the Monument Makers."
    "They'll desecrate the place."
    "I didn't know you were religious."
    "Religion has nothing to do with it. What do you think the builders would have thought about us ripping up the grave?"
    "They're long gone, Hutch."
    "No,” she said. “They're still here."
    "I'm not sure I know what we're talking about, Priscilla."
    "I'm tired of it all,” she said. “This time, Jake, we have some control over what's happening.” She turned frustrated eyes on her captain. “I'm tired of hot dog stands on the Moon and beachfront homes on Quraqua and wrecked altars back there .” She looked up at the sky but of course saw no sign of Hibachi's World. “If you'll consent, I'd like to let it go. Forget the monument. And hope that Eddington and Ted Abel and people like them don't notice what's here. Maybe by the time somebody else comes across this, we'll be a little smarter."
    Jake let his disappointment show. “You're really serious, aren't you?"
    "Yes, Jake.” She saw the uncertainty in his eyes. “Please."
    He touched the marker. Pressed his fingertips against the engraved symbols. “I wonder what it says?"
    Copyright © 2011 Jack McDevitt
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Poetry: SEEING ONESELF by Robert Frazier
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    * * * *
    From “The Official Guide to Time Travel"
    * * * *
    Whenever you approach your old self
    A distraction leads you farther aside
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    When you try to focus upon your child-self
    You find you are looking in the opposite direction
    * * * *
    Mirrors are no solution to this twitch
    Time just doesn't allow for much self-reflection
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    —Robert Frazier
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Short Story: THE WAR IS OVER AND EVERYONE WINS by Zachary Jernigan
The author tells us inspiration for his second Asimov's tale came from a quote attributed to Margaret Atwood, “I hope that people will finally come to realize that there is only one ‘race'—the human race—and that we are all members of it,” and E.M. Forster's comment, “Only connect.” Zachary's story shares their sentiment that human beings are always better off building bridges than walls.
    "We're burying your grandpa tomorrow,” Dad tells me. Not, Poppa died, son. Or, I'm sorry, Mike, but your grandpa passed away last night. Nope. First thing when I answer the phone, We're burying your grandpa tomorrow.
    "Was it easy for him?” I ask. “Was he asleep when it happened?"
    Dad sighs. “No. He was up all night. At the end he asked for you."
    That hurts. I can't think of anything to say to it. For a moment I imagine Grandpa, blood dried on the white stubble of his chin. Snot dried above his mouth. It feels pretty bad to see that right now, but when I try to imagine anything else I fail.
    "Shit,” I say. “I'm sorry, Pop."
    It sounds like bullshit, far too little. Still, what can I say that won't sound trite?
    Dad grunts. I listen and I suppose he listens on the other end. We listen together, maybe trying to think of more to say. Something heavy and unwieldy lies between us, about this and everything else.
    "You have to come home, son,” he finally says.
    I nod, but he can't hear that.
    It's August 3, 2039. 2:32 pm.
    * * * *
    I wait five hours and then call work to tell them I won't be