Here and Now and Then

by Mike Chen

  “I don’t know,” he said after a few seconds. He grimaced, not because of a headache, but to buy himself some time through faking physical pain.

  “You don’t know? You made it sound very important. You said you were making her...” Penny hesitated and looked away, “...chicken fricassee.”

  The more he thought it through, the more playing dumb seemed like the path of least resistance. “What name did you say?”

  “Miranda.” Penny finally turned his way, and her posture became a straight line. “You kept saying her name. Who is she?”

  “I don’t know anyone named Miranda.” Kin used the same steady voice that the TCB had trained him to employ when trying to talk down a target.

  “You were so...sure that she was important.”

  Penny wasn’t prone to jealousy. But given that he’d spent far too long of his so-called recovery being distant, perhaps it was a reasonable fear. “I promise, I don’t know. Whoever this Miranda is, she probably doesn’t exist. Just a hallucination or something like that. They warned me about that during the recovery period.”

  He watched as the words settled in, crafting a logic that eventually took hold. “You’re right.” Penny’s chin tucked low with a small nod. “Markus said you might hallucinate even up to a year or so after the accident.”

  Her whole body softened, from her face to her shoulders, and they connected eye to eye with a clarity that wasn’t quite there before. The ring. He originally planned to do it on the waterfront after they left the MOME. But a hospital bed would have to do. “You’ve been so patient with me. My recovery got in the way again. Hey,” he said, “and I’m sorry I ruined another night for us. We didn’t even get to the best part.”

  “Actually—” the small room echoed Penny’s quick laugh, and she pointed to a small container on the counter “—they gave us some of the fried chicken for takeout. It’s still warm. They don’t allow it but they made an exception for us.” Penny grinned, her cheeks blooming.

  “No, not that.” Kin shuffled in bed, a low groan powering his attempt to move closer. “Tonight I wanted to give you something important.” Penny leaned in, close enough that her breath tickled on his cheek. “I haven’t been fair to you since the accident. You’ve waited for me while I recovered, while I worked late and let you down. Things are different for me. I don’t think you can go through what I did without feeling that way. But the one constant I’ve had through all of it is you. And it’s time we got back on track.” A few short moments ago, Penny had shown a blend of uncertainty and confusion and fear, though now everything melted into a welcoming glow. Despite the dull ache in his muscles, Kin reached over and took her hand.

  He had Penny right here. He had Miranda across time. He had a job, his restored health, even his cat. It could all coexist together. What more could he ask for?

  One thing.

  “I’d reach into my jacket pocket and give you something, except I can’t quite get out of bed right now. So I’ll just have to say it—Penny Fernandez, will you finally marry me at our rescheduled wedding?”

  She pulled the ring box out of his coat, and her face turned into a paradox of expressions, the bright eyes of joy mixed with the slanted lips of confusion. “Did you buy me a new ring?”

  “You can keep either one. Or both.” They locked hands, and she switched the old ring out for the new one. “Given the way things have been, it felt right.”

  “A fresh start.” Penny’s smile remained, but a softness took over, from her eyes to her shoulders to her posture. “And a take-out box,” she said with a laugh. “It’s perfect.” She leaned in and kissed him, and though his body ached from head to toe, their shared breath freed him from any lingering pain.

  How could he have ever forgotten Penny?

  CHAPTER 16

  The spring in Kin’s step may not have been noticeable to any hallway passersby, yet on the inside, he was floating. Lights shone brighter, sounds were sharper, and everything simply felt better.

  Despite the lingering effects of his MOME blackout—the occasional headache or memory lapse—things started falling into place. A consistent, solid relationship with Miranda. A new wedding date with Penny. And as long as he didn’t jump through time anymore—not on his to-do list barring medical miracles—a life without headaches. The TCB doctors said that within a year or two they’d be history; only further time-jumping would keep them around.

  Well, technically, that wasn’t true. The doctors said that further time jumps wouldn’t cause headaches. Rather, the pressures of one or two more jumps would most likely erode his frontal cortex, and without an immediate series of specialized stabilizers to halt brain swelling and reverse cell degradation, he’d be a babbling vegetable for the next century or so.

  Thanks to his desk job, things got easier and just plain safer than chasing people across time, particularly on Mondays when he emailed with Miranda. It wasn’t perfect, but it worked, and given the alternative of no relationship with Miranda and no marriage with Penny, who was he to complain?

  Even though Kin’s life swung forward with a weighty momentum, a lingering soreness from his blackout meant that he wouldn’t be putting on cleats today. Instead, he sat at his desk reading Miranda’s reply, particularly important since his last message told his daughter about Penny.

  From: Miranda Stewart (mirawho@messagemail.com)

  To: Kin Stewart (chefkstew@messagemail.com)

  Subject: Big Decisions

  Wow, Penny sounds great. A chef, how fitting, right? Somewhere, Mom is having a good laugh about that. Funny thing here is that Grandma all of a sudden seems less interested in Alister than my college options. I told her the other day that I was thinking of double-majoring in Computer Science and Comparative Literature. When she asked why, I told her I wanted to make video games. You know, program something fun with a really cool story rather than making, like, accounting software. She thinks games are children’s toys still and she went on and on about so-and-so’s grandson who works for Apple and makes a gazillion dollars a year. But maybe she’s right. Double-majoring does sound like a lot to balance. Even though I won’t have soccer practice to worry about.

  Yeah, so about that.

  You asked about a soccer scholarship. I’m not going to try for one. Because I want to quit.

  You notice how every time you asked me about it, I just said fine and moved on? It’s ’cause I didn’t know how to tell you that I hate soccer. Not running and kicking a ball, but practice and tournaments and positions and stuff. I hate it, I’ve hated it for years. I told Mom this right before you left. Since it was midseason, she told me not to say anything yet because your PTSD symptoms were affecting you and you didn’t need anything else on your mind.

  Kin paused, then reread the last few sentences. His metabolizer-boosted memory pulled back another sentiment, not from Miranda, but from Penny. Back when he woke up, a bullet from Penny’s list of reasons why she missed him: “Markus keeps asking me to watch soccer with him and I hate that and I do it anyway.”

  The things people did for family.

  * * *

  I stayed this season I think because I needed something familiar and stable in my life but I feel done with it. I know I might have a shot at a scholarship with the district award I got last season but I don’t know if I care enough. I’d just rather be making a game with aliens and spaceships (not time travel, don’t worry, I promised I wouldn’t tell anyone about your journal) than kicking a ball.

  I hope you’re not mad. I know how much soccer means to you. Tell me your honest opinion about college, about scholarships, about everything. I could use some advice.

  * * *

  Kin remembered now. That final dinner with Miranda and Heather. He’d suggested they watch soccer together, so confident that his daughter would agree. And Heather had tried to steer him away. He should have known something was up. She o
nly used that gentle tone when she knew he wouldn’t take it well.

  How did he never pick up on this? Even now, getting written messages from her regularly, he’d thought she’d been stronger, more settled for a while now. And yet, she’d held on to soccer because she needed something stable. And giving up soccer didn’t sound like just quitting, but actively exorcising something that stole joy from her. He’d thought programming and sci-fi were passing interests, that he knew his daughter at her core.

  Somehow, he’d mistaken her being good at something for really wanting to do it.

  What else had he missed, not just now but for years?

  The thoughts came crashing down when a single voice broke his concentration. “What the hell are you doing?” Markus’s voice snapped the office silence, startling Kin into a rigid posture and rapid swiping over of mission-related windows.

  “Working,” he said, rapidly clicking on his keyboard. “What does it look like?”

  “That’s what I mean.” Markus leaned against the entrance, and it took several seconds to register that he wore full workout gear. “We kick off in thirty minutes. Why aren’t you getting dressed?”

  “Didn’t Penny tell you? I had a blackout at the MOME. Doctors say to take it easy.”

  “Kin, listen to me.” Markus’s hands gripped the metal desk in front of him, an intensity in his voice that didn’t appear when jumping through time to retrieve agents and apprehend targets. “Technology Development is our main competitor for the season title. We need you out there.”

  “No physical exertion. Doctor’s orders. Penny’d kill you if she knew you were trying to get me to play.”

  Markus skulked away, his audible grumbles gradually disappearing down the hall.

  The four steps: log in, activate DTP, run the scripts, and contact Miranda and tell her how he felt. He owed her that. He punched away at the first step, then waited for the second step to complete when the thumps of footsteps quickly returned. “Okay, new idea,” Markus said.

  “Markus. Seriously.” He pointed to the floating holo windows. “I’m working here.”

  “Penalty kicks. In case it’s tied and we go into penalty kicks. Okay? No exertion. Only your aim putting us over the top.”

  Was this why Penny couldn’t stand up to her brother? Just as Kin was about to refuse him again, his train of thought was interrupted by a here-and-gone headache. He closed his eyes at the quiet sting of these post-blackout blips, and as it faded, so did his focus on the conversation at hand.

  “Kin? Come on, man. Suit up.”

  He felt disoriented but nodded to appease Markus. “Okay, okay. Fine. Just for penalty kicks.”

  “Thank you. I hope your clock is fast,” he said, pointing to the displayed time on Kin’s holo screen. “Game’s gonna start soon. You can’t time-jump in.”

  “Go,” Kin said, pointing to the elevator. “I’ll change and meet you down there.”

  “MVP, Kin.” Markus’s words were almost drowned out by the slap of his cleats against the tile. “MVP.”

  Kin rubbed his face, a heavy hand massaging the sting out of his temples. He tried to focus, but his brain still felt foggy from the headache. What was Markus just saying? How long had he been sitting there staring straight ahead at his screen?

  When did he pull his cleats out of the desk drawer?

  One by one, answers and specifics returned. A quick glance at the clock showed that only a few minutes had passed. Markus had been here talking about penalty kicks. And Miranda’s response, he had to finish that first.

  Miranda was his priority. A queasy burn roiled his stomach in waves, and maintaining focus seemed to drain all of his energy and effort over the next few minutes. He pushed through, reminding himself of what he was trying to accomplish whenever his attention wavered.

  From: Kin Stewart (chefkstew@messagemail.com)

  To: Miranda Stewart (mirawho@messagemail.com)

  Subject: RE: Big Decisions

  So look, about soccer... I’m not mad. I am disappointed, though, but not for why you might think. I’m disappointed that any of my issues might have made you feel like you couldn’t be honest with me. It’s totally fine for you to quit soccer. I wish we could share everything, but that’s not how things work. So let me just say this, both with soccer and with school. Do what you want to do. Don’t do it for me, or Grandma, or friends or boys or whatever. If you want to push yourself so you can make video games, then do it. Maybe it’s impractical, and it will probably be hard at times, but I know you can do it.

  Kin hesitated, forefinger aimlessly tapping the surface of the keyboard. The power of the written word, transmitted electronically across a century, had helped his daughter avoid a downward spiral.

  The written word saved her. Perhaps it could do even more.

  Grandma is probably too practical to tell you this so I will: do it because it makes you happy. You never know when something might take that away. Just promise you won’t use my journal for your games, okay? :)

  If Markus ever found out he was using future knowledge to steer Miranda, he’d probably cite some company line about timeline corruption. That didn’t apply here. Kin was simply nudging the universe back into balance. He sat back in his chair, indulging in daydreams of what his daughter might do with her untapped potential.

  Another sting attacked his temple, one strong enough to bring a wince to his face. He shook it off and opened his bottom desk drawer to grab the rest of his soccer gear, then closed all the web portals on his system. He was needed on the field.

  CHAPTER 17

  Behind him, Kin heard Markus telling everyone on the line that it was such a good idea he got Kin down there for penalty kicks. As he said that, Kin sent a perfectly placed shot that curved a hair out of reach of the goalie from the Technology Development group. It slammed into the back of the goal, creating a ripple that flowed through the woven netting before the ball fell to the grass.

  A mob of hands and arms and screaming disoriented him for several seconds. He shook his head to recover from the noise and back-thumping, and through it all, he heard his name over and over.

  “Kin Stewart!”

  It wasn’t his imagination.

  He turned, his focus returning, and something in the words carried an urgency that didn’t sync up with interdepartmental sports.

  The mob around him broke apart, rowdy shouts hushing to silence, and even the other team remained quiet. “Kin Stewart,” the voice called out again, and it registered that it belonged to a uniformed woman.

  Dark blue jacket. Matching hat. Equipment belt.

  TCB Security?

  “That’s me,” he said, acutely aware that everyone on the field was watching. He stepped forward to assess the Security officer; she had the usual mix of weapons and restraints, though they remained holstered. “Is everything all right?”

  “Kin Stewart,” she repeated again, this time in a quieter yet firm tone. “You’re to report to the assistant director’s office immediately. I’m here to escort you.”

  A Security escort? “Okay. We’re just about finished up here.”

  “Now, Agent.” The unflinching cold in her eyes could only mean one thing.

  She knew.

  But how? He ran his code to hide Miranda. Step three of the four steps. Of course he did. He always did. He tried to picture it, the mix of swipes and keystrokes, the confirmation screen that popped up after it executed. Except those memories were of other times, days other than today. The fine points of what he’d written to Miranda this evening proved elusive, shapeless.

  Searching his mind frantically, he remembered that Markus came up to bug him. He knew Miranda said something about not wanting to play soccer. He knew she asked him about choosing majors. But how did Markus convince him to play? Why didn’t she want to play soccer? What school advice did he give? The details
diffused into a cloudy mess, and the most important detail eluded him.

  Did he run the code?

  Markus leaned in, a slight tremble rippling through his words. “Just go.”

  Kin couldn’t have forgotten step three. The very notion seemed impossible. This thing he’d created, this balance of now and then that he’d worked so hard to figure out, every waking moment was dedicated to making this work. How could he have missed such a vital cog?

  Despite the denial rippling from his very bones, a quiet truth built into anxiety and grew into full-blown panic. Since the incident at the MOME, his memory and focus spotted in and out. He’d downplayed it to Penny and Markus and the doctors, but that didn’t help when trying to confirm life-altering archaic computer code.

  “Sure.” He refused to give anything away and kept a neutral look when meeting the mix of curious and worried glances on the field. “Hold that lead, okay?” he asked, giving a nod to a clearly worried Markus.

  Ten minutes and zero words later, Kin entered the assistant director’s office. A second Security officer greeted them at the elevator, and they both walked him to the meeting. The door slid closed behind them, leaving them in an office with nothing other than a desk and a wall of interactive screens, some of which were pulled out into floating holos. The office din disappeared with the shut door, and the only noise came from the digital soundtrack of a faux creek trickling by.

  The AD, a woman of eighty or ninety named Sierra Hammond with dark bags carved into the beige skin under her eyes and natural gray creeping into her hair, stood up behind her desk. She waved several holo screens down and motioned Kin to the chair in front. “Agent Stewart. Our anomaly. Sit down, please.”

  “I can stand.” In his cleats, Kin flexed his toes, curling them into tight, balled fists.

  “No need to get defensive, Agent Stewart.”

  “I’m not an agent anymore. I’m in Research.”