The servant reappears with a brown packet, and Phil instructs him to give it to me.
“I didn’t look inside of course, but official word has gone out regarding your innocence.”
I accept the packet from the servant, and after considering the outside briefly, stuff it into my sleeve. My curiosity makes me want to rip into it now, but Tad and Phil’s eyes on me make me rethink the idea.
“Thank you.”
Phil smiles. “Nothing like a bit of intrigue to keep a chronothon exciting.”
I ignore him and go back to my food. My guide being murdered was not amusing, asshole.
“And speaking of the mysterious, how about you, young man?” He turns to Jonah. “Youngest competitor in chronothon history, I hear, and nearly leading the race. What’s your secret? Hmm?”
Jonah merely bobs his head and keeps eating his bread. After a moment, a few words come out. “I have a good guide.”
Phil laughs. “Indeed you do. If I could breed a dog like that, I’d take an army of them. Once in my younger days, I had these pups . . .”
Phil launches into a tale about his childhood, and I lean back toward Jettison. “What do you know about this little kid?”
Jettison frowns and moves closer. “Weird story. Genesis could tell you better than I could. She knew him better. They were in the same class once.”
“Her and the kid?”
“Well, sort of. It’s a little complicated. It wasn’t this kid. He was older.”
“Like an older version of him?”
“Yeah, but not exactly. Gen and I visited the academy a few times. We were never full-time, but Dad wanted us to attend some of the courses to round out our education. Jonah was a full-time student, but you could tell he didn’t fit in well. He was lanky and awkward. Got picked on a lot. His dad is this eccentric inventor type. I don’t know what happened to his mom. I don’t think he was very well-adjusted for a place like the Academy. The kids there can be ultra-competitive and harsh. It must have gotten pretty bad because he dropped out. He was probably sixteen at the time. But that’s where things got weird. When he dropped out, he didn’t just go home to his dad. He went back in time.”
“Why?”
“He didn’t just want to escape the academy. Apparently he wanted some kind of revenge. He went back to when he was younger and started living there with his dad and the younger version of himself. He started calling himself Jay and acting the big brother to Jonah. God knows what he was telling this poor boy. Can’t have been the most rational things because now the kid wears a snail on his head.”
“How did he end up in a chronothon?” I watch Jonah picking at food on the table across from us and try to keep my voice low so he won’t hear us.
“I’m not sure about that. Maybe Jay thought having his younger self beat these Academy kids in a chronothon would be a way to redeem himself. You can take one guess who his main tormentors were.”
I glance at the couch beside me, where Tad is grabbing at one of the slave girls. I frown and look back to Jonah. “Seems like he should have done it himself, not send the younger version of him to do it.”
“Yeah, I agree.” Jettison says. “I don’t think a chronothon is any place for a kid. If his dad had any kind of sense, he wouldn’t have let it happen. The committee didn’t stop it, though. I just worry how he’ll hold up against all this adult competition.”
I nod as I remember Marco and Andre storming through Rome with assault rifles. How is this kid supposed to compete with that? Jonah is smiling as a servant brings him a tray of fruit. He beat you here, Ben. He must be doing something right.
During our conversation, a couple more racers have arrived. The alien, Bozzlestitch, has somehow bypassed the toga requirement. He arrives adorned in his own loose fitting clothing that is significantly more colorful than the white of our togas. His pants and shirt are earth-tone linens, but his dark-green arms are bare, and I notice they’re covered with tattoos. The servants approach him with trepidation, but he samples their platters eagerly. They seat him in a chair at the table as they’ve run out of couches.
When Genesis arrives, I get up and offer her my spot. She tries to decline, but I convince her by telling her I’m needing some rest. Phil seems displeased that I’m leaving, and I get the impression that I may have committed some sort of etiquette faux pas by giving my seat of honor to someone else, but I don’t care. I want to see what’s in the packet in my sleeve, and I don’t want to do it with an audience. I thank Phil for the meal and slip out the door, doing my best to navigate back to my room on my own. I find it unoccupied upon entering and am grateful that the servants haven’t anticipated my return yet. I slide the bolt closed on the door and retreat to the bed, shedding the toga as fast as I can get out of it.
I climb onto the bed and sit cross-legged with my back to the wall as I tear into the sealed packet. It contains a letter. A quick glance at the signature reveals it’s from Chairman Schnyder. I skim rapidly through the formal salutation and get to the heart of it.
“ . . . your name has been cleared of suspicion . . . investigators to be thanked for their diligence in the matter . . . while it may come as small relief considering the enormity of your loss, you may rest assured that the true assassin is being sought for punishment . . . the marshals of ASCOTTs law enforcement division have assured us that she will not escape justice.”
She?
“ . . . While it came as a shock to the entire community, considering her heritage and the enormous contributions of her father to the realm of science, ASCOTT wishes to ensure all involved that neither will delay them from ensuring swift justice be done in the matter of Mym Quickly.”
I have to read the line three times to make sure I haven’t mistaken the meaning somehow. They’re hunting Mym for this? I fly through the rest of the letter, searching for more detail, but all of it is maddeningly vague. The only other item in the packet is an official form of acquittal from ASCOTT. Have they already found her? Is she on trial? Why do they think it was her? My mind flashes back to the chairman’s words in Charlie’s tent. “We’ve already dispatched an investigator.” It seems so long ago, but it was only my morning. My morning two thousand years from now. The gulf of time suddenly seems enormous. That could mean the blonde hair I thought I saw in the woods really was hers. Mym. I can’t even warn her. I think about how much difficulty I had trying to contact her, even in my own time. What hope do I have of contacting her from here? My fist clenches the bedding in frustration. Maybe they won’t be able to find her either. The thought gives me a moment of relief until I ponder the letter in my hand. They obviously have some way to communicate through time. They’re more advanced than any analog traveler. What chance does Mym have to avoid them?
I’m tempted to throw the letter into the fireplace, but I fold it and the acquittal form and stuff them into the journal instead. I fall back onto the bed and stare at the ceiling, trying to wrap my head around this new information. How could anyone think Mym was out to kill Charlie? She was the one who got him to help me. A friend of her father’s. It would be like killing family, wouldn’t it? Could Mym be capable of something like that? I shake the thought away, remembering the look on her face the moment after I kissed her: the curiosity and the hope. Maybe that’s just what you wanted to see. How well do you really know her?
I fold my arms and tell myself to snap out of it. I know who the real enemy is. If I think about it, I can still feel the man’s fingers around my throat as he shoved my head into the tent pole. The black eyes staring into mine. He’d almost admitted it, hadn’t he? I try to recall his exact words, but my mind won’t let them come. I breathe out slowly, trying to expel my tension and anger. I just need to get through this. Just survive and you can find Mym after. I try not to think about what might happen if I’m too late. If the one person I trusted enough to guide me into this world was taken away from me . . .
I don’t notice when I fall asleep, but I wake to a persistent kno
cking. I shake away the lingering cobwebs from unpleasant dreams and shuffle my way to the door. When I open it, I find Viznir in the hallway, wearing his pack.
“Hurry and get dressed. It will be our time at the gate soon.”
I rub my eyes. “What time is it?”
“Just shy of dawn. Romans like to get an early start. Most of the teams are already gone.”
“They got to go ahead? How does that work?”
Viznir follows me into the room. “They’ve had to go, but not ahead. The ones who placed highest get to linger longest and have the most rest. We’ll still have a head start on the other side. That’s how the time gates are programmed.”
“I guess that works out well.”
“For the ones in the lead. I think the last place team got maybe an hour’s rest before they had to go on. We’re the fortunate ones.”
I get my jeans on, find a clean T-shirt, and stuff Quickly’s journal into my pack. My shoulders ache under the weight of the pack again. I follow Viznir outside. A servant in the dining area helps us fill our canteens, then guides us downhill to the gardens.
The sky has lightened and birds have begun their chirping in the branches in anticipation of the sun. We find Phil chatting with a couple of guards who have been assigned to positions on either side of a stone archway. The arch is covered in flowering vines, but the yellow blooms have closed themselves for the night and have yet to awaken. Phil smiles at our approach and opens his arms in the same welcoming gesture as when I first laid eyes on him.
“Our time has been short, Benjamin.” He reaches out to clasp my hand with both of his. “But it has been a pleasure.”
“Thanks for the hospitality.”
“It’s nothing, nothing at all. It’s me who should thank you. Who knows if I’ll ever entertain a group like this again? It was a gift.”
“What’s next for you now?” I ask. “Once all of us have left.”
“Blissful relaxation, one would hope. It’s not a bad place to retire, eh? A fair trade for punching a few buttons and opening a time gate or two.”
“So you’ll stay here?”
“Someone has to, my boy. ASCOTT has spent a fortune on this technology and has to have it dismantled by someone.”
“There’s no way to get you back to the future? What year are you from?”
“I was born in 2112. I was an engineer most of my life. Would have been retiring soon anyway had ASCOTT not recruited me. They offered me a villa and a staff of servants and more money than I can ever hope to spend here. The perks won me over, I won’t deny it. Certainly takes the edge off saying goodbye to the twenty-second century.”
“Well, thanks. I appreciate you being here. You’ll pass the message on about Dennis and his guide, right?”
“Of course, of course. It will be my first priority.” Phil smiles. “I hope to get word of the race results eventually. Looks like a competitive bunch! Perhaps you’ll tell me who won when you find a way back to visit me someday, eh?” His face has a tinge of desperation to it, and it makes me wonder how much he’s not saying about his views on retirement.
I watch with interest as he steps to a control pad near the arch and inputs an activation code. The guards on either side of the arch step back as colored light shimmers between the columns. My bracelet beeps and the number three begins flashing.
“It’s ready for you, gentlemen.” Phil steps back and clasps his arms behind him. “Good luck!”
Viznir strides immediately through the arch. I take one last look at the gardens and nod to Phil before I follow.
I’m happy to find the passage this time doesn’t involve falling. I step from Phil’s predawn garden, directly into dappled sunlight. There’s a chill in the air, and I get an involuntary shiver from the temperature change, but it’s still mild. Can’t be lower than the mid-fifties. Viznir is a few feet away, looking past me. I turn around when I’m through the gate and see that we’ve just stepped through the front door of a derelict cottage. The mud-daubed walls have chunks broken away, and the thatched roof is allowing sizeable amounts of sunlight through its many gaps. The cottage sits in a former clearing that’s being reclaimed by nature.
“You find the objective box yet?” I take a few steps toward Viznir. He motions with his head for me to look right. I turn and see the silver objective boxes dangling by chains from a nearby pine tree like so many Christmas ornaments. I walk under the boughs and locate the one with my name on it. It releases into my hands with a wave of my bracelet just like the others did. I open it to find my map. This one is drawn on a piece of tanned animal hide. The names are in English this time, or something close. I study the writing and the drawings for a minute, then pass it to Vizir. “What do you think? Old-time English? Maybe somewhere medieval?”
“This writing could be from a variety of timestreams or eras,” Viznir says.
“Yeah, but this plus Cinderella’s pre-pumpkin digs over there, seems pretty medieval, wouldn’t you say?”
“It’s one possibility. There is a castle noted on this map. Our objective is inside.”
“How far?”
“If this notation is in leagues, like it seems to be, we’re looking at about six miles.”
“Oh damn. Seriously?”
“Well it says two leagues. A league is about five and a half kilometers. Five kilometers is—”
“A little over three miles. Gotcha.” I start parting the weeds around me with my feet. Like hell if I’m going to schlep this pack six miles. I can feel Viznir’s eyes on me.
“What are you doing?”
I lean over and pick up a smooth stone that looks like it spent at least some of its life in a river but has one distinctly jagged edge. “I have an idea. Come on.” I lead the way back toward the cottage. I avoid the front door since it’s being used as the time gate and I’m not sure when the next team will be appearing. Instead, I forge through the weeds at the side of the cottage and make my way around back until I find a hole in the wall big enough to step through.
The inside of the cottage is only three rooms, a main room at the front by the door, a kitchen area, and a bedroom. The thatching on the bedroom ceiling is still mostly intact and has kept out the rain and sunlight. As a result, the hard-packed earthen floor is still relatively level and free of weeds. I lay my stone in the middle of the floor, then swing my pack off my back and set it down next to it. I debate taking the pistol out of it, but decide to leave it. I retrieve my canteen from the side of my pack and clip that to my belt before turning to Viznir. “Anything you don’t feel like carrying?”
Viznir stares at my pile of belongings next to the rock. “We need these things.”
“Yeah, but we don’t need them all right this second. I’m sending my stuff ahead.”
“To where?”
“To when I need it.” I smile. “Anything you want to ditch? Last chance.”
Viznir shakes his head. “I’m keeping my things.”
“Me too,” I reply. “I just don’t want to carry them.” I pull Quickly’s journal out of my pack, then lead the way out of the room to the kitchen. Viznir follows me. I flip open the journal to my log entry page in the back and note the time on my bracelet. “We’ve been in this level just under eight minutes. We left the room at about 0:07:43 or so.” I scribble the digits in the book. “Let’s say it takes a minute or so to come back, pick up the gear, set my chronometer and bug out. Probably less, but we’ll call it a minute. I just have to make sure I keep the orientation of the stone the right direction.” I check the heading on Charlie’s compass. “Right now the stone is aimed east. If I keep the orientation the same and make sure it’s on level ground for the jump, should be a piece of cake.”
“You’re talking about coming back for it in the future?” Viznir frowns. “What happens if someone takes it?”
“I’m talking about coming back for it right now. If this works—” I wait for the timer on my bracelet to tick past 0:08:45. “—then it’s already happe
ned.” I gesture for Viznir to look around the corner. I join him in the doorway. The floor of the bedroom is empty except for the jagged-edged stone.
Viznir lets out an audible gasp. “It’s gone!”
“See? Told you it would work.”
“But I didn’t even hear anything.”
“That’s because I’m capable of being a sneaky bastard when I want to be.” I walk to the center of the room and pick up the stone. I double-check that I can differentiate the top from the bottom and then slip it into my pocket. “Weighs a lot less than all that gear.”
A sudden clatter comes from the front of the cottage. Heavy footsteps are followed by voices. I glance at my timer and see it reads 0:10:04. I put my finger to my lips and whisper at Viznir. “Marco and Andre are through.” He joins me by the bedroom wall and we listen as the men tromp their way over to the objective tree and detach their box. I sneak a peek around the corner and see the pair studying their map. Marco points north and stuffs the map into a pocket of his cargo pants, then the two break into a trot, stomping their way through the weeds with their rifles at the ready. I wait till they’ve disappeared, then turn to Viznir.
“If the intervals are ten minutes for each racer this round, that means Tad and Blaine had a twenty minute head start on us. We’ve been here ten minutes, so their lead is almost half an hour now. We’ll need to keep a good pace if we’re going to catch up.”
Viznir nods and cinches his pack tighter. “Then let’s get going.”
We climb back out the hole in the wall and jog north, following the same path Marco and Andre took through the weeds. The clearing is quickly absorbed by woods, and I have to make frequent use of my compass to keep us heading north. A few times I think I can hear Marco’s voice up ahead somewhere, but neither of the men ever come into view. After the first few hills, I realize six miles through the woods won’t be like any run I’ve done back home. It’s significantly harder.
In Times Like These Boxed Set Page 69
