by Megan Crewe
“Is that it?” I ask. “Jeanant left another message?”
He nods, but his forehead has furrowed. “I think they’re directions,” he says. “They’re not very specific. But it’s definitely Jeanant. We’re supposed to travel over water and into”—he pauses the way he always does when he’s having trouble translating—“a dark that stays deep no matter how brightly the sun is shining.”
“That’s it?”
“It’s the last line from one of his poems. But it referred to the space station—he was talking about the inner passages, the maintenance tunnels.”
Why am I not surprised the guy who spoke so eloquently in that recording was also writing poetry in the midst of planning his rebellion?
“Did the people here build underground tunnels?” I say. “Or maybe . . . There could be caves.”
“Those are the most likely possibilities.” Win leans the pole against the boulder. “How did you know this was the one?”
“That piece of cloth,” I say, motioning to it. “I think Jeanant must have left it. It doesn’t feel wrong exactly, but it’s a little more . . . real. Like you, and him, and the Enforcers.” I pause. “But that’s something I notice because of my ‘sensitivity,’ isn’t it? He didn’t know you’d have someone like me helping you—how did he expect your group to find it?”
Win slides the scrap out of the crack it was stuck in. It’s only the length of his forefinger and about as wide. He rubs it between his fingertips. “It must be something Thlo would have known the significance of. She’s the one he was counting on following him here. He didn’t know who else she’d bring with him. It’s a good thing I had you.”
He shoots me a grin, for just a second before it falters and his eyes dart away. As if he thinks he’s not even allowed to smile at me. The gesture sets my teeth on edge. I just want him to treat me like an equal, not some puppet for him to use. Why is that so hard?
Turning away, he pulls out the time cloth. The wavering lines that he brings up on the display look vaguely like a topographic map overlaid by a glowing grid. Win motions toward one point, and the lines there enlarge.
“There’s a network of caves in the side of the hills we came down from,” he says. “As well as on the other side of the river. I suppose we should start here, only take another jump if we have to.”
“But if he said we have to go over water—”
“There’s a stream, here,” Win says, tracing the line. “That could be what he meant. Let’s find out.”
18.
We set off again, Win in the lead. Soon, the pale gray face of a cliff looms above the treetops. Shoulders of rock poke through the underbrush.
The cliff face is spotted with openings, many far above our heads. Between them, vines and bushes and even trees creep across the wider outcroppings, as if the stone is dappled with pockets of jungle. We follow it, examining the shadowy gaps. How are we supposed to know which one Jeanant used?
Then I spot it. Scratched beside a large curved opening, a symbol like a burst of flame.
Prometheus.
“Hey,” Win says, staring at it. He’s only taken two steps when he jerks to a halt and stumbles backward. His breath hitches.
“What?” I say, bracing myself for some unseen enemy. But Win’s shaking his head with a sudden smile.
“I caught it that time,” he says. “If I’d kept going, I’d have been doxed. Someone’s nearby.”
“Jeanant?” He must have placed that thread not long ago. I could get my second chance.
“I hope so,” Win says. “There’s no way for me to know for sure. Are you . . . okay to try talking to him again?”
“Yeah,” I say, though my nerves have gone jittery. I will not screw things up this time. “I’ll mention Thlo right away.”
“Good. And be careful, in case it’s not him. If it is, once he realizes you’re with our group, you shouldn’t have to explain very much. We need to get all the parts of the weapon. Maybe he has them on him and he can just give them to you; maybe he can tell you directly where we need to go. He should know the best way to proceed.”
“All right.” Just present myself and let Jeanant figure out the rest. Shouldn’t be that hard.
“I’ll wait right here,” Win says, ducking into the shelter of a tree.
The cave entrance is several feet wide and high, with a tangle of ferns and saplings stretching along a ledge just above it. A series of boulders rambles away from its right side in a jagged line. Just a few feet within the opening, the shadows blend into total darkness. I square my shoulders and head inside.
The daylight behind me fades quickly, the air between the rocky walls cooling with a faintly chalky smell. My damp clothes chill my skin.
The passage narrows, until I can touch both sides with my arms outstretched. My sense of the space ahead has faded into hazy gray impressions. I hesitate, then remember the phone in my purse.
I pull it out and turn it on. The glow of the screen glints off the ripples in the cave floor and the dribbles of moisture sliding down the rough walls. My wallpaper photo beams at me—the one Evan snapped of Angela, Bree, and Lisa, and me, our faces sunlit and fingers raised in victory signs in front of the biggest roller coaster at the amusement park we trekked out to this August. The roller coaster I made myself go on with the rest of them, even though the jolts and scares of the rides echo the panic of the wrong feelings.
I’m doing this—tramping across centuries and continents, holding myself together—for them. So there will be more summers and more amusement parks and more goofy photos. So we’re all safe.
The reminder steadies me. I walk on, holding the screen close to my side. There’s nothing ahead but blackness. I’ve been moving forward another minute or two when a light flickers in its midst.
I freeze. The light flickers again, and settles into a faint glow. I switch off my phone, setting my feet down as softly as I can manage. As I draw nearer, the cave splits into two passages, the glimmer down the one to my left. I continue toward it.
The glow is hitting the wall at a bend in the passage, emanating from somewhere beyond that turn. I’m just a few feet away when a figure steps out to meet me.
The light only catches the side of his face, but even as I squeak in shock, I recognize Jeanant. He’s still wearing his Traveler clothes, but his head is bare, his black curls tied back from his face and a thin gray cloak replacing the Parisian jacket at his shoulders. His eyes narrow as he peers at me in the darkness.
“I know Thlo,” I blurt out. “I’m not with the Enforcers. I’m trying to help you.”
The tension in his stance has relaxed before I’m finished the first sentence. He smiles, giving me an echo of the feeling I had when I met him in the Louvre. The certainty that we’re doing something right here.
“I know,” he says warmly. “I heard you just as I was leaving Paris, but I didn’t think it was safe to return. Any change in the order of my plans is risky. I hope you can understand why I assumed the worst.”
“It’s okay,” I say. “I should have explained right away.”
He eases forward. His gaze hasn’t left my face once. There’s a sort of wonder in his expression.
“I’ve been trying to understand why, if Thlo realized what I meant to do and followed me immediately, she wouldn’t have met me herself,” he says, and pauses. “But she didn’t come immediately, did she?”
I shake my head. “It’s all gone the way you planned. The first message—”
“Wait,” he interrupts, holding up his hand. “I shouldn’t have asked. It’s my future. I don’t want to test the limits of the time field. Either one of us could be doxed.”
“I’m not really from your future,” I admit. “I’m from here. From Earth.”
His eyes widen, but the admiration in them only deepens. Not a hint of Win’s clinical curiosity. My nervousness washes out of me.
“I wondered,” he says. “That’s why you’ve been able to reach me, and the ot
hers haven’t, I assume?”
“Yes,” I say. “We’ve been following your instructions. Not always quickly, but . . .”
“But you’re here,” he says. “Would you come into the light? I have to be sure you’re real.”
He moves around the corner of the passage, toward the source of the glow. I follow him into a wide alcove, where the canvas bag he was carrying at the Louvre lies on the cave floor beside a square object a little thicker than my thumb, which is shining with an artificial light.
“Completely real,” I say. My confusion must show in my voice, because his smile turns wry.
“It’s been several days, and the Enforcers haven’t been far behind, so I haven’t had much chance for sleep. An apparition arriving to tell me that everything I’ve worked for is coming to fruition—it’s exactly the sort of hallucination my mind would want to conjure up right now.”
Here in the brighter light, I can see the signs of strain. The creases around his mouth, the slightly ashen cast to his bronze skin, that I’m not sure were there in Paris. What was just a few hours for me was obviously much more for him. Just how long has he been jumping through time, distracting and evading the Enforcers while waiting for the safest moments to hide the parts of his weapon?
“I’m really here,” I say. “And we’re going to make sure your plan works. I’m going to make sure it works.”
A drop of icy water falls from the cave ceiling, sending a shock of cold through my scalp. I wipe it away with a shiver, and Jeanant’s eyebrows rise.
“Your clothes are wet. You must be freezing.”
Before he’s finished speaking, he’s unclasping his cloak. He wraps it around me, securing it at the base of my throat. The fabric is so thin I can barely feel its weight, but the chill recedes everywhere it touches.
“You don’t have to give me this,” I protest, even though I’m already pulling it closer around me.
“You need it more than I do,” he says. “At least I was prepared for this trip. There’s no way you could have been. I’m glad Thlo trusted you. She’s brilliant, but she wasn’t always as open-minded as Earth’s people deserve. It must be so difficult for you to understand what my people have done to your planet, and yet you’ve come all this way to help me. You’re from northeastern America, I’d guess, from your accent? And your clothes—early twenty-first century?”
“Right on both counts,” I say.
“Thlo approached you at random . . . ?” He halts, looking chagrined. “I haven’t asked your name.”
“It’s Skylar,” I say. “And, no, not exactly.” It seems too complicated to try to explain Win’s situation, so I skip that part. “I was noticing the shifts. It turns out I’m sensitive to when the past’s been changed. And your group, um, noticed that I was noticing.”
“So you’ve always felt something wasn’t right,” Jeanant says, and I nod. His voice softens. “To live with a sense you had no way of understanding—and to fight with us, now that you do know—that sort of bravery doesn’t come very often. Thank you.” I should be the one thanking him. Jeanant’s shown more respect for me in the last five minutes than Win has the entire time I’ve been around him. I wonder how Jeanant got to the place where he stopped seeing us as test subjects and recognized we were people too.
“And now I need to apologize again, for rambling,” Jeanant goes on. “It’s been so good, to talk to someone properly. You’ve come to meet me for a reason.”
“Yes,” I say. “We tried to find you again so you can tell me how we can finish this.”
“You’ve done perfectly so far,” he says. “I’ve no doubt now we will finish it. I just want you to know I wish I’d gotten here sooner. I wish someone had thought to do this before me.”
“It isn’t your fault,” I protest.
“Everyone on Kemya is at fault for this terrible situation,” he says. “And it’s my fault I didn’t plan my moves carefully enough to take my shot at the generator, or this would already be over, and you and Thlo and the others would never have had to be in more danger.” His mouth twists, and he draws himself up straighter, with that now familiar confidence. “I’m going to do everything in my power to ensure I don’t make a second mistake. Which means, as much as I wish we could talk longer—”
He cuts himself off, his head jerking toward the open passage behind me. His hand leaps to a spot on his upper arm, where the outline of a thin band shows faintly through his shirt. “They’re here.”
He scoops up his bag and the glowing square in one smooth movement. As he motions me deeper into the alcove, he dulls the light against his palm. “Stay here while I lead them the other way,” he murmurs. “As soon as they see I’m gone, they’ll follow me.”
No, he can’t go, not yet. “The weapon,” I whisper. “The parts. If you have them, you can give them to me—”
“I’ve already left the second part in the wall,” he says. He presses something small and flat into my hand. “When you hear that the Enforcers are gone, twist the corner of this. It’ll help you find the spot. And after you’ll have to go not far from your region of America, just before blood is spilled where the trees were laid low. That should be all Thlo needs to hear. Be careful.”
I snatch after him as he pushes away from me, but I miss his sleeve by an inch. He rushes toward the passage, little more than a lean silhouette in the dimmed light, and I open my mouth to call his name. Then the clatter of footsteps carries from the distant end of the cave. My voice catches. The Enforcers. A group from his time, it must be, or he’d dox them like he does Win. If I shout, I’ll bring them right to us.
I flatten myself against the wall. Jeanant’s feet thud against the stone as he races away. Someone yells, and the other steps speed up to a run. The dimmed glow of Jeanant’s light fades away completely. A twanging quavers through the air, and I wince.
But they must have missed, or maybe they shot after Jeanant had already whisked away in his time cloth. Through the pitch dark, a few muttered sentences in the alien language drift down the passage: annoyed, not triumphant. Someone sighs. And then there’s no sound at all.
I wait as the silence stretches on, until I can’t stand the blackness any longer. Then I fumble with the token Jeanant placed in my hand. One of the corners bends when I press it. I twist, and light sprays from its surface.
It’s just like the square he was carrying. The alcove feels more eerie now that I’m alone in it. The warmth of Jeanant’s cloak gives me only a small comfort.
I probably should have given it back to him. But there wasn’t time. There wasn’t even time to get all the information from him I think Win wanted. Before blood is spilled where the trees were laid low. I have no idea what that means. Maybe Win will. Jeanant said it would be all we needed. I guess he’ll leave the other two parts there for us, with whatever instructions he didn’t have time to give me now. He might not have had the remaining parts on hand.
There’s still the one he said he left here. I step back, examining the cave wall, then running my fingers over it. Finally, about halfway down, they catch on a crease that wobbles. Digging at it with my nails, I pry a chunk of the rock free.
There. Another slab of that alien plastic, about as long and wide as my forearm, lies in the crevice I’ve opened up. I pull it out. A rectangle of metal much like the first Win found, but twice as large, is embedded inside it amid lines of etched characters. It’s come with another message.
I tuck the slab under my arm as I creep back down the passage. The entrance is a bright speck in the distance. I hurry toward it, wondering where Jeanant is now. If this place with the trees is the answer, if his role in the mission will be finished there, will he be able to go home? I know he hasn’t made it back to Kemya in Win’s present. If he had, he could have told all this to Thlo himself instead of leaving clues.
Seventeen years in the future, Win said. Seventeen years before his group and Jeanant can meet without doxing. Surely the Enforcers will give up their chase befo
re then?
The darkness falls away, the vague shapes of leaves and tree trunks coming into focus beyond the cave entrance. I jog the last short distance, eager to be out in the sun.
The space beneath the tree where Win was going to wait is empty. I swivel, just outside the cave opening. He’s nowhere.
The Enforcers, I tell myself, clamping down on panic. The ones who came from Jeanant’s time. They’d have doxed Win, or he’d have felt them coming and moved out of range. Now that they’re gone, he’ll be making his way back here. I just have to wait.
A crimson bird with absurdly long tail feathers flutters down onto one of the boulders in their jagged row beside me. A branch creaks. And then an out-of-tune twang hums through the air from somewhere to my right.
I flinch around. Someone’s crashing through the brush—there’s a hollered command. I throw myself in the opposite direction, toward the line of boulders. My shoulder jars against one as I scramble behind it, and there’s another shout. Twigs crackle underfoot, far too close. I crouch down, trying to listen over the thundering of my heartbeat. Was I seen?
A brittle voice calls out in words I don’t understand. It’s the pale woman’s voice. I stiffen. I don’t know if she’s trying to talk to me, or her companions. She says something else, but still in the alternately staccato and slurred syllables of their alien language.
The slab Jeanant left weighs heavy in my lap. I can’t let her get this.
I peer around me. There’s a rustle in the bushes a few feet away, near the mouth of the cave. The point of a straw hat and a childish face show through the broad leaves. A pair of frightened eyes stare at me, and then flick back to the area in front of the cave. Where I guess the pale woman is standing.
It’s the boy who followed us before. We didn’t lose him after all. He must have staked out the cave after he saw me go in, determined to get his proof of our treachery. He couldn’t have expected it to turn out like this. And I can tell he doesn’t have any more of an idea how to escape than I do.
Then another voice rings out, from somewhere farther away. “Why don’t you let us leave peacefully? We haven’t done anything wrong.”
