Time's Mirror: A CHRONOS Files Novella (The CHRONOS Files)

by Rysa Walker

“You and Richard?”

  “No! Your mother and I. She was furious at me. And it was my fault…I’ll admit I was never really good at the whole fidelity thing, and she found out I’d been with one of the other historians. Shaila. Kathy sent her a threatening message, and Shaila was terrified. I told Shai to stay put and borrowed her costume—the burqa. I was going to get to the jump room early, to see if I could reason with Kathy. I didn’t want her to get into trouble. I loved her. And it was my fault she was angry, so maybe I could fix it, you know? She didn’t even tell me she was pregnant when we were fighting. Maybe she didn’t know. Or maybe that’s why she was so angry.”

  He sighs, and his voice is shaky when he continues. “But when I checked Kathy’s badge location, I realized she’d stopped by to see Angelo…he was our supervisor. By the time I got there it was too late. He was dead. Kathy killed him, or maybe it was Richard who did it. Left his body in the office, stuffed in the closet. So I ran to the jump room, and…they had Shaila hostage. Some sort of explosive was strapped to her chest. Richard said for everyone to get into position or he’d kill her. There was a blast…but I guess you know that part, from what Tate and Campbell said.”

  A couple of sniffs, and then he says, “I’m sorry. It’s just…this is really recent for me. Then I find out I can’t use the key, can’t get back home. I’m stuck here. I still can’t believe Kathy would do that. I knew she was a little unstable, but this is just…too much.”

  I’m silent, mostly because I don’t really know what to say. He seems sincere, but…

  “I’m sorry,” he repeats. “Here I am blathering on and what you’ve been through is so much worse. And that’s kind of my fault, too, because I’m the one who pushed her over the edge. If I’d been faithful, or at least more careful, she’d never have had reason to listen to all of Richard’s nonsense about the evils of time travel. You’d never have suffered the way you did. You’d have been born in my time, with a father.”

  Something about what he’s saying doesn’t make sense, but I can’t put my finger on it, partly because the bit about me not having a father makes me angry. “I had a father. Jim Pierce. He was a good man, a good dad to me and to Deborah.” I can feel the tears building up behind my eyes. I’m not sure if it’s because Saul’s crying, or just the stress of the past few days, but I bite down on my lip and blink them away. “What my mother did…what you did, too, I guess. That’s why he’s dead now.”

  “Yes. I’m sorry, Pru. Campbell told me he died when you used the key.”

  Saul’s expression is so sympathetic that I may have imagined it, but I think there’s a slight emphasis on the word you.

  Your fault too, Prudence.

  He didn’t really need to say it. It’s always there at the back of my mind. Judging from the video he showed me last night, it’s in Deb’s mind, as well.

  Saul waits a moment and then nods over at the CHRONOS key locked up in the weird mount. “Those medallions have an incredible amount of power. More than I ever realized. Campbell…well, he didn’t want to say anything in front of Tate, since Tate is still working with them, but he believes there were major changes to the timeline as a result of what happened. It’s hard to believe CHRONOS doesn’t know…I mean, we’re talking billions of additional deaths. But I can easily see them covering something like that up, since they’re implicated. And then Simon gives me the message I sent myself from the future. Apparently, you…we…went about everything all wrong. Not just once, but several times. We both try to contact your mother, your sister…and it only makes matters worse. You’ve just started working with the key, Pru, so I don’t know if you can feel the different realities, but I can. This is far from the first time we’ve had this conversation.”

  I shake my head. “I only remember…once. You ordered pancakes.” I nod to the room beyond this one. “We ate them at a table that looked like that one, but I think it was in a different room and I…I think it happened yesterday. Or earlier today, maybe. Just before I punched Simon. I can’t remember a lot of what we said, but you were angry that you couldn’t use the key. Either way, it felt very real. Still does. I can even smell the pancakes.”

  Saul laughs. “Actually, you smell the pancakes room service delivered about a half-hour ago. I thought you might be hungry when you woke up…and you slept a little longer than Simon thought you would. I’m impressed, by the way. June had to put two stitches in his upper lip. You have a mighty right hook.”

  “Let’s just say I was motivated.”

  I start toward the door, but Saul grabs my arm. “No. I’ll have to bring your food in here. Simon said the field extender won’t go beyond this room, and…we’re not entirely sure what would happen to you outside of a CHRONOS field. Simon also seems to think you’re something of a flight risk right now.”

  My eyes flick automatically to the lime-green glow behind his shirt. He laughs. “Sorry, sweetie. You can’t borrow mine. But we’ll get this figured out.”

  “So…I can’t leave this room? I’m a prisoner?”

  “No! Not at all. You’ll be going places with Simon, and eventually, I think we’ll be able to trust you on your own. Let’s just say that for now you’ve been…grounded. For your own safety.”

  Simon doesn’t knock, just shoves the door open and tosses me a white dress. It looks like a toga.

  “Put it on,” he says. He’s holding his mouth a little funny, and I see that Saul was right. There are two small stitches on his upper lip.

  “Why?”

  “Because that’s what you’ll wear every time you make a jump.”

  I toss the dress right back at him. “I don’t think so. You wear it.”

  There’s a snort from the doorway, and when I look over, I see a second Simon. “Hi.” He gives me a little finger wave. “I’m his backup.”

  The first Simon tosses the dress onto the bed, and pulls a wrench out of the duffel he’s carrying. At first, I think he’s planning to use the wrench on me, but then he turns around and starts unbolting the field extender. “You can either put the damn dress on by yourself or the two of us will put it on you. Your choice, mamacita. And if you get any rowdy again, I’ll call in more backup. You can never have too many Simons in a room, can you, Simon?”

  Simon-in-the-doorway takes a step toward me. “My thoughts exactly.”

  I duck into the bathroom and do as the Simons say. The idea of him—them—touching me sends cold shivers down my back.

  When I come out, Simon #1 is holding the field extender gadget. “Grab the other handle,” he tells me. “Once the stable point is visible, keep your eyes on it and blink when I say.”

  I tell him exactly where he can shove the field extender.

  He’s silent for a couple of seconds, focusing on the display he’s pulled up. “Have it your way. But you’re not going to enjoy the ride. Last chance.”

  He rolls his eyes when I flip him off. Then he grabs my upper arm.

  “Eventually, you’ll learn to take my advice, Pru. This is gonna hurt.”

  Oh dear God was that an understatement.

  My insides are being pulled out through my pores. Once we land in the middle of a dark, wet field, I proceed to puke those same insides out. Afterward, I collapse onto the mud, inches away from my former breakfast.

  “Warned you.” Simon doesn’t sit. He just stands there next to me looking out into the night, with his leg pressed against my back. As soon as the retching stops, I try to move away, but he says, “Nuh-unh-unh. Not unless you like the idea of popping out of existence.”

  When I finally push myself up to sitting, I see why he chose to remain on his feet. I suspect some of that moisture on the ground is from rain or dew. But most of it is blood. My body isn’t the only one sprawled out on the field, but it’s by far the liveliest.

  “The year is 2074.” Simon’s voice is monotone, bored, almost like it’s his turn to recite in speech class. “In your time, this area would have been Niger, near the Chadian border, but in th
is reality, it’s all Akana. Throughout recorded history, the region has never been what you’d call peaceful, but one rather powerful ethnic group, the Akan, took control back in the thirteenth century, thanks to the foresight of a leader named Esther. Odd name for an Akan woman, and coincidentally, the name of a CHRONOS historian who was stranded in that period. Esther and her daughter, Edna, made a number of changes for the better within her culture—for example, they’re one of the few groups who never snip-snipped the private parts of either sex. But they were aggressive and territorial, and as you can see, many generations later, they still don’t play nice with their neighbors. The Akan are responsible for this…” He waves one arm around at the stacks of corpses. “And there are many other fields where the mud is redder still.”

  He offers me a hand up, and I reluctantly take it. I start to brush the blood-mud from my skirt, but it’s a lost cause.

  “This is one of the things we have to fix,” Simon tells me. “Among numerous others that I’ll be showing you today. When you’re ready to move on, let me know. And this time, I’d suggest following my instructions. Unless you want a repeat of your last little adventure.”

  I do not.

  I grab the handle. And when Simon says blink, I blink.

  RITZ-CARLTON

  MIAMI BEACH, FLORIDA

  Day 6—June 19, 2024

  There’s a tap on the door and then Saul asks, “Hungry?”

  I am. But I shake my head. “The device makes me queasy, and Simon has me scheduled for another jump in a few hours.”

  Saul shrugs. “Okay. I can wait until you get back. I hate eating alone.”

  I add that to the small, but growing, list of things that Saul Rand and I have in common.

  “Thanks.” I try to sound a little cheerier than I actually am. The place is nice enough, as cells go. Movies, TV, my own bathroom. Room service.

  But jail is jail. I carved another notch into the wall behind the bed last night. There were a few days at the beginning when I didn’t keep count. It may even have been a week. Since I started the tally, I’ve crossed off five days. It’s my nightly ritual, right after I brush my teeth.

  The only time I get out of this room is to go on another of Simon’s field trips. The recent ones haven’t been as bad as the first few, the ones I think of as Simon’s Tragical History Tour. The beach I can see from my window is underwater a hundred years from now. Dolphins and horses are practically extinct, along with several dozen other species, as a result of several odd flu-like viruses that Saul suspects were man-made. Terrorists attack locations all over the world in 2092, and the animosity that emerged in the wake of those attacks leads to a third world war. Saul says these things weren’t in the history books in his day, or at least not in quite the same way. Mother and this Richard guy seem to have set most of this in motion, but Simon told me that things got much worse after I contacted Deborah and pushed Mother to act more quickly than she’d planned.

  Most days, I just feel…numb. Not quite as numb as I did after taking the pills that first night at the Farm, but still kind of floaty. I’m not on any medications that I know of, but what I thought that night is just as true now—they could be putting something in my food or drink. But I have to eat, and I have to find a way for them to trust me enough to give me my own key back. If I can get to Tate, we can talk this through. I need someone to help me figure out this mess.

  I’m not sure about their plan to set things straight, either. Saul’s right that we need to get people to listen, to pay attention, if we’re going to fix the damage, rather than making it worse, as Simon claims I did before. And religion can motivate people to action—good and bad.

  Either way, I guess the die is cast. Four days ago, Simon and I traveled back to 1476 London. I was there more as a prop than anything else, the little wife who held on to her husband’s arm like a timid mouse. It’s not a role I enjoyed playing, but letting go of Simon’s arm without a medallion of my own carries certain risks I’m not ready to take. Simon dropped two manuscripts into the hands of William Caxton, who had just opened his printing shop. We paid the printer a rather handsome bribe to bump the Book of Cyrus and the Book of Prophecy ahead of the first book in his queue, Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales. Chaucer could hardly complain, since he was long dead even back then, and Caxton seemed pleased to have a bit of extra cash in his pocket.

  Simon made a few trips without me, to pick up the books he had printed and then to distribute them in some libraries. He also deposited a portrait of me and a painting of Saul feeding the hungry at one of the larger Cyrist churches that popped up over the next hundred years.

  Some of these solo trips were on my own List, but Simon said he’d take care of them. It sickens me that I actually felt a bit of gratitude, since it meant one less tandem jump with that stupid field extender.

  “Penny for your thoughts?” Saul says.

  I nod toward the evil gadget. “I was thinking I’d like to jump back and give whoever designed that thing a piece of my mind.”

  Saul’s expression is rueful. “Well…Simon got the specs from me, actually. Handed them over to a young guy who was working with Edison, down in Florida. A former protege of Tesla. It’s actually very impressive for something built in 1902.”

  “There were some very impressive torture devices during the Spanish Inquisition, too.”

  “You have your mother’s dry sense of humor, I see. One of the things that attracted me to her, actually.” He flashes me a quick smile. “Well, if you aren’t hungry, are you at least feeling up to meeting another recruit? Simon will be back with him soon.”

  Simon has been a busy, busy bee. I think several months have passed for him…the stitch on his upper lip is long gone, with just a tiny scar remaining. Two offspring of CHRONOS historians appeared yesterday to meet with Saul and hear his theories on what happened at CHRONOS and how they can help fix it. I wasn’t part of those discussions, since I’m confined to quarters, but Saul opened the door long enough to introduce me to both of them.

  I have mixed feelings about the young woman, Edna. She’s the daughter Simon said was mainly responsible for building up the Akan empire, and thus very indirectly responsible for the slaughter I saw on that first trip with Simon. Edna is not much older than I am, and she seemed nervous. That’s probably not surprising for someone jumping hundreds of years ahead of her time. At first, I was surprised at her command of English, but then I realized Simon probably talked to Edna’s mother about all of this before the woman was even pregnant with her daughter. Edna was groomed for this, just as she was probably groomed to lead before. There’s no doubt in my mind that she’ll be staying.

  I’m less certain about the man, a guy named Dunne. He didn’t hang around long, and when Saul introduced us, he made a special point of asking—twice, in his thick Irish brogue—if I was sure I was okay. I’m not sure he believed me when I said yes, which suggests he has pretty good instincts. After the Dunne guy left, I heard raised voices in the other room. Saul and Simon arguing. I only caught the loudest bits of the conversation, one of which was Simon telling Saul that the Dunne family was non-negotiable. That they’d have to find a way to convince him, or Saul could just find someone else to—

  “Pru?” Saul prompts. “Did you hear my question?”

  “Oh. Yeah, sure. I’ll meet him.”

  He starts to leave and then turns back. “Are you okay, Pru?”

  His voice sounds like he actually cares. And maybe he does. Am I being too cynical? I may not have spent any time with him, but…I’m his kid, right? Maybe it bothers him to see me miserable, especially when he’s playing a role in making me feel that way.

  “I’m okay,” I tell him. “But I’d be much, much better if you’d give me back my key. Why is Simon calling all of the shots now?”

  Saul sighs, and sits down on the bed next to me. “If I were to give you a key, where would you go? You know you can’t contact Deborah or your mother. You’ve seen what happens as a resu
lt of that. We can’t risk it.”

  “No. I want to see Tate. I want to talk all of this through with someone who’s not in the middle of it.”

  He’s silent for a very long time.

  “I’m not…opposed to that,” he says finally. “Especially if you could carry a message back for me. It would be interesting to know how much history CHRONOS whitewashed in order to cover up their own liability for this mess. But, on a personal level, maybe you should be careful if you’re actually…interested…in Tate Poulsen. He was—”

  “I know about Maya. He told me.”

  His eyes widen slightly. “Everything?”

  “Enough for me to know it’s over. And even if it wasn’t, it wouldn’t matter. Tate is miserable in the museum. He doesn’t belong there. If we can fix things so that CHRONOS doesn’t shut down…”

  “Well,” Saul says, “I have good news on that front. The simulation currently puts the probability at seventy-two percent, up from twenty-four percent before we planted the seeds for Cyrist International. I still have to put in the latest figures, and these machines aren’t what I’m used to, but that’s a hopeful sign, right?”

  The equipment Saul has here seems pretty impressive to me. Some of it hasn’t even been invented yet, which is reason he doesn’t let the maids in to clean. It’s also why he says we’ll be packing everything up and moving to the Farm within the next few days, once a few additional dominoes are in place.

  He brushes a strand of hair back behind my ear and then tips my chin up to look at me. “We’ll talk again later, okay? I don’t want you to feel like you’re a prisoner here. You agreed to help us fix this disaster, and I trust that you’re going to hold up your end of the bargain.”

  Saul goes back to his computers and I lie in bed listening to my Walkman.

  He’s right. I agreed to help. No one twisted my arm, although after my little tour with Simon, how could anyone not agree? Still, there’s no question that I am really and truly in this now. And maybe it’ll all be for the best. Saul ran a computer search for Sister Prudence last night and showed me the results. There are dozens of schools named after me. Art of every variety is decorated with my face, my body—although it’s hard to recognize as my body in some of them.