by Alan Zendell
She gave him a slab of honey-sweetened bread and oatmeal with butter melted over the top. She laid out some dried fruit and all her condiments, and poured the sweet cream her neighbor had left in her icebox. To Jordy, it was all new and unexpected, like the chocolate. Waves of his delight washed over her like warm breezes.
If Jordy had been an average kid who'd gotten lost in town, her course would have been clear. But he wasn't average and Janine felt sure he wasn't a child who got lost easily. What, then? Had he wandered away from a campsite? Maybe he'd been abandoned by parents too down on their luck to care for him. President Roosevelt kept saying things were getting better, but that kind of thing still happened. He might be some rich kid, kidnapped and left to die, like the Lindbergh baby. Her eyes felt funny as she watched him eat.
There were a lot of ignorant, superstitious people around, many who couldn't even read. What if Jordy's parents were like that? At best they'd have seen him as odd, at worst, an abomination, devil spawn. Even Janine, a scientist with an open mind, had trouble accepting the reality of him. She imagined how such parents might have believed that leaving him for the wolves was a kindness, to him, to them, and to their neighbors.
What if she turned him over to the authorities? The newsreels were full of horrible exposes about abandoned children in orphanages and foster homes these days.
Janine shuddered. She'd never been fond of children, and being a thirty-three-year-old spinster, she hadn't expected to have any. But she felt her heart open to this boy who she was convinced had saved her life. She saw how happy he was. She felt it, too, really felt it, as Jordy had experienced the pain of her injuries. The feeling was pure, unfiltered, like nothing she'd ever known.
For Janine, who had devoted her life to intellectual pursuits, whose only pleasure had been the joy of accomplishment, it was a revelation. She'd been the odd duck all her life, never fitting in. Maybe we're the same, she thought. She was sure she knew what Jordy needed, that she could give him what he'd never gotten from his own family. But she couldn't just keep him, could she?
* * * *
The farmhouse had been built in ‘88, back when Wyoming was still a territory. It had no indoor plumbing, but downdrafts from the foothills provided enough wind-generated electricity for a few lights, Janine's radio, and a pump for the well. She had to drive her battered old truck half way to Sheridan to find a phone, but Jordy had cast her primitive isolation in a new light.
"What will I do with you?” she said, unaware that she'd spoken aloud. Jordy looked up from his feast and walked around the table. He wrapped his arms around her, or would have if they had reached.
"Stay here."
She'd stopped questioning how he did it. All that mattered was that he was telling her what he wanted. She hugged him, crying for the first time in years.
Janine decided. The way people gossiped, if a child had been reported missing, she'd hear about it in town or from her neighbors. In the meantime, she'd introduce Jordy as a nephew from back East, come to live with her for a while. The more she thought about it, the more she liked the idea. She'd take him along on field trips. He'd be good company, and if he really did talk to the wolves, he might hold the key to what she'd been searching for.
* * * *
Mr. Bramis had done his best, but Miranda was having none of it. No amount of rational argument could defeat her determination to stay until Jordy was found. Remaining close to the scene of the crime was how she put it. If Mr. Bramis wasn't as disappointed as he sounded, Miranda didn't notice.
Miranda, for her part, hadn't been entirely honest, either. It wasn't concern for Jordy that drove her, but guilt over letting Demby bully her. Guilt that she hadn't loved Jordy enough to let him grow into whomever he would. All that talk about modifying him for his own good! She knew perfectly well what it was about. Demby couldn't deal with people whispering behind his back. If it ever got out that he had fathered one of those children....
Hating herself for being weak, Miranda swore an oath. She would never put anything ahead of what was best for Jordy again.
* * * *
Since Miranda could hardly spend the night in his office, Mr. Bramis entertained the idea of offering her his spare room. Unfortunately, the effect on his respiration made it difficult to speak whenever he tried. Thus, oblivious to everything but her own misery, Miranda let him deliver her to a hostel for the night.
She was awake and dressed when he arrived radiating excitement the next morning. The hopeful look on her lovely face almost caused his over-stimulated heart to burst. “You have more news?” she asked, taking his hands and sending shockwaves through him.
"News. Yes. Yes, Miz Thymes. We've found him. Well, not precisely, but.... “Mr. Bramis breathed deeply. “Our people have calibrated the temporal distortion wave. They've theorized about such things for years, you know. Everyone was terribly excited about actually being able to...."
"Mr. Bramis!” Miranda shouted.
"Yes. Sorry, Miz Thymes.” Poor Mr. Bramis almost soiled his pants. “The point is we've computed Jordy's temporal/spatial location to within plus or minus ten-to-the-sixth seconds and four times ten-to-the-fifth hectares."
The blank stare produced by his first mention of the temporal distortion wave was back on Miranda's face. “What are you talking about, Mr. Bramis?"
"Oh, dear. We know Jordy's on Earth. We know where and we know when. Approximately.” Mr. Bramis felt he'd regained control of the conversation.
"Do continue, Mr. Bramis."
"Yes. Well, he seems to have arrived in 1937 on the old Earth calendar, in a place called Wyoming. Here, I've looked it up for you.” He showed her an old map. “See? It's in the middle of the North American Ecological Preserve. You know how those Earthers are about protecting their environment."
"Is that a problem?"
"There are two issues, Miz Thymes. Our engineers say they can harness the Time Flux, as they call it. Jump aboard and steer, like riding a raft down a river.” Miranda's expression said she found the ideas of riding a Time Flux and careening down a filthy river equally revolting. Mr. Bramis hurried on. “By tracing Jordy's path, we can enter the Flux exactly where he did and reach Earth with the same time displacement."
Miranda looked doubtful. Mr. Bramis explained, “Jordy arrived in Wyoming seven hundred twelve years, one month, twenty-two days, thirteen hours, and nine minutes before he was supposed to. Approximately. If we leave to retrieve him tomorrow, we will arrive in the same place, two-and-a-half days later. As for the Ecological Preserve, I checked. There were no ecology police in 1937, no rules at all, it seems, in that region of Earth. We should encounter no problems."
"You keep saying ‘we,’ Mr. Bramis. Surely you don't think I will be going."
"Well, yes, I had thought ... that is ... you were so upset. I assumed you would insist. And of course, as your customer service rep, it would be my responsibility to accompany you."
"Will it be dangerous, Mr. Bramis?"
"I'm assured it will be perfectly safe. Almost as safe as ... oh. I promise, Miz Thymes, the risk is negligible."
"What about savages? Didn't you say North America in 1937?” She stopped, an icicle through her heart at the thought of her baby alone in an uncivilized wilderness.
"I checked on that too, Miz Thymes. That was a turbulent time on Earth. You're right about savages. Millions of people died in horrible wars during that period. But I've researched this carefully. There is no record of hostilities in Wyoming in 1937. They even spoke a dialect of English.” He handed her a disk. “Play this on your sleep-teacher tonight."
Miranda deflated. “I suppose you're right Mr. Bramis.” Her softened tone melted him. “You've thought of everything. What would I do without you?"
Mr. Bramis told Miranda to spend the day sightseeing. He gave her a ScripCard to cover her expenses. “The least ETL can do. Enjoy yourself, get a good night's sleep, and I'll be by to get you tomorrow at this time."
* * * *
Janine decided that the finest gift she could give Jordy was accepting him as he was. There would be time to study how he did what he did, later, when they returned to the wolves. A past tenant had left a trunk filled with children's books. “Would you like these?” she asked. Excitement lit up his face. “I have work to do. Will you be all right in here?"
He responded with a grimace she interpreted as “Of course!” She went into her workroom to record the night's events in her journal. On her desk was the data she'd been analyzing when the wolves began howling. She worked, fully absorbed, for more than an hour, when she noticed Jordy standing in the doorway. He wouldn't enter until she invited him in.
"Someone's taught you manners. But you don't have to be formal with me. Just come in when you want to. If I'm busy I'll tell you.” She felt strange talking to a young child that way, but she was sure he grasped every word, probably adding nuances of his own. Jordy looked at her expressionlessly. It occurred to her that she ought to see how he'd been doing with the books, uncertain whether it had been her idea or his.
Jordy had divided nineteen books into three piles, with one book off by itself. He led her to the largest stack, communicating his version of a derisive snort. He couldn't have said “stupid” more clearly if he had spelled it with letter blocks. The eleven books in the pile were bible stories, each describing a miracle. What did he think was stupid? Did he equate miracles with magic? Did he have any concept of God or religion?
"Did you read all these?” She was rewarded with a sarcastic-looking frown.
Jordy referred to the books in the next pile as “nice.” They were storybooks, two about animals who talked and acted like children, two about real animals. He leafed through the third stack, occasionally looking at Janine with sad, wet eyes. Janine watched, trying to discern what made him unhappy. He flipped past a picture of children dressed in ragged clothes handing food to people in line at a soup kitchen, but a picture of a happy family listening to the radio together almost had him in tears.
The last book made him angry. He seemed to think it was deliberately lying to him. Janine saw it was a childish representation of the sun, the moon, and the planets, dated 1925.
Amazed at what he had done in barely an hour, Janine said, “I guess I'll have to find you something more challenging."
Jordy raised a hand, telling her to sit and watch. He stood six books on end and laid three more on top of them, like a roof. On top of that, he stood three more, using another two as a second roof. And on these he stood two of the remaining four, capping it with a third. He stood the last one on top like a chimney. He'd built a model of her A-frame house. His grin told her it was a present.
Next, Jordy turned to a table piled with Janine's notebooks. He opened one and began turning pages filled with observations and numerical data representing a month of hard work. She almost grabbed it from him, but stopped herself. He found what he was looking for, a paragraph describing her hypothesis that wolves deliberately laid trails using feces as markers. He pointed to it and quite distinctly, in his nonverbal way, said, “No!"
Janine was beyond being surprised. “You don't like my conclusion? They don't do that?” Jordy covered his mouth with his hand and giggled silently.
He turned a few more pages, stopping at a tabulation of comings and goings of the adult wolves, under which Janine had sketched the alpha male. Jordy looked around, searching for something. Janine handed him a pencil. Without hesitation, using sure, deft strokes, he drew his own picture, the pencil looking huge in his tiny fingers. He looked up, pleased with his work. Janine's mouth dropped open. She might have been looking at a photograph.
She put down the notebook and took Jordy's hands in hers. “What a marvel you are. It's almost like you just fell out of the sky into my life.” She had no words to express the joy and love she felt. His face told her he'd gotten it as clearly as if he'd been inside her head.
"That's enough for today. We need to do some shopping in town."
Janine showed Jordy how to crank the ancient Ford truck's motor. He wanted to do it, again surprising her with his strength. He leaped happily when it banged jerkily to life.
She bought him some new clothes and what were obviously his first hamburger, his first plate of fried potatoes, and his first ice cream cone. He radiated such happiness; she wondered how she'd survived so long without him.
In the general store, he recognized most of the farm implements, but ignored the dolls and stuffed animals and most of the toys, except for a mechanical top and a pink rubber ball, which he bounced a few times. Once she showed him how to wind the top, he played with it until she led him away.
He was interested in the bikes, sleds, and scooters, but he liked the storekeeper's mutt best. Mostly German shepherd, and every bit of three times Jordy's weight, Buck was ornery. The storekeeper warned Jordy away, but Janine, trusting the boy's instinct, said she'd stay close to them. Buck was lying on the floor when Jordy walked up to him. The dog stretched to lick Jordy's face. Janine heard what was either a squeal of joy or a ringing in her ears. Jordy leaped on Buck, wrapping his arms around the dog's neck. Buck growled playfully and paraded around the store with Jordy on his back.
Leaving, Jordy noticed a Saturday Evening Post with a fly-fisherman on the cover, his face a question mark. “Tomorrow,” Janine said, “you and I are going fishing."
* * * *
Mr. Bramis spent the day on the WorldNet, learning as much as he could about Wyoming in 1937. One thing was clear. In October, it would be colder than it ever got on Eridani II.
His prize was a picture of a couple standing by a 1923 Buick Roadster, in ankle-length touring coats. He had the coats replicated out of glossy, silver polynyl, with artificial fleece linings. He gathered what he hoped was useful information, and acquired a second tachyon tracker; the work serving the secondary purpose of distracting him from the reality of what he'd gotten himself into. He'd had a few bad moments during the night, consoling himself with the knowledge that he'd soon be with Miranda. He arrived at her door the next morning effecting the confident, carefree attitude of someone going off on an adventure.
Seeing him thusly, Miranda divulged her own doubts. “Whenever my confidence flags, I recite my pledge: ‘I must do what is best for Jordy, no matter what it entails.’”
At the portal, Mr. Bramis strapped a device the size of his hand around Miranda's waist. He showed her that it was set for a temporal displacement of seven-hundred-twelve years, one month, twenty-two days, and thirteen hours. In case they got separated, she was to punch in the same displacement with a negative sign when it was time to return. He gave her one of the tachyon trackers, then strapped on his own.
"Are you ready, my dear?” Mr. Bramis asked, feeling a thrill at the familiarity of his address. He'd jumped directly from “Miz Thymes” to “my dear,” skipping right over “Miranda."
Miranda clenched her fists and closed her eyes like a child making a wish on gift-day. A moment later she favored him with her best smile.
"Remember, Miranda,” he savored the taste of her name on his tongue. “We will automatically return to this very portal exactly twelve hours after we arrive on Earth. Don't forget that minus sign."
They donned the walking shoes Mr. Bramis had had the good sense to acquire and buttoned their silver touring coats. Mr. Bramis took Miranda's arm and they walked through the Portal together, arriving on Earth, at three a.m., on October 9, 1937, at forty-four degrees, fifty minutes north, one-hundred-seven degrees, eighteen minutes west, well within the wolves’ nocturnal hunting ground. Seven miles to the northeast, and 1,100 feet lower in elevation was Dayton, a struggling community of less than a hundred families. This Mr. Bramis knew from the ancient almanac he'd found on the Net.
The moon was neither as full nor as bright as it had been two nights earlier, when Jordy arrived, or the following night, when Janine found him. The tachyon trackers gave them Jordy's approximate location, which Mr. Bramis estimated to be five
hours away on foot. Knowing it would be light within three hours, they decided to wait until sunrise before descending the mountain.
Having arrived safely, Miranda felt much more positively about Mr. Bramis. Within fifteen minutes, she confided her feelings of guilt over Jordy; within twenty-five, her resentment of Demby; and within thirty, her decision to terminate their contract, which she had extended on Jordy's account three years earlier. Emboldened by the intimate nature of her revelations, Mr. Bramis suggested that since they were going to be there for three hours, they should be comfortable. He sat, leaning against the rock face, kindly offering Miranda his shoulder. The soft fabric of his touring coat would make a fine cushion for her head.
A minute after they settled in, they heard a bone-chilling howl. Mr. Bramis had no idea what could have made such a noise, but he was sure he didn't want to meet it. He viewed this development as an incredibly bad stroke of luck, but fate had different ideas.
The baying caused Miranda to once again seek the comfort of his arms. Each time it recurred, she burrowed a little deeper within Mr. Bramis’ coat. By the time it stopped for good, shared body heat was their principal defense against the cold. The three-hours passed far more pleasantly than either of them had anticipated.
By the time the sun rose, Mr. Bramis was contemplating the role of Demby's replacement. The only damper was Miranda's rhapsodizing about Jordy having a decent male role model. Mr. Bramis had no desire to adopt someone else's monstrosity, but since they were both approaching ecstasy at the time, he decided to cross that bridge when he came to it.
* * * *
Janine took the dirt road, turning onto the newly-completed US-14, toward Bighorn Pass. She parked well off the road and prepared to hike to the Tongue River. Jordy wore the clothes he'd arrived in. Janine had let him, assuming they comforted him, but the temperature had plummeted overnight. “I brought your new clothes,” she said. “Why don't we leave these dirty ones in the truck?” Jordy complied, happily. He'd never worn winter clothes before. The child-sized fur parka reminded him of the wolves. He stalked about in perfect imitation, making Janine laugh.
