A couple of beams from that charger and we’d be up and running already. Dang, it’s tempting.
“You said we could sign back at the port,” I remind her.
“Plan changed.” She hands me her handheld device awaiting our signatures.
I eye it. This is BS. My gut tells me she’s trying to manipulate us in some way, especially since she didn’t care about our signature before, when Boris wasn’t around.
“No thanks.” I climb inside Essence.
Pressing the power button myself, I pray for a rumble, but nothing happens. If I could read the dashboard stats, I could see where I am in regards to charge levels, but I can’t get it on without power. I flip open a small, unused panel to the side of the dashboard and hold a squishy rubber button down with the pad of my index finger. The primer. It’s been an obsolete resource, but Dad says you never know when it may come in handy. Hopefully, it’s fully functional.
I press the power button again.
Still nothing.
I’m spinning my wheels. What do I think I’m doing? Evading the Dot again? Panic rears its ugly head now—deep inside my chest and burrows up through my throat, nestling itself into my brain. I have to think of something.
Outside again, I pace beneath the tree. Garth punches data into her device, obviously communicating with someone through a technology I have no knowledge of.
“Anytime you’re ready, let me know.” Garth raises her charger.
I ignore her.
“Don’t tell me, it didn’t work?” Tristan shuts off the truck, climbs out.
My chest is heaving. “I don’t know what to do,” I whisper to him. “Signing those citations without talking to my parents feels like a big mistake. But we can’t leave Essence here, we may never get her back. Either way, I don’t think my parents will ever trust me again.”
Tristan wraps his fingers around my wrists, holds them firmly at my side so my chest is almost touching his. “Easy, Butterman. Your parents will understand. It’s your first solo gig, right? People slip up. Things happen. Maybe we should just sign the citations so Garth can get us powered up.”
I’m stiff in his half embrace, distracted by the seriousness on his face. “I don’t trust her.”
“But it’s a solution, and since nothing else is working …”
I shudder.
“You’ve gotten us out of everything,” he says coolly, his face almost kissing distance from mine. “I’m the one who’s caused all these problems, and you’ve fixed them. Without you, we’d probably be in prison in Manhattan right now for breaking and entering, after causing a PF and ruining the entire timeline, including my life. You’ve done what you can for us. Everything will be okay.”
There’s honesty in his eyes, and I lose myself in them for a few seconds, toy with the idea of him and me left to navigate history together—relive this era, instead of facing the charges. No money, nowhere to live, nothing. We could work on Butterman Farms, make our way somehow. I could help Boris build a new time-craft, and we’d get home someday, after Tristan and I got to know each other. Really got to know each other …
Tristan pulls me in, his lips grazing my forehead. “We’ll do whatever it takes to get Essence back. You wouldn’t have a business without a time-craft, anyway, right?”
I’m infected with his charm again—like a disease weakening my thought process. Even through his faults, I see his strengths, and I’m drawn to them against my will. We don’t belong here, either one of us.
“Bianca.”
I hear my name but I don’t recognize the voice. A female’s voice.
“Bianca Butterman. May we have a word?”
“I’d advise you to leave the premises,” Garth says in a professional, but somewhat defensive tone.
I lift my head.
A girl and a guy, both tall, looking no older than Tristan and I, stand across from the time-craft. Dark hair, clear green eyes. Each one looking like a carbon copy of the other in opposite gender form. Wouldn’t be so creepy, except the fact they’re both wearing copper-colored, streamlined skin suits. Buffer suits. Not a seam to be found in either of them, which means the material is way more advanced than my own suit, which also means these two aren’t from 1969 … or 2069 … they must be …
“You have no jurisdiction over us,” the girl says to Garth. “Your authority goes only as far as the year on your badge. Nothing more.”
“I’m authorized by the DOT to regulate this time string,” Garth says. “And your being here is a PIO.”
“Maybe so,” the dark-haired guy says, “but our power supersedes yours. Don’t believe us? Check with your officials. Where we come from, the DOT doesn’t run the show anymore. That means here and now, we call the shots.”
“And we’d advise you to exit the premises,” the tall girl says, speaking a command into a stylus-sized device.
Garth’s device beeps and she checks it.
“You’ll find the complete ordinance from my digital badge in detail right there. Read it on your way back to your own decade,” the girl says, her voice young, but with a confident air of professionalism and duty. She turns toward Tristan and me. “If you’ve deduced we’re from the future, you’re right. We’re here to recalibrate your vessel, as well as reprogram the vortex for your exit.”
Whatever she sent to Garth is enough to have Garth striding off at a fast pace.
The guy steps out with a thin ray-gun like device in his hand, its multi-tinted lights glowing from the opposite side. His dark hair is shaved closely to his head, except on the top, which is thick with long shaggy bangs. He moves in toward the time-craft, removes the jumper cables. “Shameful.”
“Hey!” I stumble toward him. “What d’you think you’re doing?”
He tosses the cables aside, aims his device at the adaptors and zap!
Zap, again.
The time-craft rumbles low at first, then steady with power again. He got it going? Yes, he got it going. It’s recharging. But how … It hits me what’s happening. But this is way bizarre.
“You’ve come from the future,” I say. “To help us?”
The guy stands, examines his device. “Full charge. Battery operating with optimum performance.”
The girl nods. “Copy that. Initiate recalibration.” She begins rattling off operational jargon and I realize she’s not speaking to him or us, but into some hidden microphone, reporting her status.
Her dark hair is swooped back into a thick braid; her complexion, pale and lightly freckled. It’s her eyes that spook me most, though. My dad’s eyes, yes.
But also, mine.
Chapter
22
“The CI,” I say to the copper-coated guy, who seems a tad friendlier than the girl, or maybe just more relaxed.
He approaches me, stares into my face. His jaw is strong, his full eyebrows a shade darker than his head, and neatly trimmed. “Good catch. You may as well know that this is all part of a full CCL, one that must be completed. It’s why we’re here.”
“Who are you?” Tristan asks.
“Officer Evan Butterman, Rank 244XT,” he says, his back erect as if he’s about to salute. He nods sideways at the girl. “This is BTA Ambassador Evangeline Butterman, at your service. And you’re Bianca.” He smiles widely at me, a vivacious light to his green eyes.
My head is staring to spin. “I’m afraid to ask how you know that.”
Evangeline faces us now. “Better if you don’t, to speak frankly. As a Butterman, you know asking certain questions while in a time string can be damaging. Still, we understand how curious this must seem. Just know that all of our presences here in this time string has been identified as a CCL, and we’re here to ensure that it’s completed.”
“Anyone gonna tell me what a CCL is?” Tristan asks.
Evangeline turns his way, her expression placid. “Consistent Causal Loop. Best not to think too hard on it yet.”
Tristan glances at me, question in his eyes.
> If this is a CCL, it’s way more involved than I thought. I try to explain in the simplest way possible. “Think CI on steroids. It means that what’s happening right now is part of a time loop that’s always happening—they’re saying they’re here because they have to be, in order for the past to proceed into the present and future.”
“Not us,” Evan corrects me, a faint smile confirming his amusement. “You.”
“And Garth?” I ask.
“She’s never been a part of our CCL before,” Evangeline says. “This occurrence marks the first time the DOT has tried to interrupt it at its source by diverting Boris. Our purpose in the CCL now, is to ensure Boris accepts the truth and continues his studies on cosmic rifts. Butterman Travel must exist.”
My jaw tenses. Why didn’t I consider a CCL? Maybe deep down, I was too scared of what it meant. The thought of my actions not being my own, but as a preordained part of a CCL instead, riddles me with trepidation. It means what I cause to happen, affects Butterman Travel in more ways than one. Past, present, and future. And now I’m faced with the reality that Tristan is a part of it. Somehow he’s tied to my past, as well as my present, but how?
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Tristan says, a hand in the air. “We’re here ‘cause we needed an escape and I wanted to see Jimi Hendrix.”
Evan and Evangeline study Tristan as if he’s a life form they’re not familiar with, a series of exchanged glances passing between them.
Evangeline’s first to respond. “Your thoughts and desires will always prompt you to take action, and in some cases, like this one, it’s because the CCL must continue. But your choices and actions are still your own. Your subconscious knows Butterman Travel has to exist. What you call a gut-feeling or spontaneous idea is the CCL speaking to you subliminally. It’s ingrained in who you are. Even so, you always have free will to choose differently and change history.”
Boris appears outside the time-craft and gives our visitors a once-over, gawking at their skin tight buffer suits. “Don’t tell me—”
Evan and Evangeline move in toward him, their eyes wide with wonder.
“Boris Butterman,” Evan says, as if he’s just met God himself. “This is a monumental occasion.”
Huh, well they sure didn’t look at me like that. Guess Boris is the star of their show.
Boris’ lips purse.
“Know your efforts are not in vain, Boris Butterman,” Evangeline says, her head bowed slightly.
Boris moves out of their path and over to me, his voice lowered. “Who are they?”
My thoughts are ruffled with possible identities. Long distance relatives for sure, but who? They wouldn’t be my children or grandchildren with my last name. Or would they? Holy hell, who knows what happens that far in the future?
I can’t get caught up in that thought web right now or I’ll tangle myself for sure.
“Good question,” I say to Boris. “They’re here from the future, and I’m happy with leaving it at that.”
Boris glares at me. “Oh, so the tables are turned now? I don’t remember getting a choice if I wanted to know you’re my great, great granddaughter.” He motions for our visitors’ attention. “Go on, tell us then. No, let me guess, you’re my great, great, triple-great grandchildren, right? Why wouldn’t you be? Let’s have a giant multigenerational family reunion right now, right here! I’ll get my parents—”
“Boris.” I tug at his arm. “It’s a lot to soak in. Relax.”
Evan and Evangeline are silent, eyes averted like scolded children.
Boris pulls away gently. “What, they don’t have sarcasm in the future? That’s surprising.”
His words give me a chill. I remember saying something similar only a short while ago.
Evan’s gaze is still on the ground. “Boris, you haven’t had a proper adjustment period to the CCL breach.” Slowly, he raises his gaze and aims his device at Boris’s heart, lets it beep and blip.
“What’re you doing with that thing?” Boris angles his body away from Evan.
Evan speaks some kind of mumble-jumble jargon to Evangeline, then into his device. “Heart rate’s elevated, but no detection of accelerated blood pressure or nerve damage.” He nods at Boris. “You’re in good health.”
I’m still stuck on his last statement. “What breach?”
Evangeline answers, “Evan and my being here to ensure the CCL continues. CCL awareness can be damaging to the timeline, which is why we must take great care in limiting the information shared. Normally, we wouldn’t have passed on knowledge of the CCL at all.”
“Then why did you?” I ask.
“Because you’re Buttermans,” she says. “We tell you only what you need to know. But we must keep the timeline flowing smoothly, ensure the breach in the CCL doesn’t deepen. If it does, the current timeline could shift into a parallel universe, and that could be detrimental to the future of Butterman Travel, as you might guess.”
Evan adds, “What’s done here now, is vital to the past, present, and future. And where we’re from, Butterman Travel is much more than a commercial business.”
I swallow hard, about to ask how, when Tristan interjects.
“What about me?” he asks. “What I do makes a difference too?”
My pulse races now. Do I want to know how he fits in to all of it? I know one thing’s for sure by the pounding of my heart: I absolutely want him to be a part of my future.
Evangeline smiles at Tristan. “If it weren’t for you, Bianca wouldn’t have come here.”
“I know, but …” He drifts off in thought for a second. “You’re suggesting my actions have a higher meaning. It was always about my song.”
Even in his tattered shirt and filthy pants, I can’t take my eyes off him.
“Regretfully, disclosure of that information is not authorized,” she says. “Your mind can get scrambled up in the details, so best to focus on the here and now, accept our guidance.”
He’s about to protest, when Boris blurts out, “How did you get here? Where’s your time machine?”
Evan seems pleased with the question, moves in closer to Boris. “We don’t require the use of a vessel. But we shouldn’t get ahead of ourselves. Right now, in your present, investigating the cosmic rifts is your next step.”
Boris shakes his head slowly.
“Boris,” I say. “Hasn’t any of this sunk in yet? The time-craft? These guys? Anything?”
He’s quiet a moment, then mutters, “Seeing is believing.”
“But believing will give you sight you never had.” Evangeline motions toward Essence. “You’re up and running. She’s a good vessel, expertly built. Now let’s see about that vortex.”
I follow her inside the time-craft, the others behind me. We crowd together in the tight quarters as she pulls up the dashboard screen, examines the data. Evan stands right behind her, scanning everything on board with his device.
“So we can bring items with us in future time travel?” I ask him. That alone would make life way easier.
“Not exactly,” he says. “Only for official use, and pre-approval is required.”
My shoulders sink. I feel like I still don’t know anything about why they’re here. “So the DOT is still running the show?”
He smirks. “Not like you think. But there are still regulations.” He pauses, searching my face. “Think about why Agent Garth would show up here, how she’d know.”
I ponder a moment, then it dawns on me. “She knew about the CCL?”
Evangeline answers, her attention on the dashboard. “Since Butterman Travel first originated, the government has tried to find a way to shut us down. Why do you think they sent Agent Garth to the Broadway Port?”
“Evangeline.” Evan shoots her a look of surprise.
“She wants to shut us down, for her sick kicks or whatever,” I say. “I assumed it was for some kinda career advance.”
“The DOT knows how vital this CCL is to the future of time travel, as well as the exis
tence of their control over it,” Evan says, a flicker of confidence in his jewel-green eyes. “Without you here now, Butterman Travel ceases to exist. It’s important for you to understand, the rules you broke to get here—it had to be done.”
Tristan shakes his head. “They couldn’t have known I’d suggest Woodstock , though … it was spur of the moment. Coincide—“
He can’t even finish the word as it seems to hit both of us. Holy hell, Garth was at the Broadway Port to prevent us from coming here to 1969 and continuing the loop. She was trying to prevent us from finding Boris so Butterman Travel would never exist. We could’ve returned to nothing, or something very different.
“You said you have authority over Garth,” I say. “Are you from a division of the DOT?”
Evangeline laughs. “No, we’re not. Because of you, Bianca, many changes come about in the future of regulated time travel. And we’re on the good side.”
Fascinating. And it’s because of me? I’m about to question further, but the cautious look in her eyes warns me she won’t answer me directly. She can’t. Any good time traveler would understand that.
“Why wouldn’t Garth just go back in time and take out Boris, then?” Tristan asks, catching on quickly as usual. “Shoot him and get it over with?”
Boris winces.
Evan tilts his head. “They know it would upset the time string, possibly shift history for them as well, along with society’s future to darker times. But if they can convince you to make different choices of your own volition, then it’s not them who alters time, it’s you.”
“That’s what Garth was doing,” I say to Tristan. “Back at the Broadway Port—trying to convince us to go home, instead of here. And earlier, with Boris, she tried pretending we were mental patients so he wouldn’t believe us. If Boris doesn’t continue his studies, Butterman Travel may cease to exist, which might cause the DOT to have even more power in the future.”
“Well done, Bianca,” Evan says. His device beeps and draws his attention to read whatever information is populated. “Radio frequency’s strong. I’d say departure in ten minutes probable.”
Nebula Nights: Love Among The Stars Page 61
