Yeah, we’re definitely going to have to talk about this, she thought. For the moment, though, she could still feel the pressure of his lips on hers. As the monorail sped toward the Golden Gate Bridge, and beyond it, Sausalito, she smiled, wondering what tomorrow would bring.
What did I do? McCoy thought as he strode along through the cool night air. Nothing, really, except jeopardize the project, his own professional standing, and—for a second time—Tonia’s heart. How could I do that? he asked himself.
He hadn’t planned to kiss Tonia tonight—not walking with her to Madame Chang’s, not at dinner, not making their way to the monorail station, not even standing with her on the platform. But while he might not have planned to kiss Tonia, he had thought about it recently. Obviously he’d been attracted to her once, and he felt that same attraction now—that, and more. Back on the Enterprise, Tonia had in some ways remained a girl. Now, though, she had matured into an elegant, self-assured woman, an accomplished scientist with poise and grace. He’d stood beside her in the lab, had watched her design new sensor systems and new experimental procedures, and yes, had noticed the smooth line of her neck, the beautiful green of her eyes, the flowing curves of her body. When she’d stood there in front of him on the monorail platform, he’d simply acted without thinking.
Now he thought about it. As he headed for the nearest cable car line, on his way to the floor he rented in an old Victorian on Potrero Hill, he examined his motives. Did he truly care for Tonia, or did he simply feel lonely? He’d more or less lived an emotionally isolated life. He cared for his patients as much as his position allowed, he had several very close friends, and he felt quite passionately about many things, but for all of that, he’d had few serious romantic relationships. As his heels clicked along the sidewalk, he thought of the women he’d loved: Emony, Jocelyn, Nancy, Tonia, Natira, and Lisa. Pathetically, two of those relationships—with Emony and Natira—hadn’t lasted weeks or even days, but merely hours. And two others—Tonia and Lisa—had been shipboard romances that hadn’t endured a year. On top of that, the last of those, with Lisa—Commander Lisa Dennehy—had taken place nine years ago, just after the Enterprise had begun its voyage to the Aquarius Formation.
So, yes, he felt lonely. He always did. But did that preclude the possibility of him genuinely caring for Tonia? He didn’t think so. When the project had first started and Starfleet had assigned Tonia to the team, McCoy had been skeptical that they would be able to work together easily. No matter how long ago it had been since he’d done it, he’d hurt her, and she therefore had every right to hold a grudge against him.
But she hadn’t demonstrated the slightest resentment toward him, and their work had been both pleasant and productive. The entire team functioned well together, and though they hadn’t yet identified the temporal subatomic particle that he and Spock had theorized, they had made strides in narrowing the process whereby they could identify such a particle. It might take days, or months, or even years for them to succeed. Did McCoy dare to put that at risk for Tonia? If they began seeing each other again, and then it didn’t work out, how bad would the fallout be for everybody?
And yet as McCoy considered putting a stop to what he’d started tonight, he resisted doing so. Over the last few months, his appreciation for Tonia had moved well beyond a professional level. Away from the lab, he’d thought of her often. Eventually, he’d contemplated approaching her about his newfound feelings for her, but he’d always talked himself out of it.
Until tonight.
All of the reasons he’d utilized in convincing himself not to pursue Tonia remained true, though. The only thing that had changed was that he’d now revealed how he felt. Of course, he still might be able to back away with only minimal damage done, not by denying his desire for Tonia, but by telling her that it would be unwise for them to get involved while working together.
Up ahead, an old-fashioned cable car emerged from the cross street, turning onto the avenue along which McCoy walked, and stopped at the corner. He broke into a jog, catching the trolley just before it continued on its way again. As McCoy took a seat in the sparsely occupied car, he thought of something else.
What if Tonia doesn’t want to see me?
When he’d kissed her tonight, she hadn’t shied away, had in fact kissed him back. But after a night’s sleep and a little bit of thought, who knows how she would feel tomorrow? She might well be having something like this conversation with herself right now, and McCoy might not need to worry about making the right decision because she might well make it for the both of them.
The cable car glided quietly through the night, heading toward the inner waterfront. McCoy would be home soon, and he looked forward to putting an end to what had been a long and tiring day. But when he settled into bed that night, sleep eluded him, his thoughts returning again and again to the situation he had created with Tonia. He lay awake for hours, frustrated, but grateful that, at least for one night, he would definitely avoid the terrible dreams that had for so long plagued him.
Thirty-Eight
1941
When Edith had asked for a quiet place where she could be alone for thirty minutes or so, she hadn’t expected to be permitted into Atlanta’s Capitol, let alone be escorted there by one of the governor’s aides. Now, she sat in a green leather chair in the corner of a small, beautifully appointed room. Dark woods covered the walls and ceiling, and ornately framed portraits hung at intervals.
Edith attempted to review the notes she’d penned for today’s event, but her mind kept wandering. Prior to this morning, she hadn’t known much about the governor of Georgia. His recent invitation to hold an American Pacifist Movement rally outside the state’s Capitol had seemed generous, and given that it would coincide with a visit to the city by President Roosevelt, one too good to let pass. Edith hadn’t remembered that, several years earlier, the governor had prevented Negroes in his state from joining the Civilian Conservation Corps, and she hadn’t realized how strongly he supported segregation. She had known that he opposed the president and his New Deal programs, but she hadn’t considered that the invitation tendered to the APM might be the governor’s way of undermining Mr. Roosevelt’s own visit to Atlanta.
Does it matter? she asked herself. She didn’t want it to matter, but it did. She disagreed with the president when it came to committing American troops to battle, but the man had accomplished a great deal for the country in difficult times. Though she sought to counter his arguments for the country’s need to join the wars in Europe and in the Pacific, she also respected him and did not wish to be a party to political tactics employed to undermine him. She wanted only honest discourse about the troubles the United States faced.
At this point, though, she couldn’t cancel or even postpone the rally. Thousands of people had come from all over the region, and others from farther away, to participate in this event. It would not be fair to them to forgo the rally just because Edith had qualms about the man who had allowed it to take place, nor would it serve their goal.
Edith peered down at the notes in her hand and again started to work her way through them. She’d gotten almost through the first page when the door to the room opened. She looked up, expecting to see one of her colleagues in the APM—either Mr. Simon or Mr. Roman—or perhaps the governor’s aide. Instead, she saw a face she recognized, but that she for a moment couldn’t place.
“Edith,” the man said, and he quickly came all the way into the room, closing the door gently behind him.
“Leonard,” she said. She hadn’t seen him in years, not since early 1932. He looked good, for the most part. He seemed fit, and a dusting of gray along his temples gave him something of a distinguished air. But dark circles showed beneath his eyes, as though he hadn’t slept well. A dozen questions rose in her mind—including what he was doing here and why he hadn’t kept in touch—but she started with the most basic. “How are you?” she asked.
She stood up as he hurried over to her. “I
’m fine,” he said. “And you’re well?” He glanced back over his shoulder, as though he feared that somebody might enter the room after him. Edith could tell that something was wrong, though she didn’t know what.
“Yes, yes, I’m quite well, thank you,” she said. “But I’m a little busy at the moment. Since you found me here, I assume you know that—”
“Yes, I do,” Leonard said, cutting her off. “You’re the head of the American Pacifist Movement and you’re speaking this morning.”
“That’s right,” Edith said. “In less than half an hour, actually, so I really need to—”
“Edith,” Leonard said, interrupting her again, “I really need to talk with you. Right now. Please.” He reached forward and took her empty hand in both of his. “Just ten minutes of your time.”
If she hadn’t known him, if she hadn’t seen him give so much of his effort and time to the mission for the two years he’d been in New York, she would have said no, at the very least asking him to wait until after the rally. But she could see the urgency in his manner, and she thought she could spare the ten minutes for him. “All right,” she said. “What is it, Leonard?”
“Thank you,” he said, and he asked her to sit back down while he spoke. “I’ve rehearsed this conversation a hundred times since yesterday and I still don’t know where to start.”
Edith waited a few seconds, and then asked quietly, “Are you in trouble?”
“No, no, nothing like that,” he said, and Edith felt instant relief. “But I do need your help.” He turned and paced away across the room. “Edith, you remember that you and I talked about a better future for humanity.”
“Yes,” she said, curious why he would bring that up. “Trying to make sure that happens is the primary reason I’m here today.”
“But you’re wrong,” Leonard said, and Edith felt as though she’d been slapped. “Keeping the United States out of this war is wrong. It will only—”
“Excuse me,” Edith said, standing once more. “Are you here simply to tell me that you disagree with the peace movement? This is why you needed to talk with me?”
“Edith, please,” Leonard said, walking back over to her. “Please just listen to me. I’m not a political opponent. I believe in peace. All I ask is that you just listen to me for a few minutes.”
She regarded him suspiciously. She didn’t know whether or not she should—
The door to the room opened, and Leonard spun around as Mr. Simon stuck his head inside. “Miss Keeler,” he said, “I just want to—” Mr. Simon stopped when he saw Leonard. Opening the door all the way and stepping inside, he said, “Is this man disturbing you? Shall I call somebody to remove him?”
Leonard turned back around to face her. She looked him in the eyes, saw the pleading expression on his face, and made her decision. “It’s all right, Mister Simon,” she said. “Doctor McCoy will only be here a few minutes more, then he’ll be leaving.”
“All right,” Mr. Simon said. “I just came to let you know that I’ll be coming to escort you out in about fifteen minutes.”
“All right,” she said. “Thank you.” Mr. Simon left the room, closing the door behind him.
“Thank you,” Leonard said.
Edith sat back down in the chair. “Don’t thank me,” she said. “Just tell me whatever it is you came here to tell me.”
“Peace is the way,” he said. “Peace and tolerance and inclusion. Two hundred years from now, all of the people of Earth will be united under a dedication to those principles.”
“Two hundred years?” Edith said. “I’m hoping that it will take considerably less time than that.”
“It won’t,” Leonard said, not as though he were arguing the point, but as though stating a fact. “And if the United States doesn’t enter the war, it may never happen.”
“I understand the argument,” Edith said. “It’s been presented to me before.”
Leonard kneeled beside her chair. “Not like this,” he said. “If the United States joins forces with the Allies, they’ll be able to defeat Germany and Italy and Japan. If not, then western Europe and Asia will fall.”
“But millions of American men and boys will be safe,” Edith countered.
“For how long?” Leonard asked. “Do you think Hitler and Mussolini and Hirohito will stop there? Earth might still one day become unified, but not committed to the tenets of peace and inclusion and tolerance.”
“Leonard,” Edith said, not entirely unsympathetic now. She understood that his conviction that the country should go to war rested with his belief that failing to do so would ultimately doom the country and the world. “Leonard, I understand your position, I really do. I just don’t agree with it.”
“This isn’t a ‘position,’” he said, standing back up. “I know this. The United States must enter the war, and soon, otherwise millions, maybe tens of millions, will die, people who didn’t die before.”
“‘Before?’” Edith said. “Before what?”
Leonard hesitated, and then said, “I just meant that millions will die who shouldn’t, millions will die who could otherwise be saved.”
Edith waited for him to say more. When he didn’t, she stood up again. “Leonard, I appreciate your beliefs, and I thank you for telling me how you feel. Maybe we can talk again afterward, but I really must ask you to leave right now.”
Leonard seemed to deflate before her eyes. He nodded without saying anything, and started for the door. When he got there, he looked back. “Let me ask you one question,” he said. “Why is it more important to save an American life than it is to save a British life, or a French one? By advocating that the United States stay out of the war, you’re advocating the deaths of other people all over Europe, all over the world.” He opened the door. “I suggest that all lives are precious, even those of the German and Italian and Japanese soldiers conscripted to a cause in which they may not believe. And the longer the U.S. remains out of this war, the longer it will go on, and the more lives will be lost on all sides.” He held her gaze for a moment longer, then left.
Edith sat back down in the chair. She knew that she should review her notes in the scant time remaining to her, but she couldn’t. Instead, she thought about Leonard, showing up here almost ten years after she’d last seen him, like a ghost from the past. Somehow, he’d thought he would be able to change her mind about her dedication to the peace movement, and to keeping the country out of the war. His goal seemed irrational to her, even if everything he said did not.
A few minutes later, Mr. Simon appeared and escorted her out to the front steps of the Capitol. There, a podium had been set up, and thousands filled the surrounding grounds out into the streets. They cheered and applauded when she stepped up to the microphone. She spoke for thirty-seven minutes, urging everybody present and anybody who might be listening on the radio, to remain strong, to remain resolute, to remain committed to preserving the peaceful stance of the United States.
McCoy drove along US 23, traveling northeast through Georgia, headed back to Hayden. He knew that he hadn’t convinced Edith of the importance of the United States entering the war, but even if he had, would it have done any good? How would her followers in the American Pacifist Movement receive a change of heart from her, and how would that translate into support to join the battle against the Axis powers? Even if President Roosevelt ordered American troops to Europe and into the Pacific tomorrow—which obviously wasn’t going to happen—would it be too late? In McCoy’s timeline, the United States had declared war on 8 December, now three weeks past. Could those few days have an impact on the outcome of the war? He recalled reading that Hitler had sought the development of atomic weapons, but McCoy had no idea how close the Nazis had come to actually constructing them. Of course, it would be more than three weeks before America entered the war; it would be months, maybe even years. By then, it might well be too late. And even if it wasn’t, wouldn’t the world that resulted be very different than the one McCoy had kno
wn?
Frustrated, he lifted his hands and pounded them down on the steering wheel. How could he not have seen that saving Edith’s life all those years ago had been a possible cause of his changing history? But of course he knew the answer to that. He’d characterized altering the past as a negative action, and preventing a person’s death as a positive. It had simply never occurred to him to link the two. And now that he’d come to understand that connection, what should he have done? He’d considered telling Edith the truth, that he’d come from the future and had changed history by saving her life. But she wouldn’t have believed him, no matter how convincing he might have been. She would’ve assumed him either a liar or insane. Neither conclusion would have helped his cause.
But would anything help his cause? Edith apparently should’ve died nearly twelve years ago. In that time, she’d encountered and influenced countless people, doubtless affecting their lives in ways that would not have happened had McCoy not traveled back in time and saved her. Wouldn’t that have had an impact on the timeline, even if Japan had attacked Pearl Harbor on 7 December?
McCoy felt helpless, and hopeless. Nearly twelve years of changes to history, branching out from the moment he’d saved Edith, impacting more and more people, altering more and more events with each passing day, hour, minute. Even if McCoy knew precisely how each modification affected the future, how could he possibly hope to reverse those affects?
He couldn’t.
All McCoy could do now would be to attempt to make this world, this altered Earth, a better place. It would never evolve into the world he had known, but it still existed, right here, right now. He could mourn his former life and the universe he’d once known, but it would do no one any good.
Crucible: McCoy Page 52
