A Chronetic Memory (The Chronography Records Book 1)

by O'Hara, Kim K.

  Enough of this. A good night’s sleep would settle her down. Tomorrow she would be fine.

  It felt like she had barely closed her eyes when she had the first dream. She was in the school cafeteria, grade seven. She knew the year because the tables were set to blue for most of that year. Her best friend Kirtana had finished lunch and was checking out something on her worktablet. Dani leaned over the table to look and suddenly she was wearing a dress that was too short. A boy from the next table came over and tapped her on the shoulder to tell her he could see her underwear. Embarrassed, she straightened up. That’s when she saw them: forks with blinking eyeballs, spoons with ears. Watching and listening.

  She woke herself up somehow and sat up in bed. Her heart was racing. It took a few minutes for the fog to clear so she could convince herself that it was a bad dream. She got up and splashed some water in her face. Maybe if she read for a while. Something soothing. She activated her eyescreen reader and blinked to page through until she found Sarama.

  we remember

  the past for

  its gifts of

  what we can

  no longer touch

  taste hear smell

  or see

  but when we

  burrow deep

  in remembering

  we find

  we can still

  feel

  She sighed. Sarama could pack all the reasons she chose her career into just a few words. He helped her focus. She read another.

  soft shells

  crunch beneath

  my feet and

  grains wash

  away with water

  that comes

  and goes

  in and out

  but the grains

  are rice

  and the shells are

  only pasta and

  the beach is

  a beach

  no more

  Her heart rate had slowed to something close to normal. Her eyelids drooped. She nodded in the chair, and the chair’s sensors detected that her breathing had slowed. It tipped her gently back into slumber.

  She was back at the university sitting numbly in the dorm lobby while Jhon Rhys told her he never wanted to see her again. He was dark, beautiful, and everything she wanted until he opened his mouth to berate her. His kindness extended only to finding her alone, in the early hours of the morning when he knew she would be finishing out the night shift. He held back nothing; he was comfortable with brutal honesty. He was a rising star in international finance, she was a lowly academic, studying a field of science that should be banned. He was destined to stride through the world as golden pathways were laid beneath his feet, she should resign herself to stumbling along a gravel road that would soon be a dead end. She was an embarrassment to him. She was too tired to believe he was wrong. In her dream, he left, and that was when she noticed that all the student mailboxes were open, revealing hundreds of audio-video cams, busily filming her humiliation from all angles.

  She turned in her sleep, and the chair adjusted to her new position. Now she was in New York on spring break, and the gigantic screens in Times Square were playing all her most shameful moments. She awoke, shivering from the lack of covers, chiding herself for not bringing one over to the chair. Her eyescreen revealed that the workday would start again in a little over an hour. She got up to shower and dress.

  As the water warmed her and the foamy shampoo oozed out from the curved wands that massaged her scalp, she managed to let her fears wash away too. This was ridiculous. She was a young professional with a promising career. Even if everything about her past were revealed to some snoopy scientist somewhere, he would find nothing worth exposing. Her life was not a big deal to anyone, and she was silly for getting so emotional over something she’d known all along to be possible.

  Besides, even though she had only been to Times Square once, she was almost certain that advertisers would rather pay to feature their products on its huge viewwalls, not to feature embarrassing scenes from her life. And it was totally unlike her to have bad dreams, and even less like her that she would let them bother her. By the time she was ready for work, she had put her misgivings behind her.

  Or at least, she had figured out how to pretend they weren’t there.

  5

  Intention

  SEEBAK LABORATORY, Vashon Island, WA. 1430, Monday, June 5, 2215.

  “Lexil! The sensors found another one.”

  Lexil Myles looked over quickly from a viewwall full of figures and formulas. The disturbances had been coming more and more frequently in the last few years. “Big one?”

  “Not so far, but it will bear watching.” Dr. Mitchum Seebak pushed a strand of graying hair back from his forehead. “How are you coming with those calculations?”

  “Every time I run them, I find the same thing.” The younger man shook his head. He had been trying everything he could think of to resolve it. He pointed to some equations on the viewwall. “These countering forces only occur when a disturbance takes place.”

  “How about the size? Is it predictable?” His mentor asked him.

  “It’s roughly proportional, but …” His voice trailed off. It was frustrating not to be able to give a specific answer.

  “Nothing you can come up with a formula for?”

  “No, Doc. Not an exact formula. An estimate is easy, but when I go to pin it down, the numbers don’t quite mesh. It’s as if there’s some kind of intentionality behind the application of the countering forces.” He would need the older man to see what he saw. Maybe if he created a visual display. “Here, let me show you.”

  The two men sat down together at a table. Lexil pulled out some paper. Somewhere in his childhood, he had found he preferred pen and paper to electronic devices, even the mathematical ones with the built-in equation editors. By age ten, he was distinguishing himself among his peers enough that his parents indulged him in his eccentricity. He never outgrew the practice.

  But this time, pen and paper wouldn’t be enough. He wanted Doc to be able to see the effects clearly. So he worked out his equations, then used the results to generate graphs for the viewwall with a few quick motions.

  “Here. A disturbance, see?” The graph looked like a glowing pebble in a phosphorescent pond. The ripples began radiating outward uniformly. They watched as the waves spread, their amplitude dwindling to nothing within seconds.

  “I see. And immediately, it was opposed by the damping force,” said the doctor.

  “Correct. That progression is easy to predict. But look, here’s another one.” This time, the pebble fell in the pond, and the ripples radiated irregularly. Two bright blips on the outermost ripple, and new disturbances started radiating outward from them even as the original ones faded. When the surface settled into smoothness again, the places where the blips had occurred still glowed. “These spots, I’ve found, are much more likely to be the site of a new disturbance later.”

  “How much more likely?” Doc asked him.

  “Approximately a hundred times more likely.”

  Doc sat up straight. “What? That could cause the timestream a lot of trouble.”

  “I know.”

  “Is that the intentionality you were referring to?”

  “No. These blips I attribute to human actions, many of them related to the chronography institute. Their influence can be quantified, and the ripples behave in predictable ways.”

  “I’m puzzled, then. Is there a third type of force involved?”

  “Yes. Watch this one.”

  Lexil moved the graph up onto the wall. The pebble dropped. The ripples spread outward, produced a single blip, then faded. As they watched, the single glowing spot started to pulse, and then new ripples appeared, moving inward toward the blip, gradually reducing it in size until it disappeared.

  He heard Doc’s sharp intake of breath. “Is this an actual event, or a simulation?”

  “An actual event. The initial disturbance occurred abo
ut two months ago. It took three days for those ripples to subside, including the ones from the blip. Twelve days ago, this inward ripple started. It took it about six days to repair the blip. As far as I can determine, there was no human agency involved.”

  The older man leapt up and returned to his own work area. He yanked out boxes of memory rods, reading labels and casting them aside. Lexil heard him muttering to himself. He couldn’t quite make out what he was saying, though.

  “Doc?” he asked, walking toward him.

  By now, the older man was surrounded by displaced boxes. His head popped up for a second. “Looking for something!” and then he was back at it. A few more minutes passed. Finally, he emerged, triumphantly holding up a tattered box in one hand and a memory rod in the other. “Found it!”

  “That box looks old.”

  “It is. This is from back when we had just set up our third time disturbance sensor. That gave us, as you know, the ability to triangulate to any point in history, although we couldn’t be very precise at great distances. I thought I had seen a pattern like this before. Let’s put these numbers in your nice little visualization here and see what we get.”

  They sat down together in Lexil’s work area and plugged in the memory rod. “Haven’t used this format for data in a long time,” said Doc.

  “I have a conversion program that can handle it.” Lexil swiped a few screens to run the data through it, and soon, they had enough to create the visualization.

  It started with four or five of the bright blips on the screen. As they watched, the inward ripples started, first with the blip on the far left, then moving to the next closest one, and progressing sequentially until all the blips were gone.

  They sat in silence for a few moments after the visualization ended. Doc cleared his throat. “What do the spatial dimensions represent on your graphs?”

  “Physical dimensions on these two axes, and time on the third axis,” Lexil answered. “I can locate these blips on the earth’s surface within a few feet.”

  “Because that looked for all the world like something was deliberately moving from one blip to the another, doing the repairs, then moving on to the next.”

  “Yeah. Like I said, intentionality.”

  They looked at each other, not knowing what to say.

  6

  Appreciation

  RIACH CAMPUS, Alki Beach, Seattle, WA. 0740, Tuesday, June 6, 2215.

  Dani emerged from the tube car that had taken her from First Hill under the surface of Elliott Bay to Alki Point North. She loved living in Seattle, with its view of the mountains and the ancient Space Needle, clearly visible from the institute campus, even on a cloudy day like today. The cloud bank made it harder to see the Olympic Mountains, but she knew they were there, just waiting for a patch of blue sky.

  There was Kat. Dani knew her friend’s schedule almost as well as her own: Take Jored to school. Stop by the office to pick up extra signs for people who might join them during the day. Drive to RIACH. Rain or shine, Kat would be there, educating people.

  This morning, she was busy talking with someone Dani recognized as another protester, but not one she had ever gotten to know. It looked like an intense discussion. Probably better not to interrupt. Besides, right now, Kat was simultaneously the one person Dani most and least wanted to see. She knew she would need to have a serious talk with her soon. But not here. Not now.

  Just as she was about to walk past her to the security gate, the heated discussion ended with the other protester stomping off toward the tube station. When Kat turned, Dani could see her friend was frustrated. She decided to wait for her. Kat had cheered her up so many times, and it seemed as if she could use some encouragement.

  “Oh, hi, Dani. Looks like I almost missed you.”

  “Yes, almost. You doing okay? That didn’t look pleasant.”

  “Oh, yeah. It’s all right. That was Neferyn. He’s just a little…misguided.” She wrinkled her nose. “Some of them are getting tired of educational demonstrating and want to make a bigger noise. No big deal, but I feel responsible, because I recruited him.”

  “You got it settled, though?”

  “Yes. He’s just not entirely happy with the whole thing. So are you coming for dinner? Jored is eager to see you.”

  “I’ll be there. What can I bring?”

  “Chocolate,” Kat answered without hesitating.

  “Of course. But besides that?”

  “There’s something besides chocolate?” Kat shook her head, but she was wearing a big grin. “I guess you could bring yourself. And something for Jored.”

  Dani paused, tilting her head thoughtfully. “I think I can find a way to bring myself. I’ll see if I’m free.” She laughed, then sobered. “I have something I want to talk to you about, too. Something … different … happened yesterday afternoon.”

  Her friend sensed her seriousness immediately, and walked beside her to the security gate. “I’m here to listen, whenever you need me.”

  “I know.”

  Dani submitted herself to the irisscan and bag check, then gave her friend a quick hug. Kat headed back toward the tube car station to intercept travelers as they emerged. Even on a cloudy day, there would be visitors, and she would have passionate words and a compassionate heart to share with them.

  Inside the heavy iron doors, she went through the steps of her familiar routine. Bag. Lab coat. Schedule. Oh, what was this?

  MORNING/AFTERNOON SCHEDULE—Off Campus

  1. Equipment needed: School Presentation Kits, projector

  2. Sign out helicar

  3. Local Schools Tour: Alki Elem (0900), West Seattle High (1300)

  It had been several months since she had done school presentations, although her internship had originally highlighted them as a big part of her job. She loved the contact with kids and the excited ways they responded when she painted her visual pictures of the many ways chronography could enhance understanding of the past.

  She packed up school presentation kits for the two different age groups, grabbed a hovercart, and set off to get a helicar.

  ALKI ELEMENTARY, Alki Beach, Seattle. 0830, Tuesday, June 6, 2215.

  A slight haze diluted the brilliant blue sky as Dani lowered her car into the orange-painted outlines of a parking spot. Parking lot descents were easy now, but she remembered how difficult they had been to learn. Her driving instructor had made her practice every time he rode with her. “People forget to check what’s below them,” he had said. “Anything could move into your spot: an animal, a rolling ball, a child. You can’t see it, unless you use your underview screen.” She remembered learning to center her car over the parking spot. That was easy. The trickiest part was turning while she hovered so the corners lined up. Parking spots abutted each other on four sides, with only enough room to open doors and walk between. Her early attempts had resulted in smashing more than a few holographic cars.

  As she entered the brightly-colored door to the elementary school, an efficient secretary greeted her at the desk with a pleasant, if preoccupied, smile. Dani read her name on the counter nameplate: Ms. Lawrence.

  “How can I help you?” asked Ms. Lawrence.

  “Danarin Adams. I’m here for the Chronography presentation.”

  Immediately, the secretary’s smile warmed. “Oh, the children love you! Do you have the fiddle player with you?”

  Dani fought off the urge to say, “Yes, right here, in the side pocket of my bag,” and decided to behave more professionally. She’d save the silly humor for the kids.

  “Yes, and several other recordings,” she answered instead. “Could you tell me how many children to expect?”

  “We have about two hundred children scheduled for your presentation, with a mix of ages. Even the ones who usually telestudy have made the trip in for this.” Ms. Lawrence gestured to a room behind her. “Would you like some coffee before you set up? Or something to eat? One of the parents brought in a fruit tray this morning.”

&
nbsp; “That actually sounds nice. Thank you. And then, if you could show me where to set up?”

  In a few minutes, Ms. Lawrence had escorted her to the auditorium, setting down a cup of coffee and some strawberries on a nearby table, and Dani was preparing her presentation. The kids would sit around her in a semi-circle on the floor, little ones in front and older kids in back. She would need a certain distance for the holographic projections to have the best effect. The little kids would want to touch and feel the things she had brought, so they needed to be close.

  The older kids would be more standoffish, but she knew exactly how to reach them if their attention wandered at all: She would ask for volunteers to operate the controls of a portable image reader that the institute had adapted to read real-time images from any location in the room and project them somewhere else. Kids liked to pretend they were flies on the wall, or bugs on the floor, and observe the presentation from other vantage points. They especially liked it when they could watch themselves in holographic form.

  She arranged her samples for the touch-and-feel part of the presentation. A metal disk. A small round stone. A scrap of leather. A plastic leaf. She set up the holographic projector and tested its projection height. She liked to raise it a foot or so off the floor so that the ones in the back could see it all. She pulled out a stack of touch-and-color handouts for the youngest audience members, and a box of holographic matching card games for the older kids. The holographic cards were popular for kids in middle school too.

  The kids filed in and seated themselves. A murmur of excitement rippled through the room as they spotted the image recorder and holographic projectors. When they were all seated, she stood, and the kids quieted instantly.