by C. J. Hill
It wasn’t usual for Taylor to hand over decisions to Sheridan, and she didn’t know how to answer. “Why do you want me to decide?”
“Because,” Taylor said, frustrated, “whatever I decide will affect you too. Besides, you’re better with moral decisions. Right now, all I can think about is that if we delay going, I’ll probably be caught and then my good intentions will be for nothing.”
Sheridan let out a slow breath while she considered the matter. “I thought you said that if you destroyed the Time Strainer, the scientists would just build another one.”
“Yes, but they can’t build another QGP back in the past. And without a functioning QGP in the past, they won’t be able to take people from the last four centuries, change them into energy waves, and reconfigure them inside the Time Strainer now.”
Sheridan turned this over in her mind. “How can you destroy something in the past?”
“The Time Strainer sends signals back through time to the QGP telling it who to change into an energy flux wave, so if I was able to send an autodestruct command, I could effectively seal off the past.”
“How long would that take? Days? Weeks?”
“Please.” Taylor gave an insulted toss of her head. “I helped create the QGP. I could program a destruct command tonight. Getting into the Scicenter to a place where I can send it will be the hard part.”
“Echo could get you in.”
“We can’t depend on him. He’s Dakine.”
Maybe, but even if Echo was Dakine, he had to understand the danger the Time Strainer posed to everyone—to the Dakine too. “He’ll help you,” Sheridan said.
Taylor wrinkled her nose in distaste. “I don’t know …”
“You said it was my decision,” Sheridan reminded her. “We can ask for Echo’s help in the morning. It will only delay us a few hours.”
Taylor sighed in resignation, then turned to the computer. “Fine, I’ll get started on the destruct command.”
Sheridan settled herself in bed and shut her eyes, listening to the rhythm of Taylor’s fingers. In the darkness of her mind, she saw the picture of Reilly hovering in front of her. The man was probably a murderer and he might already be here.
chapter
19
When Sheridan awoke, Taylor wasn’t in bed. She probably hadn’t slept at all. As Sheridan dressed in the hideous purple-and-red-striped outfit, she could hear her sister and the others talking in the main office.
Jeth said, “The word okay was used so frequently in your time period; what did the initials stand for?”
“Oklahoma,” Taylor answered.
There was a long pause; then Jeth said, “Why did Oklahoma mean something was all right?”
“Because Oklahomans were that way. I mean, none of the world’s problems ever originated in Oklahoma.”
If their dad was right, and liars went to hell, Taylor was going to be in so much trouble. The wordsmiths would probably start injecting the word Oklahoma into casual conversation now, like they were all part of the musical.
Sheridan brushed her hair, then walked out to the main office. Echo turned from the computer he’d been working on and smiled, letting his eyes linger on hers. It seemed like such a genuine smile, not one that could be full of dark secrets.
She sat next to Taylor on the floral couch and picked up a roll from a tray on the coffee table. “So are your ducks in a row after burning the midnight oil?”
Taylor had never liked nuts and was picking them off her roll. “I think I can make my little Frankenstein kick the bucket, but we’re still between a rock and a hard place. We’ll be walking a fine line, and we could find ourselves up the creek without a paddle. You sure you don’t want to jet?”
Sheridan took a bite of her roll. It tasted like maple syrup. “I’m not letting you give me the brush-off.”
Taylor flicked another nut onto her plate. “Fine. I’ll try to nip this thing in the bud, lickety-split so we can split.”
Sheridan glanced at Echo, then looked away when she saw he was watching her. “We need a helping hand.”
Taylor nibbled a bite of roll. “Ten-four. We’ll cut a deal with Romeo.”
“Is everything okay with your breakfast?” Jeth called over. “Sometimes I can’t understand your comments.”
“Everything is wonderful,” Taylor said. “Sheridan and I were talking about how good the food is here.”
They both took large bites of their rolls to prove the point.
Jeth swiveled in his chair to better look at them. “I never realized how much slang people used in the old twenties. I’ll have to catalog it. It would make a fascinating study, don’t you think, Echo?”
“Fascinating.” Echo didn’t look fascinated. He looked suspicious.
Sheridan gave him a weak smile, then turned back to Taylor. “The clock is ticking. I’ll stay here and shoot the breeze. You ask Echo to give you a hand.”
“A hand?” Echo repeated. “What do you mean?”
Taylor took another bite of her roll. “I need to interview you privately. It’s normally the father’s job, but since our father isn’t here, I’ll have to do it.”
Echo raised an eyebrow. “Interview me?”
“Yes.” Taylor finished off her roll and brushed the crumbs from her hands. “Back in our day, when a guy started dating a girl, the father interviewed him. You know, asked him about his intentions and stuff. Well, after yesterday, it’s only proper that I interview you.”
Jeth brightened. “I’m familiar with that custom. I saw it referenced in a movie from the mid-twentieth century. It was still in practice at your time?”
“Oh yes,” Taylor said. “And it has to be done privately. And it might take a while.” She stood up and strolled over to Echo. “Are you ready?”
“Do I need to bring anything?”
“Just yourself.”
He stood and walked out of the room with Taylor, and neither looked back at Sheridan.
If Echo really cared about her, wouldn’t he at least have glanced back as he left? The thought prickled, and it bothered her that it was bothering her.
She had to stop thinking of Echo that way. Taylor was right. It was like having a thing for a guy in the Mafia. All that was important was that Taylor find a way to destroy the QGP before it took anyone else. Then they could find their way to someplace safe.
Sheridan finished her roll and settled in to answer Jeth’s questions. As they talked, her gaze traveled around the room, landing on the cabinet with the etched-glass front.
She tried not to stare or show any reaction, but she noticed it immediately. The gun was gone.
chapter
20
Echo walked into the hallway with Taylor, taking note of her agitation. The interview was apparently a stressful thing. He wondered why.
“This ‘hand’ request,” he said, “it doesn’t actually involve some sort of severed hand, does it?”
Taylor caught hold of Echo’s arm and pulled him down the hallway. “Of course not, it’s just a saying.”
“What does it mean? And what did giving hands have to do with dating?”
“Nothing.”
Which meant Taylor didn’t want to tell him. He knew giving hands had something to do with romance. He had studied enough historical marriage documents to know the term take her hand in marriage.
Taylor kept pulling him along at a quick pace as though she knew where she was going—or perhaps this was part of the ritual. Perhaps you pulled a guy around before you spoke of relationships, which might explain the phrases leading him on, leading him around by the nose, and pulling your leg.
They stopped in front of the elevator. Taylor pushed the button, and the doors slid open. He held on to her arm so she couldn’t go in. “Where exactly did you want to go for this interview?”
“The Scicenter.”
He didn’t move. “We’re not allowed to walk into any building we want.”
The elevator door slid shut. Taylo
r pushed the button to open it again. “I have a lot to explain and not much time. We can talk in the car on the way over. If you don’t want to help me, you can turn the car around and bring me back here, all right?”
She stepped into the elevator, and he reluctantly followed. When the door slid shut, he pushed the button that would take them to the parking lot. “Start explaining.”
She took a deep breath. Her voice was calm even though her fingers tapped against the elevator handrail nervously. “You know about history. You’ve studied it. You must understand how dangerous the Time Strainer is. All of history could be changed. When you strain people, you don’t just take them out of the time line, you take their descendants and everything those people did. If you strain the wrong person, nations could be wiped out.”
Echo leaned against the wall and watched the floor numbers flash by. “I realize the Time Strainer is dangerous. What does that have to do with Sheridan and me?”
Taylor’s arm fell to her side, slapping against her leg. “Nothing. I’m not talking to you about Sheridan. That was an excuse she and I came up with so I could explain to you why you have to help me destroy the Time Strainer.”
He laughed. He couldn’t help himself even though it was clear from her expression that she was serious. She expected the two of them to go to the Scicenter, walk into the restricted room where the Time Strainer sat—and what? Kick the thing until it broke? “You’re wasting your time by even suggesting such a thing. And don’t lie to me again. I’m a historian. I want to hear the truth, not fabrications you’ve made up to—” He let out a sigh. “What else did you lie about? The schools?”
“No, I just lied this time because I need your help.”
He rolled his eyes. “You said you wanted to study literature in school. I should have known that wasn’t true. You expect me to believe colleges gave out degrees for reading novels?”
Taylor held her hands up in the air. “Okay, you’re right. I studied math, physics, and computers. And if you can splice into a program that accesses the Time Strainer signals, I can keep it from working.”
The elevator stopped, and the doors slid open on the parking lot level. Echo didn’t step out. “I understand how you feel about the Time Strainer, but it took our scientists years to develop and build it. Just because I know how to computigate doesn’t mean I could sit down and figure out a way to destroy it.”
The doors remained open. The elevator sensors could tell they hadn’t left. He reached for the button to take them back to the Wordlab, but Taylor grabbed his hand. “I can do it, Echo.”
“You don’t understand our technology.”
“But I understand the technology from my day, and once I destroy that, the Time Strainer won’t work anymore. There won’t be any more energy streams for it to reconfigure into people.” She still held on to his hand so he wouldn’t push the elevator button. “I already know how to do it,” she said. “Just help me gain access to the right computers.”
Her gaze didn’t waver from his eyes. She was serious. She thought she could do it.
“You don’t realize the difficulty of what you’re suggesting. How could you …?” And then he understood. In that one moment he saw Taylor differently. His hand dropped to his side, the dread of the situation outweighing the excitement. “You’re Tyler Sherwood, aren’t you?”
She gazed out at the parking lot and didn’t answer.
He swore, then rubbed at his forehead. “Are you sure you can stop the Time Strainer?”
She nodded.
He walked out of the elevator, and Taylor followed. Sneaking into the Scicenter with the scientist the government was searching for was both dangerous and stupid. But he had no choice now. Taylor was right. A functioning Time Strainer was even more dangerous.
chapter
21
Echo watched Taylor’s hands fluttering over the keyboard. He could tell her lack of familiarity with the board frustrated her, that she wanted to go faster than she did; and as it was, the numbers on the computer screen appeared in rapid course.
Sensatogy was the word people used to describe those who could computigate—who could understand, no, see math and programming as though it was as easy as writing words.
Years ago he’d heard his teachers use the word sensatogy describing him. They said he ought to work in the city’s programming department. He hadn’t wanted to work for the government, though. Too many rules, too many authority figures to please. Besides, he’d heard programmers were pressured to join the Dakine. It was better for him to work for Jeth. Much more comfortable. Safer.
Funny how your fears had a way of finding you no matter what you did.
A memory ran through his mind: he and his brother playing light ball in a VR center. It was almost their sixteenth birthday, and the deadline for submitting career applications was nearing. All that week, their class had listened to teachers lecture about the responsibilities of being an adult. “Don’t pick a career that you want,” the students were told again and again. “Pick a career that the city needs.” Loyalty to the city produced self-respect. Self-respect produced happiness. And didn’t they want to be happy?
Echo had not only ignored that particular advice, he had turned the whole “self-respect equaled happiness” saying into a joke. He’d spliced into the city’s datalinks and posted a listing: Self-respect for sale. Bargain priced. He’d put the school director’s comlink number as the contact information. The day after that, Echo had posted an ad in the personals: Desperate woman looking for man with self-respect. Rank not an issue. That one had their science teacher’s comlink info. She had always been a pain. Then the next day there had been the fake news story: Enforcers uncover criminal group selling covert self-respect. Saddened citizens proclaim, “But where will we buy affordable self-respect now?”
Echo didn’t get caught. He was skilled enough at splicing that it couldn’t be traced. Still, everyone at school knew who had done it, and his rank that week soared.
“Which means the teachers were right,” Echo had said as he aimed the ball at a moving yellow light on the wall. “Self-respect does produce happiness.” He shot and hit a light, making it disappear. “I’m going to love programming.”
Joseph caught the ball on the bounce-back and dribbled to the opposite wall. He hadn’t hit as many of his lights, and the green ones were multiplying. “We can’t be programmers. Too much stress. They all die early.”
Echo jogged up to him, positioning himself to catch the bounce-back. “But programmers live better. Think of our ranks.”
Joseph shot at a green light zipping across the wall. He missed, and it split in two. “Who cares about ranks?”
Echo recovered the ball. “Girls. Friends. Apartment managers. Employers. Strangers …” He jogged to the opposite wall, fending off Joseph’s attempts to steal the ball. “Did I already say girls? Pues, it’s worth saying twice.”
“So we’ll work for Dad and find a way to splice into the rank program. Then you can change your number to whatever you want. I think one hundred fifty-two would fit you.”
“And that wouldn’t be dangerous—cutting into the city’s most guarded program.” Echo threw the ball, and a yellow light blinked out.
He leaped for the bounce-back, but Joseph reached it first. “What’s life without a challenge?”
Joseph jogged down the court, and Echo followed, grinning. “I’ve thought of my next news story: Enforcers uncover criminal group selling covert challenges. Saddened citizens proclaim, ‘Where will we buy affordable challenges now?’”
Joseph dribbled the ball, hardly paying attention to the green lights. “Dad would be easy to work for. It will be fun. Besides, if you don’t agree, you know I’m going to pretend to be you and put in your application for the Wordlab anyway.” Joseph bounced the ball back and forth between his hands, presenting both sides of the argument. “Fun. Stressful. Fun. Stressful.”
“Fun,” Echo said, and swiped the ball away from him. H
e ran down the court laughing.
The two of them were so used to working together, to being together, they hadn’t even considered choosing different careers. Maybe if they’d had different jobs … But it was no use going over it endlessly in his mind.
He brought himself back to the present, concentrated on the sensor clip he had taken off his belt. The screen read zero. Good. There was still no one within thirty feet of them. Occasionally he got a reading in the beyond-thirty-feet category, but that was just people passing by in the main hallway.
If someone came down the corridor that led to this room, Echo still didn’t know what he’d do. He couldn’t come up with a good excuse as to why Taylor and he were even in the Scicenter, let alone sitting in front of a computer in a restricted area.
Echo gave his sensor one last check, then looked back at the computer screen, following the symbols as they appeared. His job had been to splice into the Time Strainer’s main command program, a task that was harder and had taken longer than he’d imagined. The scientists had done a good job protecting this programming, layering encryptions with a maze of wrong turns and warning bells. If Echo hadn’t been able to see the program as a whole, to see the symbols as though they were a giant picture, he wouldn’t have been able to navigate his way through it.
Now he waited silently for Taylor to finish typing in her command. She was using the same frequency that the Time Strainer used to contact the QGP. Instead of requesting it to find and turn someone into energy, the signal would instruct the QGP to turn its own casing from matter into energy. The blast would destroy the QGP, and fortunately, there was no way to send anyone back in time to fix it.
Echo glanced down at the sensor. Still zero. He was glad he had it with him. He’d built it three years ago on a whim. Admittedly, it was a dangerous whim since such sensors were illegal, but the project had tempted him with its ease. Everyone wore tracking crystals. How hard could it be to create the software that would tell him when someone approached?
