by Claire Davon
“You like fried chicken, too?” It was an inane comment, and she cringed, but Sonder just looked at her.
“Are you real?” he asked, startling her again by taking her hand. She coughed, a piece of chicken halfway to her mouth. Setting it down, she looked at their joined hands.
“Are you?” she asked, feeling his thumb play over her knuckles like a shot to her insides.
Sonder cocked his head and then smiled. “Dreams don’t capture you in movement,” he said, his voice low and husky. “They don’t catch the spirit inside you, the way you…” he broke off when a shadow fell over their table.
Looking up, she saw Gire, a grin flicking across his face.
“Can I join you?” Gire asked, and there was a devilish glint in his eyes.
If it were possible for a man to growl at another man, Sonder did so, wordlessly but with definite intent. Without releasing her hand, he pointed to a table that had three other people sitting at it.
“Over there, Guardian.”
“I’m not scared of her, even if she might be the Traveler. She looks human. She’s not so scary.”
Scary?
“Dismissed, Guardian,” Sonder growled again while Fiona just looked at him. He looked at Fiona and his expression softened. “I’ll explain.”
“You had better. About me and…this place.”
Gire half bowed and strode off, shooting her a backwards glance as he did so. She watched Sonder watch the man he called Guardian–again, no question the word was capitalized–slide to a halt and land at the table Sonder had commanded him to.
So Sonder was definitely someone in some sort of command. Clearly not the top guy, that had to be the Commander, but a step or more above foot soldier.
“Okay, I have food, but I sure as heck don’t have answers.” She slid her hand out from his, missing the heat of his skin, and picked up her chicken. “So talk.” With that, she bit into the chicken. It was good, warm and succulent, the skin crisp with just the right amount of crunch and the meat tender. All that from a wall? She needed better appliances.
He followed suit, cleanly eating a piece of chicken until it was only bone, watching her as she ate. Fiona had never been good with people watching her, and she flushed under the scrutiny even while the attention made her shivery.
“It’s…hard to explain all at once,” he said, setting the bone down and picking up another piece.
“Try.” She knew he was stalling, she could tell by his averted eyes, and her patience had run out. She had never been known for it, anyway.
“What you did, you shouldn’t have been able to do. Everything that happened yesterday couldn’t have happened. “
“But it did.” Yesterday. That answered one question. She’d been out for a long time on that medical bed.
He inclined his head. “Yes. And there lies the dilemma. It’s supposed to be impossible, and so you are impossible. At least, you were supposed to be impossible. You were legend, up until Boston.”
That didn’t sound good. “What exactly…happened?”
His eyes went dark, the grey dimming to almost black.
“You…the accident…you were supposed.…”
She coughed, the food losing its flavor.
“Supposed to die. That’s it, isn’t it? There weren’t supposed to be any survivors, you were all there as clean up.”
A sick feeling washed over her. Maybe that was it. Maybe she really was dead, and this was all some sort of really bizarre afterlife thing. Maybe Sonder was some sort of angel. Or...something else.
The bleak look on his face confirmed her thoughts.
“There were survivors. You weren’t one of them,” he said, and the simple statement made the sickness intensify. “It’s complicated, as I said before.”
The unreality of it threatened to made words impossible.
“Sometimes after an accident there are those that are given the choice to join with one of our groups. Some will join us, some the Liberators,” he spread his hands out. “But the accident you were in was straightforward. Those that lived, lived and those that died…there weren’t supposed to be any candidates. Yet there you were. Nobody can shift without power. Nobody can manipulate time without these.” He gestured to his wrist device. “Until now.”
It was just noise. That’s all it was. She looked around the cafe and realized that nobody was pretending to do anything other than stare at her. Some flinched and looked away when she met their gaze, but many just continued to look at her as if she was some sort of exotic specimen.
The non-smell was present, even in this cafe. She hadn’t noticed it when he brought the trays, but the food didn’t smell, either, and the whole room had the same odor as the hallways. Sterile. Empty.
Where the heck were they, anyway? Were they even still on Earth?
“Care to give me the Cliff notes version on what the heck a Guardian and a Liberator are?”
He cocked his head and looked quizzically at her, and she realized he didn’t know what Cliff notes were.
“Just give me the short version,” she amended, and then gestured to the room. “Before the curious packs descend.”
There was a noise, then his com beeped.
“Sonder,” Illiria’s voice said before he could answer. “Come to port two now. Bring the girl.”
The activity was furious in the hallways as they ran towards an unknown destination. People made way for Sonder, some giving Fiona a curious look as they flew past them. Fiona didn’t have the time or the inclination to process the looks, but stored them away for later.
They arrived at what looked like an airlock, if all the science fiction movies and TV she had watched was any indication. The rest of the company was already assembled.
Illiria looked at them and merely nodded.
“Liberators. Rogald.” She pointed towards the airlock. “They say they want to talk to the girl. They’re clearing a time.”
“Why the hell would we agree to do that?”
“Answers.”
Chapter 10
Answers?
They were bringing her so SHE could provide answers? That was hilarious. She was looking for a planet full of answers of her own, and they wanted them from her.
There were no windows, nothing that revealed the outside world. She had been too absorbed in the things that had happened to fully absorb the kind of place they were in. Flipping back through her memory, she realized that they were in something that would be more like her conception of a space station than a house.
She watched Illiria prepare the airlock and motion them inside.
It wasn’t an airlock, she realized when they entered; it was more like a transporter ala Star Trek. It was a holding bin of some sort, a small gathering area with a smooth floor and walls.
“Sonder?”
He stood next to her, the Guardians forming a loose semi-circle that was similar to the one they'd formed in Brookline. She tugged on his close fitting sleeve.
He was watching Illiria prepare her wrist device but turned his attention to Fiona when she touched him.
“Yes, Fiona.” It was a statement, with just the hint of an acknowledgement of her questioning tone in it.
“Where are we?”
He snickered, and the rest of the Guardians stiffened a little.
“I wondered when you’d get around to asking. It’s a good question. We’re on Earth, but the question you need to ask is 'when' are we?”
Somehow that didn’t surprise her now. It was no stranger than jumping around the world, apparently through time as well, and an inky blackness that could have doubled for the inside of a black hole, the dark was so complete.
Illiria was glaring at Sonder.
She shrugged. Fiona wasn’t sure anything much could shock her anymore.
“Sure, I’ll bite. ‘When’ are we?”
“Sonder.”
The reprimand was clear and sharp, emanating from Illiria while the rest of the Guardians looked care
fully at the smooth walls of the airlock/gathering area/whatever it was.
“She should know, Illy. She’s in it with us.”
Gire piped in suddenly.
“She might be one of them! Or she might be the one, the Traveler.”
Er…okay. By "them," she assumed Gire meant the Liberators, the resident bad guys, at least according to this crew.
There were two sides to every story, after all. These bad guys may actually be good guys, and vice versa.
“If she is, then she already knows. If she isn’t, it may help to tell her. If she’s the Traveler…”
“Hello! The ‘she’ in question is a little tired of being talked about as if she is not in this airlock or whatever it is.”
Illiria only looked at her with that glare. Fiona wondered if she’d patented that glare. Did they have patent offices for glarey looks designed to silence the unruly?
She was truly losing it.
“Fiona, this is Earth, but a million years in the past.”
Right. Of course. What else could it be?
Illiria pressed her wrist device, and there was a hum. They all took hands inside the semi-circle, Fiona included.
“You sure we need to waste jump energy on her? She seems to be able to do it herself,” Gire blurted out.
“No point in losing track of her,” Sonder said, his grip warm on hers. He looked down at her and smiled. “No point at all.” He nodded to Illiria.
Then her body got that strange sensation again, and they–shifted. She really hated the blackness.
#
Next thing she knew, they were in a large field in what seemed to be Earth, but who knew anymore. It had the look and feel of Earth, and the right gravity, and she didn’t feel any different. But she was no longer sure that meant anything.
The others took a minute, orienting to their new surroundings, looking around, clearly getting a feel for the place.
The field had large wavy grasses of the kind found in “America the Beautiful”–“amber waves of grain” suddenly popped into her head. She looked up quickly, thinking perhaps the sky would suddenly be green, or red, or something different. It would probably have two moons, or three, or a ring system or something. They probably weren’t on Earth, not their Earth. It would fit with all the bizarre crap that kept happening.
But, no, it was blue, the same azure blue that she always remembered, when it wasn’t tinted with smog.
That was a relief, a bigger one than she realized it was going to be. Okay, so they were on Earth. But when was the question. When? What had Sonder said? That that was the better question?
“They’re not here yet.” It was a statement from Illiria, a comment rather than a question.
It was true, they were alone. She didn’t hear any chirping of birds or rustling of insects either. It was the kind of silence that was eerie, the kind only heard in dreams.
“We are really alone,” she blurted out.
“Yes,” Sonder said with a nod towards her. “Time hasn’t caught up with us yet.”
Sure, of course. Made perfect sense.
“Give it a minute. The Liberators will want to make a dramatic entrance.”
There was a whoosh, a rush of air, and a sound like wind roaring. Sonder moved to her and held up a protective arm, both shielding and stopping her from moving closer.
They were alone, and then they weren’t. About ten feet away, there was a now-familiar shimmer and a glow, and then four forms were there, standing in the waving grass, agitated and moving wildly at their entry point, and slowly fading out to a sedate wave farther on.
The displaced air rushed over them, and then there was a burst of ambient noise, matching what you would expect to hear even in an empty field.
Birds chirped in the distance, insects hummed and far, far away she heard the welcome sound of an airplane.
Modern day, then. Whatever it meant to be modern. If time travel was real, or whatever this form of travel was, then what exactly was modern? If they, in fact, could travel to any time, anywhere, then there was no such thing as modern or past–or future.
Too weird. She was having trouble catching up. She would need answers, and a lot of them, very soon.
“Rogald,” Illiria stated, holding a hand in acknowledgement of the others.
“Illiria.” The other man’s voice was gravelly. “You brought the woman.”
“As requested. We brought her, but that is all. Is she…one of yours?”
The Liberator, Rogald, shook his head.
“Not one of ours. Not yet. If she is who I think she is, probably not ever.”
Fiona risked a look at Sonder, whose jaw clenched at Rogald’s words.
Rogald looked at her. His gaze moved over her body, almost insultingly, looking her over from head to toe as if assessing her and finding her a little bit lacking.
She bristled. She didn’t know how she was doing whatever it was she was doing, but she didn’t ask for it.
“Not like you to tip your hand,” Illiria said with a curt tone.
There were four other Liberators, matching the five Guardians who had come with Fiona. She saw that Rogald also had a wrist thing, although his glowed yellow/orange and not the blue that Illiria’s and the Guardians’ did.
“No,” he agreed and looked squarely at Fiona. She didn’t like the steel grey of the man’s eyes, the rigid military posture of his frame, although she had to admit that she liked a similar look on Sonder. She’d like it better if she could explore Sonder’s naked frame with her hands.
She was one perverse female to be thinking about sex at a weird time like this.
“Then again, we’ve never met anyone who can time shift without the tech’s help, have we?”
The question was screamingly rhetorical, she realized, when all of them looked at each other before Illiria gave a grim nod.
“We never thought this day would come. We didn’t think there was a Traveler.” She glanced at Gire. “Or she’s one of yours. That’s a popular theory in our stronghold. That she’s a spy.”
“Spies can be found anywhere.” Rogald took a step closer to Illiria. “If we had someone with this ability, do you think we would have let her go? Ever?”
She was really, really going to have to find out what the hell Liberators and Guardians were when they got back to wherever or whenever they were. Right now, she wished she were back in Brookline, sleeping in her snug comfy bed with no knowledge of this strange time underworld she landed in.
“Did you know, Illiria? Did you know what she was before you jumped in?”
Fiona coughed. “Hey guys, you know, I admit I have no fucking clue what is going on, but I need to remind you I’m standing here. Right here. While you’re asking all sorts of questions ABOUT me, why don’t you direct them to me?”
Sonder chuckled, and even Gire suppressed a snort. The other two faceless Guardians stood still, expressionless. They reminded her of foot soldiers, or perhaps the red shirt Ensigns in Star Trek.
Or perhaps the luckless expendable member of the team was her.
Rogald turned that harsh steel gaze to her. “As you wish,” he looked at Illiria, who supplied “Fiona,” and he continued. “Fiona. Do you know what you are?”
She jutted her chin out and crossed her arms, sensing Sonder move into what seemed to be his favorite pose, half behind her, protecting while giving her freedom of movement.
“What I am is a human female, in my twenties, at this point completely confused, scared and out of sorts, being yanked around time and maybe space, with people who clearly don’t trust me or necessarily believe me. All I know is that the trolley was coming at us, and then suddenly everything–shifted.”
Rogald nodded and looked at Illiria again. In a move uncharacteristic of her, she simply shrugged.
He looked at Sonder. “You didn’t explain?”
Sonder put his hands on Fiona’s shoulders.
“We intended to, as much as we do anyway. You summoned us fi
rst.”
“I see.” He studied Fiona again, seemingly trying to figure out what made her so special. So unique.
She’d never been unique a day in her life. She’d been in the middle of the pack as long as she could remember, a slightly nerdy, pretty enough woman with a good job, good friends, and a decent apartment.
A good life. Unremarkable, but good. It had only been a few days, but she missed it acutely.
She knew somehow that, whatever had happened, her life was never going to be the same. Her life as she knew it was over.
But there was still a life to be led, as long as she drew breath.
“Dude, I have no idea what happened.” She said it directly to Rogald, but opened her arms to encompass all of the people in the field.
“Try.”
She cast her mind back. “All I remember is that I realized the trolley was coming towards us, but nobody else seemed to. It was like I was somewhere else, but there at the same time. Like I was in, I don’t know, another dimension, something parallel. There was some mist, then everything shifted, and then they,” she gestured to the Guardians, “were there.”
He continued to study her, like a specimen under glass. “You have no idea what you did? No idea what this means?”
She turned her head and looked at Sonder, unsure why they were letting Rogald continue to question her.
He’d been “going to tell her” in the mess hall, she remembered. Or maybe, he’d been going to grill her just like Rogald was doing, and they were letting the Enforcer do the dirty work.
A look at Illiria, and she decided the latter was the most likely. They all wanted answers, so why not let Rogald do it?
“Sorry, pal, no idea. If I did, I probably wouldn’t have done it in the first place.”
Rogald looked grim. “Then you would be dead, just like your friends at the jump point. There weren’t any survivors, at least that the records show.”
Another glance at Sonder confirmed the truth of his words.
“It was shift or die?” Fiona asked.
Everyone nodded.
“We are thinking that the trauma of the trolley accident triggered something latent in you, something we didn’t think existed until this point. Nobody can jump without the portal devices. Nobody.”
