Time Trapped

by Richard Ungar

  We both sit quietly for a moment and stare up at the sky. I didn’t think it could get any darker than it already was, but I guess I was wrong.

  “We have to change the date,” I say.

  “Impossible,” Abbie says. “If we make it any later, we may not get a chance. There’s a rumor floating around that Uncle wants to move all of us to Scotland.”

  “I’m not thinking of later, Abbie. I’m saying we go earlier.”

  Abbie looks at me for a moment. “You’re right. And I can think of another reason to leave earlier.”

  “What is that?”

  “Do you remember the poem you heard that puppet say during Operation Gravity?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, a few things bothered me about it. So I did some research. There was a real Mother Shipton, who was born in 1488 and wrote some prophecies that were later published. But most of the verses you recited weren’t written by her. They were written much later, in 1862, by a guy named Charles Hindley. There’s no way those lines could have been spoken by a puppeteer in 1666, unless . . .”

  “Unless the puppeteer was a time traveler,” I finish.

  “That’s right,” says Abbie. “And remember this part:

  “A lifelong quest, an ancient stone—

  The wrongful heir upon the throne.

  Death and suffering line the path.

  None will be spared the master’s wrath.”

  “Yes,” I say. I had thought about those lines too and was sure now that they referred to the Stone of Destiny and that the master is Uncle.

  “Those words weren’t written by Mother Shipton either,” she says. “Or by Charles Hindley. Someone was trying to send us a message . . . to warn us. At first I thought the phrase ‘the wrongful heir upon the throne’ meant Uncle’s coronation. But now I’m convinced it’s referring to something else entirely.”

  “To what?” I ask.

  “To the coup Frank has been planning . . . to seize control of Timeless Treasures from Uncle,” she says.

  I shudder. Abbie could be right. And if it’s true, we’ve got to get the recruits out before that happens.

  “Cale, Frank has called another Gathering for the day after tomorrow. I think he’s going to announce that he’s taking over.”

  “That settles it then,” I say, locking my eyes on hers. “We leave tomorrow night.”

  October 7, 2061, 10:52 P.M.

  The Compound

  SoHo, New Beijing (formerly New York City)

  A downpour begins as we enter the Compound, but it’s completely quiet inside. The heavy, ominous kind. The kind that always comes before something miserable happens. I’ve got a bad feeling about the escape. All I can think of is what can go wrong—Phoebe ratting us out, Uncle finding out, Frank finding out, and here’s another good one: the recruits not wanting to go anywhere. On top of everything, there must be a hole in my shoe, because my left sock is drenched.

  Abbie and I enter the Yard from different doors. It was her idea that whenever we want to meet with Razor and Dmitri about Operation Exodus, we do it in as public a place as possible. With all the mindspeak going back and forth, it would be tough for Uncle or Frank to isolate our conversation.

  All of the recruits are out on the floor. Dmitri is sitting in a corner gazing up at the ceiling. Razor is on the other side of the Yard, talking to a couple of younger recruits.

  If anyone took a picture of the Yard right now, it wouldn’t look like Abbie and I were convening a meeting with Razor and Dmitri. But that is exactly what is happening.

  I casually walk by Razor and run my fingers through my hair, giving her the signal to switch to mindpatch. On the opposite side of the Yard, Abbie is doing the same with Dmitri.

  “Can everyone hear me?” I mindspeak.

  “Yo,” says Razor.

  “I’m here too,” says Abbie.

  “Dmitri?” I say.

  No answer.

  “Abbie, did you give him the signal?” I ask.

  “Twice.”

  “Lemme go over there,” says Razor. “I’ll smack him on the side of the head.”

  “No, I’ll go,” I say.

  I cross over to where Dmitri is huddled in the corner. He has something in his hands, but I can’t see what it is.

  “Hi, Dmitri,” I say.

  “Hello,” he answers, without looking up.

  “It’s sunny in San Diego,” I say, repeating the code phrase that means we’re having a meeting.

  He continues fiddling with a small handheld device. After a few seconds, he says, “It’s not my birthday.”

  “What did you say?”

  Then he looks up at me and says, “I wasn’t talking to you.”

  He looks down again at the device. Now I can see the screen. Black and white squares.

  “Where did you get that?” I say.

  “I didn’t get it. I made it,” Dmitri says, then raises a hand, signaling me to stop talking.

  The next second, his eyes light up and he moves his finger across the screen.

  “Got you,” he says. “Checkmate.”

  The lights in the Yard dim and go out for three seconds before coming back on.

  Dmitri laughs. “Phoebe doesn’t like losing,” he says, smiling.

  “Dmitri, switch to mindpatch, will you? Abbie and Razor are already on.”

  He looks up again, still smiling, and says, “Okay.”

  I walk back to the other end of the Yard.

  “Halloween is early this year,” I say, using the code words we agreed on to change the date of the mission.

  “How early?” Razor asks.

  “The ghouls will be out tomorrow night,” Abbie says.

  “We can’t,” Razor says.

  “Why not?”

  “Santa’s coming to town . . . and he’s bringing Rudolph,” she says. Santa is the code name for Uncle, and Rudolph is Frank.

  That’s bad luck. But we’ve got no choice. We have to go tomorrow night. There are too many things that could go wrong if we delay any longer.

  “We can’t do anything about that, Razor,” Abbie says. “Spread the word to all the elves.”

  “Dmitri, you have to make sure that Phoebe’s costume for the party is ready on time,” I say.

  “What party?” Dmitri asks.

  If I wasn’t rescuing him, I’d want to strangle him. He’s supposed to have memorized all of the code.

  “You sure are dim, Dim,” says Razor.

  “Thank you, Razor, but I’ll handle this,” I say. “Dmitri, we’ve invited Phoebe to join us for our Halloween celebration. All of the recruits will be there as well. You understand what I’m talking about now, don’t you?”

  He shakes his head.

  “Dmitri,” I mindshout, “you have to extricate Phoebe from the net by tomorrow night so that she can escape with us!”

  “You don’t have to yell,” Dmitri says.

  “Yes he does,” Razor says. “’Cause you’re dimmer than dim sum at midnight.”

  “That is illogical,” Dmitri says. “Dim sum is something you eat. It cannot grow dim or bright.”

  “Meeting’s over,” I say, heading for the courtyard.

  “Those two don’t exactly inspire confidence,” I say when Abbie joins me outside.

  “Look on the bright side,” she says. “As soon as you rescue them, you won’t have to deal with them anymore.”

  I laugh and some of the tension melts away. “Abbie?”

  She looks over at me. “Yes?”

  “I’m glad you’re with me.”

  “It’s the only place I want to be,” she says, leaning in and giving me a kiss.

  October 8, 2061, 10:30 A.M.

  Buddhist Temple

  SoHo, New Beijing (formerly Ne
w York City)

  The Buddhist temple on Lafayette Street is an impressive building with a sloping red tile roof and twin stone lions guarding the entrance. As I step inside, a man dressed in a brown robe walks up to greet me.

  “Good day, I am Brother Chen. May I help you?”

  Sure. I’m looking for a place to stash a time pod and forty-five time-traveling recruits. Instead I say, “Hi. I live around here, and I’ve always admired your temple from the outside and was curious to see the inside. Is it okay if I take a look around?”

  “Certainly,” he says, giving a little bow. “If you have any questions, I am available. The other monks are sworn to silence, so they will not speak with you.”

  I wonder if they can teach that trick to Razor.

  I walk around to get the feel of the place. There’s a nice open area in front of a short flight of steps leading to a throne-type chair. It looks like a perfect spot to land the time pod.

  Brother Chen follows me everywhere. Maybe he thinks I’m going to steal something, which normally would be true. But not today. This is strictly a reconnaissance mission.

  “Do you see that sculpture there?” he says, pointing. “It is of Qín Shi Huáng, the first emperor of China.”

  “Yes,” I say, remembering the aborted mission. “I understand that he was buried with a great army to accompany him to the afterlife.”

  Brother Chen’s eyes sparkle. “Excellent. Then you may also know of his reputation as solver of disputes.”

  I shake my head.

  “No?” Brother Chen says. “Well, please permit me to tell you a true story. When the Great Wall of China was erected, there was a great dispute between the two factions who were hired to build it. One group wanted to start the wall from the west and the other from the east.”

  “How did Emperor Qín solve it?” I ask.

  “He didn’t,” Brother Chen says. “He let them each go a different way. Confident that in the end they would meet.”

  “And did they? Meet, that is?”

  “No. It took another group of builders three hundred more years to join the mismatched ends.”

  A great story. But if there’s a moral to it, I’m missing it entirely.

  “Brother Chen, I’d like to make a small contribution to the temple,” I say.

  “That is kind. But you need not,” he replies.

  “No, I insist,” I say. I hand him a ten-dollar bill. It’s not much, but it’s all I have on me.

  He smiles and gives a low bow.

  “What did you think of the temple?” Abbie asks when I catch up with her in the Compound courtyard.

  “I think I should go there more often. I could use some spirituality in my life,” I say.

  “Seriously, Cale.”

  “Seriously, there’s a good open space to land the time pod in the main sanctuary.”

  “What about security?” she asks.

  “Doable. They’ve got a third-gen Halex on the front but only a first-gen on the rear entrance. The back is our best access point.”

  “What about the monks?”

  “They sleep in a separate building out back.”

  “It sounds like it will work,” Abbie says. “But you’re looking nervous. What’s the matter?”

  “I don’t know,” I say. “I can’t put my finger on it. I know this sounds crazy, but it’s almost like it’s too easy.”

  “You’re being paranoid,” she says. “Relax.”

  Abbie’s probably right. I should just relax. Try telling that to the knot in my stomach, though. Now that we’re so close to launching Operation Exodus, it seems to tighten with every passing minute.

  “There will be a Gathering in ten minutes,” announces Luca over my mindpatch. “Please tell any trainers you see who have not received this message.”

  My mouth goes dry. It can’t be! The next Gathering was supposed to be tomorrow, not tonight.

  “Are you sure you don’t have the times mixed up?” I say, trying to sound normal.

  “There’s no mix-up,” says Luca. “Pass the word around.”

  I shudder. Another Gathering means Frank is going to punish another recruit. And he’s probably calling it on such short notice because he knows that Uncle won’t be around.

  I’ve got to talk to Abbie. But there’s no time to do anything other than to go to the Yard.

  The stage has already been set up by the time I arrive. Recruits and trainers are filing in, taking their seats. Whispers and nervous laughter mix with the sound of chairs scraping the floor. I spot Dmitri near the front and take a seat next to him. Lydia is hovering near the stage talking to a trainer I don’t recognize. Frank jumps onto the stage and then quickly off again.

  In moments, every seat is taken. I crane my neck looking for Abbie and Razor but can’t spot them.

  Ten goons I’ve never seen before have set themselves up at two-foot intervals in front of the stage. I frown. These guys aren’t here to take customer appreciation surveys. They are being posted around the stage to ward off any trouble.

  The lights dim and then go off. All chatter dies. The darkness is total.

  Five seconds pass. Ten. No one dares say a thing.

  And then a single spotlight illuminates Frank standing on the stage. He is wearing a forest green hanfu with a gold dragon design that looks familiar to me. A sword tucked under his sash gleams when the spotlight hits it. I gasp when my brain makes the connection. That hanfu belongs to Uncle!

  “Good evening, everyone,” Frank’s voice booms. “Sorry for the short notice of this Gathering. But it couldn’t be helped.”

  He pauses and then continues, “All of us here at Timeless Treasures have a job to do and a role to play in this organization. This is true even for our newest recruits. We can all be proud of our achievements and rest assured that Uncle and I value all contributions, from those of the greenest recruits to the most senior time snatcher.”

  Right. So if you value the recruits’ contributions so much, why are you leaving some of them to rot in the past?

  Frank clears his throat and looks out over the crowd. “Now for the Recruit of the Day honors. As many of you know, certain snatches are more difficult than others. The degree of difficulty depends on a number of factors, including the presence of other persons at or near the snatch zone and complications arising from the physical environment. I am pleased to say that today’s top-performing recruit managed with style and grace to overcome all of these factors and more.

  “It is with utmost pleasure that I introduce you all to the Recruit of the Day, Renaldo.”

  Polite applause. A tall, gangly boy steps forward. I recognize him as one of the recruits on Lydia’s team.

  Frank waits for the applause to die down and then says, “Renaldo, why don’t you show us the object you snatched today.”

  He steps forward, opens a small case and pulls from it a pair of wire-rimmed glasses that he holds up high. “Mahatma Gandhi’s eyeglasses. From one of his walkabouts.”

  A murmur goes through the crowd. I have to admit it’s an impressive snatch for a recruit. But I suspect that he had more than a little help from Lydia.

  “Thank you, Renaldo,” says Frank. “You may stand to the side.”

  Frank saunters across the stage, hands clasped behind his back. With his every stride, I can feel the tension in the room go up another notch.

  He stops and turns to face the audience. “Lately, there have been rumblings of discontent among the ranks of our recruits. Uncle has asked that I convey to you his and my feelings on this serious matter. We will not tolerate the spreading of vile rumors. Nor will we tolerate anyone’s attempts to fill the heads of our recruits with lies. And finally, we will not put up with any person who challenges our authority.”

  He turns to his left and says to someone offstage, “Bring her.”
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  I grip the side of my chair. Two of Frank’s goons walk onto the stage. They are dragging a recruit between them. At first I can’t see who it is but then the goons move slightly.

  It’s Razor!

  The goons stop two feet short of where Frank stands and push Razor forward. She falls on her knees. Her hands are bound in front of her.

  “This,” Frank says, “is Razor. She is one of Caleb and Abbie’s recruits.”

  I glance at Dmitri. He’s staring at the stage, his mouth set in a thin line.

  Frank turns and looks at Razor. “I’ve been following your participation in your group, recruit, for some time now. And I must say that I’m not impressed. You are unreliable, easily distracted and unable to focus properly on the snatches. Not only do you not have the proper respect for authority, but you have also been poisoning others with your disrespectful talk. You have also purposely destroyed snatch items, including most recently an apple snatched on a mission to 1666 England.”

  A terrible rage is building inside me. My fingernails bite into the soft flesh of my palms.

  Razor doesn’t say a word. I adjust my ocular implant to high zoom. Her eyes look glazed over. I’ll bet anything that Frank drugged her before bringing her out.

  “One of Uncle’s favorite sayings,” continues Frank, turning to the crowd, “is ‘a single worm can destroy an apple.’ It is clear that we must take action. But what sort of action?”

  He takes a step in Razor’s direction. “What shall we do with you, little worm? Shall we grind you under the heels of our shoes? Or shall we flick you far away, where you will never trouble us again?”

  He walks away from her, draws his sword, lifts it high in the air and addresses the crowd. “Shall it be death by sword? Or will it be banishment to the Barrens? You decide.”

  Frank leans toward the crowd, cupping his ear. “I can’t hear your decision.”

  Someone shouts, “Death by sword!” I whip my head around but can’t tell who it was. But his shout ignites a chorus of others. Some of the new trainers shout “death.” Others are yelling “Barrens.”

  The shouting gets louder. I want to rush up to the stage, grab Razor and take her away from all of this madness. But with Frank’s goons ringing the stage there’s no way I would even get close.