At a run, Homer rounded the corner of the hanger with the opera glasses in his hands. He relaxed visibly at the sight of her. “I was scared you’d be gone already.”
She held the watch up. “Two minutes.”
“He didn’t want to come. Said that the doubt would be better than knowing for certain.” Homer chewed his lip and handed her the opera glasses. “What happens to him, Miss Jackson?”
Louise sighed and remembered all the things she’d read about Wilbur Wright before coming here. “He dies of typhoid when he’s forty-seven. I do wish I hadn’t said a thing about the future.”
Homer shook his head. “I’m glad you told me. I’ll—”
And he was gone.
The tall grass of Huffman Prairie was replaced by a crisply mown lawn of chemical green. Where the weathered hanger had been stood a bright, white replica. Neither the hanger nor the lawn seemed as real as the past. Louise sighed. The air burned her nostrils, smelling of carbon and rubber. The homing beacon in her handbag should bring them to her soon enough.
She leaned back against the barn to wait. A paper rustled behind her. She pulled away, afraid that she’d see a big “wet paint” sign, but it was an envelope.
An envelope with her name on it.
She spun around as quickly as she could, but there wasn’t a soul in sight. Breath fighting with her corset, Louise pulled the envelope off the wall. She opened it carefully and found a single sheet of paper. A shaky hand covered the surface.
Dear Louise,
You will have just returned from your first time travel mission and meeting me, so this offers the first opportunity to introduce myself to you in your present. I wish I could be there, but that would mean living for another forty years, which task I fear would require Olympian blood. You have been such a friend to me and my family and so I wanted you to know two things.
1. Telling me the truth was the best thing you could have done for me. Thank you.
2. We are (or will be by the time you read this) major shareholders in the Time Travel Society. It ensures that your future trips to my past are without incident, and also will let my children know precisely when your first trip takes place in your present. I hope you don’t mind that I took the liberty of asking my children to purchase shares for you as well. I wish we could have presented them to you sooner.
Be well, my friend. And happy travels.
Sincerely yours,
Homer Van Loon
At the bottom of the sheet was a bank account number, and then a list of addresses and phone numbers arranged in order of date.
Her eyes misted over at the gift he’d given her—not the account, but the knowledge that she had not harmed him by telling the truth.
In the parking lot, the Time Travel Society’s minivan pulled in, barely stopping before Mr. Barnes and the rest of the team jumped out. “How was the trip?” he shouted across the field, jogging toward her.
Louise smiled and held out the opera glasses. “I think you’ll like the footage I got for you.”
“May I?” He stopped in front of her, as long and lanky as she imagined Homer being when he was grown up.
“Of course. That’s why you sent me, isn’t it?”
He took the opera glasses from her and rewound. Holding it to his eyes as the rest of the team gathered around, Mr. Barnes became utterly still. “Miss Jackson . . . Miss Jackson, how did you get the camera on the plane?”
Dr. Connelly gasped. “On the Wright Flyer?”
“Yes, ma’am. I watched from the ground with the hat-cam while Wilbur was flying. I’m quite curious to hear the audio that goes with it. We could hear him whooping from the ground.”
“But how did you . . .” Dr. Connelly shook her head.
“I told him the truth.” Louise sighed, remembering the naked look on his face at the moment when he believed her. “He took the camera because he understood the historical context.”
Copyright © 2009 Mary Robinette Kowal
Cover art copyright © 2009 by Pascal Milelli
Books by Mary Robinette Kowal
Scenting the Dark and Other Stories
(Subterranean Press, 2009)
The Hugo Award Showcase 2010 edited by Mary Robinette Kowal
(Prime Books, 2010)
First Flight Page 3
