by PK Hrezo
“Don’t touch that,” I tell the freckled guy with my photo pyramid in his hands.
“Sorry,” he says. “Better if no personal effects are in visuals. Producer’s orders.”
“They won’t bother anything, Bianca,” Mom says. “Let them do their job.”
I snatch the pyramid from the guy’s hands, wiping any fingerprints away from the digital display of six-year-old me with my dog, Nivarre—the only pet I ever owned.
“We’ll be ready in five,” the other black shirt announces, readjusting the wireless mike at his ear, then moving backward while holding up a device to test the lighting. The hover-cam at his shoulder moves in sync with him to the corner of the room.
Dad’s beside me now. “Agent Garth pulled a few strings and managed to get you Germaine Ricks. He’ll go easier on you than anyone else at WNN. He has a nice-guy reputation.”
I glance back at Garth, who’s now got her device at her ear and obviously on a phone call.
Leaning in toward Dad, I whisper, “I’m still not sure we should trust her.”
“I have my doubts,” he says. “But it’s possible your Timeline Rewrite altered her objectives in some way. Hard to say when your mother and I suffered a full memory purge along with it.”
“You believe me though?” I ask, a tad defensively. “She shut us down before I went back and changed it with the Rewrite. She was a different person, just ask Tristan.”
Dad’s green eyes narrow on me. “Tristan wasn’t there. He didn’t T-cube with you, or rewrite the timeline.”
I hesitate, checking for listening ears, then lowering my voice til it’s barely audible at all. “Tristan has analog recall.”
Dad’s lips part but he says nothing at first. Rubbing his chin again, he says, “You’re sure about this?”
“Positive. Ask him.”
“Fascinating.” Dad’s no longer looking at me but off into space. “Truly fascinating.”
Mom’s been eavesdropping best she can but I don’t know what all she heard. She pats my back. “Agent Garth wants to help.”
“Mom, she’s still DOT. Don’t forget that.”
“I haven’t forgotten anything,” she says with a little snicker. “You wanted to do this press release, and now you are. Don’t tell me you changed your mind because of Agent Garth.”
I’m about to reply, when I realize nothing I can say will prevent me from sounding like a whiny brat.
“Your father and I talked it over last night and what Agent Garth says makes a lot of sense. You’re a professional, and the world needs to see that side of you. Agent Garth wants us to prove we’re a safe and reliable time travel agency, or else the DOT wouldn’t have gotten involved.”
“Rumors create misconceptions,” Dad chimes in now. “The confusions out there right now are that you’re an incognito addict connected to Tristan’s past struggles. They want the world to believe you’re incompetent, reckless. You have to show them the opposite.”
“Nothing your father or I can say will prove otherwise,” Mom says. “It’s up to you. Show them you’re committed to excellence just as all Buttermans are.”
My shoulders heave with my sigh. Garth really did a number on them. “You say all this like I’m supposed to believe the DOT actually—”
“We’ve got as much to lose as you do.” Garth startles me, appearing at my desk. “We’ve approved your operation for years—what does it say about us if you fit the bill of a substance abuser?”
My device indicates a call and I step down the hall, converting my palm-com to retro-phone style for a private voice only call with Tristan.
“I talked to Val,” he says from the other end. “No way should I be there during the interview.”
My neck tenses. “Guess I’m flying solo then.”
A bad thought runs through my head and I feel like a total jerk for thinking it. I mean, I know Tristan had his own press release to do, but it’s because of him I’m stuck doing this one and he’s not even here to support me.
“She still thinks it’s a bad idea, you know,” he interrupts my thought. “Says it’s too soon for you to be under the gun on camera.”
“My parents are convinced Garth’s here to help.”
“Maybe the DOT realized they can’t beat you.”
“That easily?” I scoff. “It’s so unlike them. But my parents trust her. They have no memory of her vindictive attitude when she shut us down that first time.”
“Oh shit, that’s right. They wouldn’t, would they. The universal memory purge. But they believe you—about what happened, right?”
“Supposedly. It’s just that, in their minds, Garth hasn’t done anything wrong to us, even though it’s ‘cause I rewrote the timeline. How can they harbor any suspicion or resentment when they have no memory of being treated badly?”
“Wicked thought,” Tristan says. “Brings the forgive and forget mentality to a whole different level.”
“If she is bullshitting us, I need to find a way to prove it without getting into trouble.”
“You could refuse to do the interview.”
“It’s too late for that.”
“Just be careful, okay,” he says. “The media will pull everything they’ve got to try and trip you up. The bigger the spectacle, the higher the ratings. Don’t forget for one minute that it’s not about the ratings.”
“Germaine Ricks is doing the interview. My dad says he’s not so bad.”
“Ricks will try to get you to trust him, Butterman. So you’ll open up and admit your mistakes. Don’t fall for it.”
“Bianca, it’s time.” Dad’s in front of me now, motioning me to hang up.
“Gotta go.” I eye the guys at my desk again. “I … wish you were here.”
“I’ll be watching from my room,” Tristan says. “Remember, live means you can’t take anything back, so never let your guard down. I’ll meet up with you after.”
I disconnect without a response, my mouth suddenly desert-dry. I’m supposed to be natural and show my personality while staying on guard and not leaking too much information. Right.
As soon as I take my seat behind my desk, a black shirt with a powder puff examines my face with a twitch of his lips. “Makeup check, hold still. Needs more color.”
He whips out a compact and enters some kind of data into it that I can’t see. After a few seconds it beeps and ejects a palette of neutral and rosy tones that he dabs onto my cheeks, and blends.
“Thought I was spose to look like I always do,” I say, holding my face still.
“Exactly,” he says. “But sweetie you’re gonna look all washed up if we don’t bring these cheeks to life. The zombie craze is long over.” He blends some more then steps back, studies me. “There you go. You, only better.”
I’m about to pull up the mirror app on my holo-screen, when Garth leans in, whispers in my ear, her perfume a blunt floral overkill. “I’m right here if you need me.”
Huh? The hairs on my arm stand on end. I watch her back away, her lips turned up into a formal, condescending smile. For the first time since I walked in, I notice everything about her—the way her sleek navy pantsuit is tailored to hug every curve of her body; the diamond studs in her ears that catch the light just the right way now and then and sparkle with pretention. She looks different—more glamorous than professional—like she’s trying too hard.
“On in three …” A black shirt says, moving toward me, his hover-cam at his left shoulder.
The holo-screen above my desk goes blank, then bursts to life with a face visual of the bald, dark-skinned Germaine Ricks, who’s looking at something on his desk while a staff member touches up his makeup.
My belly twists. Deep breaths now. I can do this. I’ve seen Germaine Ricks interview a couple of celebrities and politicians before, but someone like me? All at once, I want to tear out of here, suck in copious amounts of fresh air. If Tristan had never walked in here to book a time trip that day, I’d never be in this situation. W
hy does he have to be a superstar? My palms dampen with sweat. Why do I have to be attracted to him?
I remember what Tristan said about Germaine Ricks interview techniques and I almost wonder if Tristan’s not suffering from a mild case of paranoia. Either way, I’m on full alert mode.
“You’re a professional, remember that, Bee,” Dad says at my desk, then moves off to the side next to Mom.
Mom’s hands are clasped beneath her chin in anticipation—just like when I had my enrollment interview from the Academy of Science & Technology four years ago. Getting into their online high school program was the toughest event of my life. Til I met Tristan Helms.
The track lighting dissolves into a dim hue everywhere but over my desk, where it singles me out in white light. Quickly, I expand my mirror app and glance at my hair and face. Hair is parted to the side, my bangs neatly combed forward. My mascara and eyeshadow are dark, but more gray than black. My cheeks are a chipper rouge. Ugh, they’ve got to be kidding. I don’t do chipper.
Just as I try to rub it away with my fingers, Germaine’s slippery-slick voice fills the room. “Thank you for joining us today for a WNN exclusive with Bianca Butterman. You may be familiar with her as the latest romantic interest of recovered heliox addict, Tristan Helms. Former frontman for the heartthrob boy band U-Turn, Tristan smashed billboard charts a few weeks ago with a sensational solo comeback to the music scene and international bestselling single, Fall. Bianca’s agreed to go in depth and personal with me today, so let’s cut right to the chase and get the story straight.”
I recognize Germaine Rick’s signature slogan and cringe. Everything is happening so fast.
“I want to thank you for being with us today, Bianca,” Germaine continues, his tone pitch-perfect and gentle. “Let me put the viewer in your shoes for a moment: Bianca grew up in the smallest of towns in Northern Alaska, just inside the Arctic Circle, to a family of time travelers. Butterman Travel Incorporated has been around for over forty-four years, serving the public with commercial time travel. Eighteen-year-old Bianca graduated with honors from the Academy of Science & Technology homeschool program and earned her time-craft pilot’s license one month ago, as well as certification as time trip guide.”
At least he’s starting with the good stuff.
He continues, his attention directed toward the camera, “Having booked time trips for such clients as world renowned film producer, Miguel Manuel Ramirez; Scandinavian Royal Highness, Evelisse Lovelane, and NFL sensation, Vincent Palmer, Butterman Travel has been a highly accredited and well sought after agency. But that reputation has taken a beating over the last few days, once Tristan Helms was confirmed as a client and potential love interest to Bianca. One is fresh out of rehab; the other a newly licensed time trip guide and pilot—a potentially calamitous combination.” He turns his attention on me. “Bianca, how do you feel about this?”
I tug at the velvet choker that seems to be shrinking around my neck. Holy hell, why didn’t I remove it before we started? The
fluorescent lights are so bright, so hot. My tongue is pasty, unable to form words. And the silence I’ve created is now swallowing me.
Germaine’s brows are raised, his lips pursed just slightly, as if unsure whether or not I’ve heard his question.
“Bianca, answer him.” Mom’s voice is barely a whisper somewhere in the close distance.
In a deep breath, I refocus, move my hands beneath my legs to stop them from shaking.
“Bianca, is everything okay?” Germaine asks.
Instantly, it brings me back into the moment. I can’t choke on air or the smut sites will make a carnival ride out of it for the world to heckle at.
“Uh, yeah,” I start. “I was thinking how best to answer without swearing.”
I know it’s a bad joke, but I’m hoping it breaks the ice.
Germaine lets out the smallest of chuckles. “I see, and you’ve accomplished that. Anything else you’d like to add?”
“Think about what you asked me, sir,” I say. “No offense, but how would you feel if your own reputation took a beating?”
“Point taken,” he says. “An obvious question, but an invitation for you to connect with our viewers and share a little about what you’re going through. Are any of the allegations about you being associated with Tristan’s drug addiction true?”
Good, a black and white question. I can do that.
“No, they’re not. I have no affiliation with drug use of any kind. Neither do my parents or Butterman Travel.”
“But you are, in fact, seeing Tristan Helms.”
Talk about moment of truth. I’m about to announce a relationship to the world when I don’t even know how serious it is myself. Not that they don’t know about it already anyway, but this is so not normal.
“Yes, we’re friends.”
“Kissing friends, as some popular tabloid sites would promote,” Germaine says, a brow arched.
“Whatever my relationship is with Tristan, it has nothing to do with his past addiction or my family’s business.” I ease the tension in my tone. “We’re just trying to get to know each other, you know?”
Germaine smiles, flashing his white teeth. “Spoken like a true teenager. I get that. WNN is all about exposing the truth. That’s why we’re here. Which brings me to my next question, Bianca. Your agency comes up clean for violations, yet reports of a Piloting Under the Influence warning, DOT evasion, and jetpack larceny during an unlogged time trip to New York City have emerged. How do you explain those?”
Screeech. And Halt. How the hell can he know about that if it happened before the Timeline Rewrite?
Chapter Five
Silence once again. Thick and heavy. I glance sideways at Garth standing against the wall in the dim lighting. Her eyes are barely visible, and I can’t tell if she’s looking at me or not. Her arms are folded over her chest, her fingers drumming her arm.
Mom and Dad huddle together, their eyes obscured as well, but mouths visibly hanging open.
I glance back on-screen. Germaine’s bald head is slightly tilted, a single brow arched.
Gently, I clear my throat. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand the question. Butterman Travel has a clean record. No violations.”
“Is that a fact?” Germaine asks. “Stories are circulating about a Paradox Initiation Offense as well—the worst violation a time traveler can receive due to the result it has on the current timeline.” He glances off screen, as if looking for something or someone, then back to me. “And you deny these allegations?”
My eyes reach for support in the background, but my parents are shell-shocked. Garth steps closer into the light, her steel-blue eyes dancing with confidence, her lips pressed into an impassive line.
“Yes.” I refocus on-screen, straightening my posture like it makes a difference in whether or not people believe me. “Butterman Travel has been issued no citations. You may wanna re-check your sources.”
I can feel the sweat beading at my temples and I want to wipe it away.
Germaine speaks through a canned smile, staring down at his desk, at what must be another screen with information. “But you did, in fact, take a time trip to Manhattan with Tristan Helms—”
“No.”
It’s a balled-face lie, but there’s no way Germaine Ricks or WNN or anyone could know about that time trip after the Timeline Rewrite. Tristan and I are the only ones in the universe that have a memory of that trip. Unless …
I glance at Garth. She’s staring at me, motionless, the hint of a smile now playing at her lips.
No way.
“And you’ve never operated a time-craft or guided a time trip while under the influence of illegal substances?” Germaine asks, focused on me again.
I fight the urge to scratch my neck. I can feel the hives erupting there at this very moment. I’m lying on camera, in front of the world. But if I were to admit those violations were true, there would be no proof to back it up and I’d still be lying. That t
ime trip and those violations were erased forever. Rewritten. Edited out of existence.
“Bianca, would you like me to repeat the question?” Germaine asks with a faint smile.
“Butterman Travel has not been accused of any violations.” Garth steps behind my desk and on-screen, resting her hand on my right shoulder. “And no such reports have been filed. I’m Agent Lola Garth from the Department of Transportation and believe me, if such an offense had occurred, this agency would not be open for business. As we speak, they are fully accredited with the government.”
My body shudders beneath her cold hand, but I’m grateful for the save.
“Plenty of speculation and false accusations out there,” Germaine says. “We can understand that. But here’s the issue—and what, I feel, is the heart of the uproar—time travel is sophisticated business, of which massive dangers, possibly even erasure of existences can result. How is the public supposed to believe that someone of Bianca’s young age is responsible enough to handle it, let alone the fact that her close friend has a reckless habit that could affect her ability to command a knowledge of time-handling efficiently and responsibly?”
“It’s not—” Garth begins.
But I can’t let her speak for me. I interrupt quickly. “Time travel is serious business, I realize that, but I’ve grown up inside this business, know the Butterman time travel science backwards and forwards. If I can’t handle it, then no one else can either. It’s what I’ve always known.” I swallow hard, my hands trembling beneath me. “Tristan Helms’ personal life has no bearings on how Butterman Travel operates. He makes his own choices, and yes, he’s my friend and I trust him.” I glance at Dad. “Our commitment to our customers is safety and reliability without disrupting timelines, and we’ll never compromise that. My personal life is just that, and it’s separate from business.”
Germaine nods. “The world saw Tristan Helms’ interview a couple days ago, and he was resolved to mention his relationship with you had nothing to do with his past bad habits, that if anything, it was keeping him on the straight and narrow. How can you be certain those same bad habits won’t interfere in your professional duty? I think what the world wants to know is, why take the chance, or even risk it?”
