Time Bomb

by Penelope Wright

  She sets down the hairbrush. “And yet you disturbed me anyway.” She swivels her chair around. “Why are you here?”

  I shrug. “Dad told me to come.”

  “Ah, I see. Can’t even be friendly without Daddy’s say-so.”

  “No, it’s not that,” I say, holding up my hands reflexively in front of me but quickly dropping them to my sides in defeat. Because maybe it is that. But I try again anyway. “How are you doing today? May I sit and visit?”

  Sarah rolls her eyes in the direction of her sitting area. “I’ve been meaning to have a word with you.” She flicks her hand toward the chairs. “Go ahead and wait there while I get dressed.”

  Well, that doesn’t sound promising. But I go ahead and seat myself where she tells me and she disappears into the recesses of her and Dad’s chambers, where I assume she’s taken over most of the bathroom and closet space.

  No one seemed surprised when Dad came back with her after a trip to the Insignia towers, except maybe me. Dad had girlfriends here and there, but he’d never moved one into our quarters in Columbia and called her his wife. And everybody just acted like it was totally normal. Tower commanders sent gifts. Their wives – who were all twice her age – commed Sarah with advice and gossip, but Sarah was frosty and the calls petered out.

  I tried too. Sarah’s only thirteen years older than me, so we should have been able to find common ground. But I seem to irritate her more than anyone else. She’s been here almost three months. I would have given her the boot after three days, but Dad doesn’t seem sick of her. It’s like he doesn’t even notice how she acts toward other people.

  After a few minutes, she glides back into the room and settles herself on the chair opposite me. I stare. I can’t help myself. A few years after The Collapse, when most women stopped being able to have babies, they harvested the eggs of the few fertile women left and started the litter cycle. Most of us look a lot alike. Dark brown hair, light brown eyes. Back in the past, our look was called Mexican. Mexico was a country, I guess. Every once in a while, though, someone will pop out of a litter cycle looking like Sarah. Dad says it’s called Nordic, but I’ve never come across a country called Nord in any of the stuff I’ve read about the past. I assume they must have had blonde hair and blue eyes and long arms and legs. And if Sarah’s any indication, they were also spiteful and mean.

  She’s wearing a black wrap-around dress that shows off her legs. Her feet are stuffed into completely impractical silver stiletto heels that are a little too small for her. Her toes poke out past where the shoe ends, but they still look great on her.

  “So, uh…how are you?” I ask lamely.

  She crosses her legs and holds a hand in the air, palm out. “I didn’t invite you in to chitchat. I’m not trying to be your friend, Rosie. I just have one thing to say to you. Keep your sticky fingers off my things. This is not a community property family. Just because I’m married to your father, that doesn’t make my belongings yours.”

  I jerk back. “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me.” She twists her foot in a circle. “I had seven sanitary napkins at the end of my last period, and now I have five.”

  “And you’re accusing me of taking them?”

  “I don’t think they spread their little wings and flew out of my toiletry kit.”

  I fold my arms across my chest defensively. “I’ve never had a period. Even if I had, though, I wouldn’t take your stuff. I’m not a thief.”

  “Oh really?” Sarah raises one eyebrow, another thing that her face does perfectly. “That’s not what I’ve overheard you and your father discussing. It seems to me you’re always sneaking around with a bag of stolen goods and a pile of sins to confess. He’s quite lenient with you. In any other tower, your behavior would have you thrown off the roof.”

  Has she seen me going into Dad’s office with my shield sack? Does she know what I’ve really been doing? I can’t feed her any information that’s off-limits, but I also can’t just let her statement lie there without responding. “You’ve been eavesdropping on me and my father?”

  Sarah lowers her lashes and peers at me coyly, like she’s ‘got’ me.

  I lean forward. “In any other tower, spying on David Columbia’s private conversations would have you thrown off the roof.”

  Sarah uncrosses her legs and balls her fists at her sides. “Ungrateful little thief.”

  I’m shouting now. “I didn’t steal anything from you! You probably miscounted. Or you made it up, just to have a reason to talk about getting your period.” I stand up. “Congratulations. I’m happy your uterus works. Next time you want to brag about it, just say so. You don’t need to accuse me of a crime first to give you a reason.”

  She jabs her finger at me and shouts. “You took them. I know you did, and I demand you give them back.”

  A bark of unexpected laughter pops out of me. “If you honestly believe I took them and used them for myself and now you’re asking for them back, I gotta say, that’s super gross.” I get up and walk toward the exit door. I don’t need to put up with this.

  “You’re a thief and a liar!” she screeches at my back. “You took my sanitary napkins and you used my lip gloss too! I always line the wand up so that the top says Max and the bottom says Factor and when I went to put it on, it was twisted the wrong way. You’re stealing from me and your father just lets you do whatever you want, but I won’t stand for it, do you hear me?”

  I turn around. “People on the twentieth floor can probably hear you, Sarah. You’re embarrassing yourself and our family. Please stop.”

  Sarah stands up, teetering on her too-small shoes and glaring at me. “You’re the embarrassment. Your father can barely show his face to the other commanders after that last stunt you pulled. Where did you think you were you going to go, anyway? None of the other towers would have taken you, showing up in a stolen helicopter. You’re an idiot. A selfish little brat who can’t stand it when something doesn’t go your way.”

  The helicopter? Not this again. Sarah misinterprets my expression of horror for shame, and she digs in deeper. “Your father can’t get you out of every little bit of trouble you get yourself into. This time, the fact that you’re David Columbia’s daughter makes it even worse. People don’t want a commander-in-chief who can’t control his own child. They’re worried about me, back in Insignia. They’ve heard whispers of dissent. If people mutiny…if there’s a coup…you and your atrocious behavior will be a giant reason why.”

  Mutiny is the most dangerous word in Columbia Tower and I can’t let her spit that out with no repercussions. I rush back over and reach up to shake my finger in her face. She’s at least eight inches taller than me in her pointy shoes, but I’m not scared of her. “If people in Insignia mutiny,” I say, “it won’t be because of me. It’ll be because no one in your home tower can control themselves. My dad was only there in the first place to quell a riot.”

  A smile coils across Sarah’s face. “George and Gregor were fighting over me and it got out of hand. It’s not my fault, but it did afford me an introduction to your father.”

  I gasp and my hand flies to my mouth. “Letter-mates? Fighting over you?” My lips curl back in revulsion. “And you seem so proud of yourself.”

  Sarah shrugs. “It doesn’t matter to me. I wasn’t interested in either of them. Your father came into our building and smashed the riot with brutal efficiency. It was quite attractive.”

  “And then you came home with him.”

  “He found me quite attractive too.”

  “Sarah, you are a horrid person. My father will figure that out soon enough, and you’ll be right back to your crappy little tower. Maybe next time you cause a riot, no one will come to snuff it out because we don’t need Insignia. They’re just four hundred hungry mouths on a few worthless floors. You’ll all be sent to the barges, and we’ll leave your tower to rust.”

  “Your father will never send me away once I’m carrying his child.”


  I don’t understand what she’s saying. I’m his child. What is she talking about? “You’re not that much bigger than me. I’d like to see you try,” I snarl.

  She laughs, a tinkling peal incongruous with her words. “I’m not talking about you, you idiot. I’m talking about getting pregnant and growing a baby that’s David’s blood. You’re just some brown-haired runt he picked out of the litter by random chance. Your father deserves to have a child of his own, one he made himself.”

  She’s out of her mind. “No one’s had a baby in over fifty years,” I say.

  “It has to happen sometime,” she trills. “Radiation levels are down. I’ve had four periods in a row. I’m the most beautiful, healthy woman in all the United Towers. Once I’m pregnant, your father will do anything I want.”

  “But we have rules, Sarah. Rules even my father has to obey. He’s only allowed one child. And I might have come out of a litter cycle, but he loves me more than anything. He would never renounce me or cast me out.”

  “Your father is the president. He can do whatever he wants.”

  “Maybe he could, but he won’t. He’s a good leader. He doesn’t bend or break the rules to benefit himself.”

  “Then I’ll just wait until you come of age. That’s only two years from now. At that point, whether you stay in this tower or not, you’ll be an adult and David can have another child. A child of his own blood, who will grow into a leader like him and your grandmother before him. A child who looks just like him, who he’ll love so much more. You’ll fall out of favor. At best, you’ll be a servant in my home.”

  I stare at her in shock. In the course of a few minutes, she’s gone from accusing me of stealing her sanitary napkins and lip gloss to telling me she’s going to extinguish my father’s love for me. What a psycho. “You might have your period now, but if we get a solar flare on the wrong day, all the Gila screens in the world won’t help you. You better hope that doesn’t happen before I turn eighteen.”

  Lightning fast, Sarah’s hand darts out and grasps a chunk of my hair. She pulls and twists until my neck is nearly backward and I’m staring up at her. “Don’t threaten me, you little runt. I may be beautiful, but I’m still from Insignia. I know how to fight dirty.”

  If only my father could walk into this scene unannounced. But of course the regular alarm goes off any time someone from the family walks through the door, so when it peals in their sitting room, Sarah immediately releases me, straightens up, and adjusts her skirt. She whips out her lip gloss and reapplies it, then thrusts the wand back in and twists the cap shut methodically. She holds it out on display. “Max. Factor,” she says, then cracks a fiendish smile, showing all her shiny, perfect teeth.

  Dad walks into the room. “So nice to see the Columbia women bonding at last,” he says, crossing to Sarah and extending his hand to her.

  She rubs her palm surreptitiously against the couch and a clump of my dark brown hair mixes into the plush fibers. She takes his hand, and he bends to kiss it. Her eyes gleam with triumph, and I see myself out.

  Chapter Three

  March 21, 2074

  Over the next week, I volunteer for a double shift every day. Eight hours of inspections, an hour off for a meal and a rest period, then another eight hours of inventory control. I’m not the fastest inspector in Columbia Tower, but I can diagnose a broken weld as well as the next person. I shine in inventory. I’m fast and efficient. I usually pull a few doubles a month. As David Columbia’s daughter, it’s my duty to set an example, but right now, I have to admit to myself that I’m really avoiding my quarters – and Sarah.

  But roaming the tower is no salvation, either. I feel like everyone is giving me strange looks. Knowing, questioning, angry, fearful. The look on the face depends on the person, but everyone seems to have some special expression reserved just for me. I do my best to ignore them all. But like Dad says, I journal everything. Our time travel program is a closely-guarded secret, so it’s not like I can just say, “Oh, those things you think I did, they haven’t happened yet – you know how it goes.” Because they don’t. No one knows how it goes but me and Dad.

  I can’t help but stew, though, about everything. Sarah accuses me of stealing her stuff? She probably miscounted. That or an inventory crew analyzed her needs, decided she had too many, and reclaimed the resource. She may think being David Columbia’s wife makes her immune to things like that, but it doesn’t. Yeah, she gets more credits to spend on flotsam so she has cuter shoes and better clothes, but she doesn’t get to stockpile resources. No one does.

  But her accusation hits a raw spot. In a way she’s right. I am a thief. But only because I have to be. And it’s only in the past, with the zeds. Lifting their wallets so I can buy the items we need or breaking into their businesses to steal the things no amount of money can buy…. I tell myself it doesn’t matter. They’re all dead anyway. I try not to look at any of them or interact in any fashion. I keep to myself in the past. I go in, do the job, and get out. I’m good at it. In the past, I steal because I have to, to save the real people in the present. I might hate Sarah, but she’s a living human being, and I would never steal from her.

  I’m on the forty-third floor helping Dental inventory their fluoride tablets when Dad comms and orders me up to his office. I cross my fingers and hope for another mission. No one will miss me, and maybe when I get back, this helicopter thing will have blown over. Dad might even be sending me back to fill in the gaps in my timeline now.

  At the seventieth floor stairwell, I have to pass through a layer of security to go any higher. They all know me, but I still have to type the new daily passcode into a keypad before I’m allowed to climb the last five flights of stairs.

  I wonder again about that trip that I know is coming sometime in the future, when I’ll come back to fill in the times that I was gone traveling. Will it happen soon? Or will Dad send me decades from now? I picture myself as a fifty-year-old, doddering around, completing my lessons and trying to pass myself off as myself. I’m snickering as I walk into Dad’s office. It’s the first time I’ve laughed in a week.

  “Something funny?” he asks.

  “Time travel humor. I just told myself a joke from the future. You’ll get it someday.”

  Dad rolls his eyes. “Ha ha.”

  I sink into the high-backed chair that faces his desk and we just stare at each other for a minute. Usually when he calls me to his office, he’s all business, but right now, he’s just looking at me, like he’s trying to memorize my face. I’ve had a question burning inside me all week, and I didn’t plan to ask it – ever – but it just pops out almost like I have no control over it. “Do you ever wish you could have a child of your own?”

  Dad’s eyes widen and his nostrils flare. “A child of my own?”

  “You know. One that’s really yours.”

  Dad leans back in his chair, and he squints his eyes, studying me for several moments before he speaks. “I was there the day you were born. I lifted you out of the incubator myself. I kissed your toes. I named you after my mother. You are really mine.”

  I blink furiously, a strange prickling sensation in my eyes. My recent trip to the past might have left me with an unexpected reservoir of tears. We’re not usually hydrated enough to cry, and I’m determined not to let these spill. “But what if you could have a baby that was biologically related to you? Wouldn’t you want to do that?”

  Dad folds his hands on top of his desk. “I can have a baby that’s biologically mine any time I want.”

  “Dad. No one’s had a baby the old way in forty years.”

  “I’m a time traveler, Rosie. The normal rules don’t apply to me. I could travel back to any point in time that I desired, and have a baby ‘the old way,’ as you say. Once it was born, I could stick it in my shield sack, come home with it, and no one would be the wiser, except a zed from the past, who would probably miss it very much.”

  My mouth has dropped open while he’s speaking.


  “Have you noticed a younger brother or sister living in our quarters?”

  I shake my head. “No.”

  He smiles. “That’s because I have no desire for another child. No one could shine brighter in my heart than you, Rosie, and it would be a disservice to another child to even try.”

  A tear leaks out of the corner of my eye and I wipe it away. “It’s just,” I choke out, “some people think that a baby that’s your own blood would be more special to you than a baby you adopt.”

  Dad purses his lips and breathes deeply through his nose. He glances rapidly around his office, like he’s back in training and has to memorize the contents of the room. “You know how much I loved your grandmother,” he says.

  I nod. “You named me after her.” Rosarita Columbia, my grandma, founded our world. She had the foresight to see The Collapse coming, and she prepared for it. Everyone who’s alive now has her to thank for it. She was a great woman. A legend. But I never got to meet her. They lost her just before my litter cycle began. I’m sure that’s why Dad decided to choose a baby, to fill the void in his heart that she left behind when she vanished.

  Dad leans back in his chair, folds his arms across his chest, and contemplates the drop-ceiling tiles for a moment, but it doesn’t take him long before he seems to come to some sort of decision. He straightens up in his chair and gazes at me levelly. “Grandma adopted me.”

  My eyes pop wide open. “What? Really?”

  “Yes. She rescued me from The Collapse when I was two days old. I don’t know who my biological mother was. Your grandmother raised me as her own, and that makes me her own. Just like you are my own. You don’t have to have my blood type to be my child, any more than I needed Grandma’s blood to be her son.”

  “Why didn’t you ever tell me that before? Why keep it a secret?”