Red, White, and the Blues

by Walker, Rysa

  It’s one of just a handful of stable points that we need to set inside a building, and we need to follow the guided tour in order to get to the location. “Fine. Let’s go.”

  Of course, the tour guide is late, so the two of us wander around for ten minutes, pretending that we’re looking at memorabilia from Buckingham Palace, although anything that’s actually interesting is a replica, not the real thing. And then we spend fifteen minutes following the guide through as he explains the various items in the collection. When the tour moves up to the second floor, however, we both hang back to examine paste mock-ups of the crown jewels and wait for our moment to duck into the utility closet.

  The door to that closet is, unfortunately, locked. Rich shoves against it with his shoulder, and for a second, I think the lock might give. It doesn’t, though, and if he pushes harder, he’s going to attract attention. That may also be true if we don’t rejoin the group soon, so I pull the lethal little pen out of my purse. “Step back.”

  I point the beam at the lock inside the keyhole, trying not to think about the last time I used the device. My hand shakes. For a moment, the key plate glows red and I smell burning wood. When I cut off the beam, Rich pushes again. I hear a tiny clink inside the workings of the door, and then it swings open.

  We step inside and quickly set a few stable points near the center of the room and two more at the doorway. I’m about to stash the key back into my blouse when a security guard’s head pops up inside the stairwell.

  “Get out of there! That’s a restricted area!” he says. I expect to hear a New York accent, but apparently even the security guards in the pavilion are British nationals. “It’s right there on the sign, miss.”

  “Sorry!” I hold up the medallion and give him an apologetic smile. “I was rubbing my St. Eligius medal for luck when it slipped off the chain and under the door. It was my great-grandmother’s. And the door was unlocked so I just ducked in and grabbed it.”

  “That’s no excuse. You should have called someone for help. Can’t go around ignoring posted warning signs.”

  “I’ve told her to just keep the blasted thing in her pocket.” Richard leans forward and says to the guy in a confidential whisper, “Rubbing the medallion is a nervous tic, I’m afraid. The poor dear can’t handle crowds. That’s why we put a bit of distance between ourselves and the rest of the group. I’ll keep a closer eye on her, Officer, and make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

  Rich reaches behind us to pull the door shut, and the guard waves us on. While that’s a very good thing, Rich’s sexist comment ticks me off, and I have to resist the urge to kick his shin once we’re out of the guard’s sight. But then I realize he’s cradling his right hand against his side. I start to ask why, until I remember the glowing metal of the key plate. The knob itself didn’t glow, but it was all one piece, so the knob almost certainly absorbed a good deal of the heat.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yes,” he says. “Hurts like hell, but maybe it won’t blister if I get something cool against it. Let’s just go.”

  We head out of the building. He finds a bench, while I locate a food vendor and purchase two ice-cold bottles of soda. I glance around and finally spot him in the garden area near the center of the strip. When I sit down next to him, I take his hand and flip it over to examine the burn.

  He pulls his hand back quickly, almost as if my touch is burning him. “It’s not bad, okay? Just give me the soda.”

  I do, and slide over to give him some space. After a moment, he shakes his head.

  “Sorry,” he says. “I’m a wimp about injuries. And . . . I’m also sorry for the comment to the guard.”

  “What comment?” I ask.

  He snorts. “Yeah, right. I caught your expression. You were pissed.”

  “Okay, sort of. But I didn’t really have a right to be. You were following my lead, and I was playing the helpless little lady. You got us out of there without additional drama, so . . .”

  Now I’m wondering why it annoyed me in the first place. We were both doing exactly what they teach us at CHRONOS: do not question the prejudices of the era, and use them to help you if necessary. We don’t go into the field to change hearts and minds, but simply to learn. I often resort to the scatterbrained-woman act, because it works well when you’re young, petite, and yes, blond. I always defer to Saul in the field when we travel as a couple, and he’s said things that were more dismissive than that on many occasions. In fact, he’s said things that were more dismissive even when we weren’t in the field. If Saul had made that comment, I wouldn’t have thought twice about it.

  The only difference is that it was Richard this time. I can’t remember him ever treating me as anything other than an equal. But I think the main thing that triggered that response was knowing Richard is trying to get up the nerve to talk to me about Saul. Something in his eyes says I’ve disappointed him, and it’s not just his usual dislike for my life partner. It’s more like he’s questioning my intelligence or at least my rationality right now, and that stings double at a moment when I’m questioning them, too. I’m suddenly a lot less eager for him to just spill whatever is bothering him than I was before we went into the British Pavilion.

  “If you’re really okay,” I tell him, “we should probably get a move on. Set the rest of the stable points and then head back to the apartment.”

  He doesn’t respond, so I look over at him. When I catch his eye, I get the sense that he somehow followed my entire train of thought, convoluted as it may have been. He gives me a resigned smile, although I think there’s a hint of relief there, too. Maybe he’s not all that eager to discuss the issue of Saul, either.

  For the next hour, we set observation points, mostly in spots where we know or at least expect something will happen, both in this timeline and the last, since that’s the only way we’ll be able to tell we’ve undone any given element that combined to switch the timeline. We set points at the Court of Peace, which is the site of both the attempt on the Japanese ambassador’s life and the bombing, at least in the current reality. We set points at Flushing Gate and at other locations near the spot where the bomb was taken in an effort to minimize loss of life in our own timeline. We set them, as well, at various points that were on the list Madi brought back, where Einstein spoke or visited on the several occasions he was at the Fair. And then we focus on locations where we can hunt for CHRONOS keys in the crowd. I thought it would be difficult to see during the day. Given that I see the key as a pale orange, I have a tough time picking it out during the daylight hours. Tyson, however, sees the light as purple, and says it’s pretty easy for him to spot in daylight, even at a distance.

  We enter the Perisphere, a giant orb with a circumference of more than six hundred feet, via the world’s longest escalator, according to the guide at the base of the exhibit. The entrance is about eight stories off the ground, so we set a few points on the way up. You can’t get down once you’re on the platform, so we take seats on the “magic carpet,” which is basically a moving sidewalk that circles a diorama of Democracity, the city of the future. One nice thing about being inside the darkened sphere is that I don’t even have to wonder whether we’re being watched by observers, at least not ones who are physically present. If anyone else had a CHRONOS key in here, we’d see it.

  The last official point on our list is the General Motors building, with its Futurama exhibit. Unfortunately, there are hundreds of people in the line. We duck into a small alcove on the side of the building, and Rich scans forward to see when the line is manageable.

  “Looks like it’s going to be right before closing time,” he says, and we blink forward. It’s still a fifteen-minute wait.

  “Are we sure this is worth it?” I ask.

  Rich shrugs. “Alex saw several clear bubbles here and at the Perisphere. Not today. On the date toward the end of May. But maybe someone on Team Viper is just really into dioramas?”

  Futurama turns out to be more elaborat
e than the model in the Perisphere, but it’s still another vision of the city of the 1960s. And, much like the rest of the Fair, the exhibit is an ode to the automobile, with an elaborate highway system twisting and winding through the miniature skyscrapers, but at least the tiny cars don’t spew toxic smoke. The whole thing is kind of hypnotic, though, so I lean back into the cushioned seat and listen to the music as we slowly spin toward the exit. It would be nice to just stay here for a few more revolutions, given that my sleep last night was far from peaceful. Rich doesn’t look like he slept well, either.

  The closer we get to the end, the larger the buildings grow. And then we’re outside, looking at real versions of the view we saw in the diorama. A smiling girl hands both of us a small blue-and-white button. Richard flips his over and cracks up. I glance down to read the words—I HAVE SEEN THE FUTURE—and then I’m laughing, too. The girl looks at us like we’re crazy as we leave, but it’s been a while since we’ve shared a laugh. It feels good.

  We try to get some stable points on the ramp down, just as we had with the Perisphere. But none of them are really good shots of the Fair as a whole. Rich says we need something higher and starts scanning the skyline. The tallest structure aside from the Trylon stands outside the Soviet Pavilion, where a massive statue of a man stands at the apex of a tall column. He holds a red star high above his head. That’s not something we can go to the top of, however, any more than the Trylon. After a moment, I spot the flag at the top of something that looks, from this distance, a bit like a giant flower shedding its petals.

  “The Parachute Jump,” Rich says. “That should work.”

  As we get closer, we see that it’s not simply the Parachute Jump, but the Life Savers Parachute Jump, with dozens of giant lights fashioned to look like Life Savers candies attached to the tower.

  That’s another difference between this fair and the Expo. There were a few buildings sponsored by businesses back in 1893, but it’s become the norm now. Almost every exhibit that isn’t attached to a country or a state has a commercial sponsor. General Motors’ Futurama, Macy’s Toyland, the Beech-Nut circus, the Westinghouse Time Capsule, and so on, with most of the buildings seeming to be little more than a commercial. This place feels more like one of those shopping malls that start popping up in a few decades than a real World’s Fair.

  Of course, it’s also entirely possible that I’m just in a rotten mood and not in the state of mind to enjoy it. Most of my time at the 1893 Expo was with Saul. We usually spent part of the day posing as a tourist couple taking in the sights, and then we’d head off on our own for a few hours to do individual research before meeting back up at the end of the day.

  “You okay?” Richard asks.

  “Yes.” I nod toward the long queue of people at the ticket booth. “I just don’t want to stand in that line.”

  “Easy fix for that.”

  We duck between two buildings in the nearby Cuban Village and scroll back to find a time when the line is minimal so that we can simply buy a ticket and get on board. It’s just after dusk when we emerge, and I guess most people are off getting dinner. Richard whispers something to the man running the ride and slips him some cash. The guy gives him a smile and a thumbs-up, then gives me a leering wink as we climb into one of the two-person chutes.

  “What was that about?” I ask, as we begin our ascent.

  “I asked him to leave us at the top for a few minutes. I noticed that they were dropping people almost as soon as their chutes reached the top, and I’m not sure we’ll be able to get the observation points set that quickly. A stable point set when we’re in motion would result in a weird view for whoever scans it later.”

  Well, that explains the guy’s wink. He’s assuming Rich has very different reasons for wanting to keep me at the top. As we rise, the Fair below us grows smaller until it’s much like the diorama we saw in the Perisphere.

  “Have you been on this type of ride before?” I ask.

  “No.”

  “I suspect I’m going to prefer the Ferris wheel,” I say, watching as one of the other parachutes reaches the top and then drops abruptly to the ground. “The wheel is a pretty smooth ride, aside from that little dip your stomach takes when you reach the top and head downward. This seems a bit jerky. Are you nervous?”

  “No. Are you?”

  “A little.”

  “I’m surprised,” he says. “You seem to like taking chances.”

  I can tell from his tone that we’re no longer talking about amusement-park rides. “Just spit it out, Rich. Whatever the hell is eating you, just tell me.”

  “Well, first, you agree to the buddy system, and then you pop out a half hour later. And yes, I know that Madi did, too. I knocked. No answer. No one in either bed.”

  “That’s really not any of your business,” I say as the chute comes to a stop at the top of the tower.

  “Normally, I’d say you were right. Despite thirteen years of friendship, that side of your life is usually none of my business. Right now, however, we’re a team. And . . . ah, fuck it. That’s not the reason I was coming to talk to you last night. The team decided on the buddy system, and the team decided that we would wait until after this was all over to give you information that I wanted to give you now. And I agreed to that, but then I’m lying there in bed, and it occurs to me that he lied to you. Saul lied to you about Coughlin.”

  “You can’t know that.” I pull out my key to set the observation point, then tuck it back into my blouse. “You haven’t even spoken to him.”

  “I don’t have to speak to him. He told you that he was preempting one of their moves with Coughlin. But he couldn’t have preempted anything. He found out about the timeline shift when we did, when everything around us changed. And we know that converting Coughlin wasn’t one of their moves. So I don’t know why he lied, but he lied. I knew you were going to jump out on your own, because you said, ‘Fine, then.’ And you gave the same little smile you always give when you agree to something you have no intention of doing.”

  “So you broke into my bedroom last night to let me know that I have a tell?”

  “No. I opened the unlocked door, after knocking, because I think Saul is dangerous. And I was worried about you. The fact that Madi wasn’t there was actually fortunate, because I was able to get proof. And also unfortunate, because after viewing that proof, even Clio’s little sleeping pill wasn’t enough to give me a decent night’s sleep.”

  “Madi hadn’t even met Saul until this morning. What kind of proof could she have?”

  “Your diary. An entry you make a few months from now. Or at least that you made in the other timeline.” His left hand is gripping the metal bar on the side so tightly that it looks like his knuckles might cut through his skin. “Your cheek was swollen,” he says. “Split from where he’d hit you. There was a red mark around your throat where he’d ripped off your necklace. You said you were going to CHRONOS med. That you were going to talk to Angelo about it. And that you’d sent me a message to let me know what was going on.”

  “I don’t believe you!” The words come out automatically, even though my mind is torn. The truth is I don’t want to believe him, but I know deep down that the possibility is there.

  “Katherine, I have never lied to you.”

  “Bullshit. You lie to me every day.”

  I can’t meet his eyes, so I just stare down at the blanket of neon below us. Why doesn’t the guy flip the switch already? How much money did Richard give him to keep us up here?

  And, more to the point, why the hell did I call Rich a liar? My relationship with Saul is almost certainly over. Do I really want to alienate my best friend, too? I know that Saul is lying to me about being faithful. I know that he has a hair-trigger temper, and he’s gripped my arm hard enough to leave a bruise on more than one occasion.

  Rich doesn’t respond for a few seconds, and then he says, “Are we really going to do this now? With everything else going on?”

  At th
at instant, the parachute drops, and my stomach along with it. We plunge, the lights of the midway blurring before us, and then jerk to a sudden stop at the bottom. As soon as they unbuckle the restraint, I stumble from the platform.

  “Sorry, buddy,” I hear the guy say as I push my way through the small crowd at the exit. “Looks like that didn’t go so well.”

  Richard calls out my name, but my sights are set on the alleyway where we blinked forward earlier. He catches up to me before I get there, though, both because his legs are longer and because women’s shoes truly suck.

  “Katherine, we have to talk this out. We can either do it here, where no one knows us, or back at the apartment, where we’ll have a much more curious audience. I’ve got a little over half an hour before I’m supposed to meet Tyson at Café Society. Let’s just go somewhere and talk. Please?”

  I stop, partly because I know he’s right and partly because tears are now clouding my eyes to the point where I can’t see. He leads me toward a bar called Sloppy Joe’s in the Cuban Village. It’s crowded, but he does his trick with the folded bills again, and a small table near the back magically becomes available.

  The waitress takes our drink order. Both of us stare down at the table for a bit, and then Rich says, “You may not believe this, but I really hoped that they were wrong about Saul.”

  “They who?”

  “Madi told Tyson about the video in your diary when she told him about the Cyrists. They think you know more than you’re letting on about Saul’s involvement in that, by the way. But to the main point, I hoped they were wrong because I didn’t want you to have to go through this. I don’t like Saul. I’ve never liked Saul. I don’t trust him one bit. And yes, I always hoped you’d decide he wasn’t what you wanted. But . . . I didn’t want it to be like this. And especially not when you and I both need to be focused on something else.”

  The waitress slides two rum and Cokes in front of us. I take a long sip, trying to decide how much I want to tell him right now. He’s right; this probably isn’t the time for all of this. “Where did you find my diary?”