Red, White, and the Blues

by Walker, Rysa

  “Thanks.” I smile, but the pep talk that Jack gave me a few hours ago did a lot more to calm my nerves. I dropped in to update him and get his vote on how to proceed. Given that we were all in accord, not just in New York 1939, but also in Bethesda 2136, his one vote was indeed a technicality. But it was still important to get that vote, despite Kiernan’s skepticism. Jack had simply taken one look at my face, correctly gauged my level of trepidation, and scooped me into his arms.

  “Whatever happens today,” he told me, “we will wake up tomorrow and do whatever we can do to fix this world. Even if that timer ends and the game is over with no time shift, we will keep working every day to make whatever situation we land in a better one. Even if I’m stuck here in 1966. In the end, that’s all we can do. It’s all anyone can do.”

  It’s not a short and catchy positive affirmation like Clio’s you can do this, but it calmed my nerves. It reminded me that even if perfect is unattainable, better is always possible.

  I pull out the key and check the stable point in Bethesda again. The wall screen now displays three check marks.

  Court of Peace bombing prevented

  Tomonaga mugging averted

  No attack on ambassador

  “Guess you’re up next,” Clio says with a worried smile.

  The living room is now empty aside from Kiernan. “You look like that lead singer of the Andrews Sisters,” he says. “Although, I doubt she’d be wearing a man’s watch.”

  I was a bit hesitant to trade weapons with Richard. He wasn’t too keen on it himself. Both Katherine and Tyson pointed out that he’d be more likely to need something with actual firepower, though. Of the four assignments, mine is the only one that relies solely on persuasion. Which is part of the reason that I’m nervous.

  “This is completely out of my comfort zone,” I say, tugging down the sleeve of my sweater to cover the watch. “I’m not a very good actor.”

  “It’s not really acting, though,” Clio says. “I mean, you’re a time traveler telling him the truth.”

  “Parts of the truth. I’m glossing over some pretty important stuff.”

  “True,” Kiernan says. “But it’s for the greater good.”

  “Can we really say that for certain, though? I mean, in terms of lives lost? It just seems murky to me. I know that far more people died when we dropped the bombs on Japan than in the nuclear exchange between the US and the Western Alliance, but then there are the theories saying the overall loss of life would have been greater if the US hadn’t ended the war that way. Maybe the Anomalies Machine could do that sort of calculus, but there are so many variables . . .”

  “You’re comparing the wrong thing,” Kiernan says. “This isn’t just about whether, or when, the US uses that god-awful weapon. It’s about whether we enter the war at all. Focus on the issue that hits home for Einstein. How many more people would have died in the Holocaust if Hitler had won? That is the argument that will sway him. That’s what got the man to sign the letter in the first place. He probably had a better idea than most how dangerous nuclear weapons could be, and he knew there was only a possibility that Hitler was on his way to getting them. Einstein believed a world with those weapons would be better than a world where Hitler went unchecked. Show him the photos that were taken when Allied troops liberated the concentration camps. Tell him Hitler takes the rest of Europe if the US doesn’t enter the war. If you give him that information—all of which is true, I might add—I’m pretty sure that when Szilard shows up at his door later this summer, he’ll agree to sign that letter.”

  ∞

  NEW YORK, NEW YORK

  MAY 9, 1939

  The Independent World’s Fair Line was built for the New York World’s Fair and then promptly disassembled when the Fair closed in the fall of 1940. It wasn’t the only subway line serving the fairgrounds, but according to the information in my file, it handled around seven million overflow riders in the 1939 season alone.

  It feels like there are roughly that many in the terminal this morning, and finding a moment when I could speak with Einstein alone isn’t easy, partly because he’s traveling with Thomas Mann. The one time they separate is when Einstein makes a quick trip to the restroom before they head out of the station and onto the fairgrounds. And so I wait just outside the restroom door. I watched this stable point numerous times this morning to get the sequence right. There is a tiny window of opportunity, barely even a second, where I should be able to grab his arm and get his attention before he steps back into the throng of people heading off for a day at the Fair.

  I center the CHRONOS key in my palm and wait.

  The man with the straw hat exits the men’s room. Next, is the woman with a baby carriage, who pushes past him on the right, and then two young boys hurry out toward their mother, who is waiting at the end of the corridor. While I could tell through the key that they were excited about something, without the audio, I’d just assumed they were eager to get to the Amusement Zone. But they’re telling their mother that they saw Albert Einstein at the urinal.

  She laughs, shaking her head. “You saw an old man with wild hair, that’s all. Let’s go.” The kids are still arguing with her as they head off.

  My focus is on them for a second too long, and I very nearly miss my chance. I have to take a few steps forward and call out his name as I tap his shoulder. “Professor Einstein?”

  He turns back with the patient smile of a man who is accustomed to and perhaps a bit weary of his fame.

  “I will be back in exactly thirty-four seconds,” I tell him. “You need to move to the side, though.”

  He frowns, and I’m sure he’s thinking he will no longer be here in thirty-four seconds. Then I blink out, just before a cluster of three teens leaves the men’s room and he has to press against the wall to let them pass. He’s still against the wall when I pop back in, but he’s definitely staring at the stable point.

  “How did you do that? What is that device?” His accent is heavy, but much easier to understand in person than it was in the videos I watched this morning.

  I explain that I traveled thirty-four seconds into the future, then wait for a group of women to pass by. One of them turns back, clearly trying to figure out whether the old man is who she thinks he is.

  “I’m from the year 2136,” I say as I pull the tablet out of my handbag. The two images that Alisa used are already on the screen. “These are pictures that will be taken of you in the future. I desperately need to talk to you, but—” Another man exits the restroom, nearly bumping into Einstein, whose eyes are now pinned on the tablet I’m holding.

  “But we cannot talk here,” he says, moving toward the terminal. “You’re right. There’s a café over at the Jewish—”

  “No! You can’t go there today. We need to get you back on the train. Tell Dr. Mann that you’re ill. Or some other excuse that he’ll believe. You could be in danger, but that’s only part of what’s at stake. Please . . .”

  He looks at the tablet again, then back at the medallion. “Okay. Wait here.”

  I step back against the wall, and Einstein pushes through the crowd toward a tall, thin man standing next to a lamppost. He has salt-and-pepper hair and wears a light-gray suit. The man looks toward me for a moment after Einstein speaks to him, and his lips flatten in disapproval. But he nods, patting his friend on the back, and heads toward the exit.

  Einstein shuffles back toward me, then nods in the direction of the turnstiles. We drop two nickels into the slot, which is apparently double the usual fare to help cover the expense of building a temporary subway line to support the Fair. A train is pulling away just as we enter the platform, so we find a spot on a nearby bench.

  “This is a marvelous little machine,” he says, examining the tablet. “Is it only for the photographs?”

  I shake my head and tap a link to the video of him speaking on opening day at the Fair a few days back.

  “Ah, yes. Opening day was very bad. It was so rainy, and th
ey lost power right in the middle of our demonstration. Margot was disappointed.”

  “That’s your stepdaughter, right?”

  “Yes. She gave me the slippers in your photograph. For my birthday, a few months ago, but I’m quite certain I have not yet worn them outside the house. And why am I sticking out my tongue in the other picture?”

  “Because it was your birthday and you were tired of photographers asking you to smile. That image is in the apartment of my friend who is a temporal physicist.”

  “Is he the one who developed your time-travel pendant?”

  I nod. “Along with a geneticist. The medallion is keyed to my DNA.”

  He frowns. “DNA?”

  “Di . . . something nucleic acid. My genetic code. Maybe that’s not a thing yet? Anyway, only a few people can use them. Otherwise, you’d have many more situations like the one we’re facing now.”

  The roar of the station gradually subsides to a between-trains lull, as I proceed to make my case. In the end, I tell him pretty much everything, although I couch it in vague terms, without dates and details. Maybe it’s because I’ve seen his face so many times, or because I know of his later work against nuclear weapons, but I trust him to make the right decision.

  One train arrives, unloading a stream of passengers who flow past us toward the exit. I offer to ride with him, but he says he can wait for the next train, which I’m pretty sure means I haven’t yet convinced him. He’s still weighing the option to ignore my warning and head off to listen to his friend’s speech.

  “There are other time travelers,” I tell him, “who may try to contact you. They will make this out to be a simple case of good versus evil, but the truth is far more complex. And they have ulterior motives. They want to ensure not only that we avoid war with Japan, but that we do not engage in the war against Hitler.”

  I pull up the images from the concentration camps that Kiernan suggested, knowing that they are as manipulative as the mushroom clouds Alisa used. “If we do not enter the war in Europe, Hitler will win. And this country will morph into one run by people in league with the Bund. It will fracture . . . and the weapon I showed you will be used against our own citizens. In the timeline I know, Hitler murdered over six million people, most of them Jews. In the path we’re currently on, he will kill millions more. So it’s not nearly as simple as—”

  Someone behind us cries out, “He’s got a gun!” Without thinking, I pull Einstein off the bench and onto the station floor. I reach into my pocket for my weapon, and then remember that Rich has it.

  Shots ring out as I’m fumbling with the knob on the Timex. Looking through the slats of the bench, I see a tall man in a police uniform, holding a gun and approaching the body of Morgen Campbell. Junior, I guess, although I’m not sure if that’s the correct nomenclature for a clone. A pool of blood begins to spread from beneath his head.

  I don’t realize that the cop is Saul until he flips the body over, grabs Campbell’s medallion, and yanks it over the man’s head. The body vanishes, and a woman cowering against the wall passes out, sliding to the floor.

  Saul looks at me, crouched behind the bench with Einstein, and gives me a little salute. Then he blinks out himself as dozens of people watch. Someone screams. The crowd begins rushing for the exit, and I wonder how this will be explained away by the police. By the papers.

  “Which of those two men is on your side?” Einstein asks, staring at the spot where Saul vanished.

  “Neither of them,” I answer, glad that I don’t have to lie. “As I said, the situation is far from simple. But you only need to focus on one thing. One decision. The remaining chaos is for the rest of us to resolve. And we will.”

  I help him back onto the bench as we hear the rumble of the next train approaching the station. Einstein is silent until the train pulls to a stop in front of us. Then, he squeezes my arm. “I wish you luck, young lady. And wisdom. I think you will need both.”

  He heads toward the open door of the train. I hesitate for a moment, hoping, praying for the gut punch to the stomach that will tell me I’ve succeeded. But all I see is the retreating back of an old man. I get up and hurry toward the train. There has to be something more I can say, something that will convince him.

  Through the window, I see Einstein take a seat. He stares out at me, looking in that moment far older than his sixty years. I break into a run, but the door closes before I reach it, and I watch the train until it is only a tiny speck.

  I pull out the key. I’ll go back and see where the best spot is to intercept myself. Try other tactics, other arguments. Yes, I’ll have a double memory, but it will buy me a second chance.

  And then I remember. I’m in 1939. There’s no way to tell whether the time shift occurred until I’m past the point when it happened. I sink back onto the bench, breathing a sigh of relief.

  A hand clasps my shoulder, and I look up to see someone in a police uniform. For a moment, I think it’s Saul, but this guy is shorter, with a round face. “Are you okay, miss? I think we’ve got a gas leak or somethin’. People are spreadin’ some crazy stories as they leave this part of the station.”

  “I’m fine,” I say. “I’m just . . . I need to get to the ladies’ room.”

  Before he can stop me, I bolt toward the corridor with the restrooms, fling open the door, and find an open stall so that I can jump out. I pull out the key, intending to go straight to Bethesda 2136. They’ll have more complete information on exactly what has changed, and the time shift that’s going to hit me once I’m past the dateline will be less of a jolt that far into the future.

  I pull up the stable point in the library and see Jarvis’s updated list on the wall screen:

  Court of Peace bombing prevented

  Tomonaga mugging prevented

  Attack on ambassador prevented

  Manhattan Project begins on schedule

  December 7—Japan bombs Pearl Harbor

  December 8—US declares war

  TIMELINE RESTORED!!

  My breath whooshes out in relief at those last words, even though I suspect they don’t convey the full picture. I’m curious to get the details, but more than anything else, I want a moment to enjoy the good news. I want to share it with Jack. So I stare at the list for a few seconds longer, but stop short of jumping in. Instead, I move on to the next stable point, 170 years and 350 miles away.

  FROM THE BOOK OF CYRUS (NEW ENGLISH VERSION, 3RD ED) CHAPTER 7:20–21

  20Charity to the weak is a tainted gift that poisons the soul of the giver and the receiver. 21What do you owe your brother? Your best effort for yourself and nothing more.

  ∞30∞

  KATHERINE

  BETHESDA, MARYLAND

  NOVEMBER 20, 2136

  I see the list as I open the library stable point, but it takes a second for the full import of the words to hit me. My flash of nausea and disorientation confirms the last bit—the timeline has definitely flipped. What surprises me most is the first bullet point on the list. Yes, Saul told me he’d prevented the bombing, and yes, I’d hoped he was telling the truth. That he wasn’t so far gone that he would allow innocent people to be killed. But I was mentally preparing to head right back to 1939 and try again, because some part of me wasn’t convinced.

  Of course, the fact that Saul told the truth about this doesn’t change anything. I still should have taken the shot. True, I have no idea what would have happened to me if I’d pushed that button. I think there’s a decent chance that either the dress I’m wearing, the pregnancy pillow, or both are flammable.

  And if I do as I promised and meet Saul in Miami, I can try again. But will my head be in control even then? I don’t know for certain, and my stomach sinks at the thought of being put to the test and failing yet again.

  I turn away from the wall screen, expecting to see Alex inside his nest of displays. But he’s not there. His displays aren’t even on. In fact, the library appears to be empty. The SimMaster countdown is still projected
above the machine, however. One hour, twelve minutes, and two seconds. I half expected it to say GAME OVER, but I guess they haven’t entered our moves yet. Barring some sort of emergency, we agreed earlier that Clio and Thea should hold off until we’re all here, so that Tyson, Rich, and Madi can give full details about each of the three official moves.

  As I step forward, the room flickers. An aftereffect of the time shift, perhaps? But that doesn’t seem to fit. My nausea has dissipated already, and otherwise I’m feeling fine. And the timer now reads one hour, thirteen minutes, and nine seconds. It’s not moving backward, though. It’s like it simply skipped back a minute or so.

  I take another tentative step forward, and the entire room ripples. The countdown is gone. Shards of mirror and wood are everywhere, and black chunks of something that looks like the housing of the SimMaster are ground into the carpet. One of Alex’s computers has been moved to the small table just to my right. The library I thought I saw when I jumped in wasn’t real at all. It was projected onto Alex’s computer displays.

  “So glad you could join us,” Esther says. “It’s Kathy, right?”

  “Katherine, actually.” I turn toward her voice and see that the library isn’t deserted after all. In fact, it’s unusually crowded.

  Two of the Vipers are in the room, along with their lone remaining observer, who is standing near the door to the hallway. The observer doesn’t appear to be armed, but Other-Saul is pointing an ostentatious rifle of some sort in the general direction of the sofa. Esther motions me toward the office chairs with a little gun that looks a bit like the one Madi carries. Or rather, the one she usually carries. Rich has it today, or at least he had it, which makes me wonder if the one Esther is holding isn’t actually Madi’s gun.