Now, Then, and Everywhen (Chronos Origins)

by Rysa Walker

  “Well, even if you find her, I doubt she’s going to give you a blood sample. I’m actually surprised Mila doesn’t claim the exemption—although she never got the tattoo, so it would be harder for her to make the case.”

  “Make the case for what?”

  “For being a Cyrist. Not that Thea has ever practiced, but she has the lotus tat, doesn’t she? I’ve never seen it, since I’ve never seen her, but Matthew said her parents were Orthodox Rite.”

  I think for a moment, trying to pull up an image of Thea’s hands. The truth is, Thea has a lot of tattoos, so many that they blend into a bright mosaic. There could be a lotus flower on her hand, but I’m not certain.

  “Maybe. I thought she might have spent some time with the Cyrists, given her ongoing search for her inner truth, but I didn’t know she was born into it.”

  “Well, it would explain a lot about her attitude,” Nora says dryly. “The Cyrists have always felt they were better than everyone else.”

  That’s clearly a religious slur, and I’m tempted to point out that there are good and bad people in any religion. But I’m guilty, too, since we both tend to mock Thea’s tendency to change religions like other people change socks. Also, Nora is eighty. She’s entitled to express a few crotchety opinions without being scolded by her granddaughter.

  “Even if she does have the lotus tat, she’s not a practicing member,” I say. “She flouts a lot of their other rules, so maybe she’d be willing to donate a few drops of blood to the cause.”

  “I suppose it’s possible,” Nora says. “What traits does this friend of yours think were altered, anyway? In Mila’s case, I’m guessing it wasn’t financial acumen.”

  I ignore the dig at my mother, in part because it’s well deserved, and answer Nora’s question as best I can. “Lorena said it was multiple enhancements, on both my maternal and paternal sides. Some dealing with memory and intelligence. Language aptitude, apparently. And then there’s an odd cluster of modifications that she’s never seen before, that seem to have something to do with this.” I push the now empty plate aside and reach into my bag to get the CHRONOS key.

  Nora frowns when she sees the medallion. “What does that ugly hunk of metal have to do with genetic enhancements?”

  Before, when my only concern was whether I could make some money off the research, I’d been determined to keep Nora in the dark. I think there’s a good chance she’ll try to talk me out of using the key once she knows what it does. She’ll say it’s too dangerous and probably demand that I give it to her. And she’s going to be mad as hell when I refuse. But I really don’t have much choice but to tell her now, since I need to find out how I wound up with illegal genetic enhancements that are directly connected to my ability to time travel. With my mother refusing to help and Thea currently God-only-knows where, Nora’s really my best chance for figuring things out.

  “It might be easier to just show you what it does. But first, do you remember the other day when you called me? How I just sort of vanished while I was planting the garden behind the house?”

  She nods slowly. “Of course. You scared the bloody hell out of me. If my father could spend all that money on a pool in the basement, you’d think he could have at least installed a decent comm system for the yard so that you didn’t have to rely on your wristband. Which is apparently faulty, too.”

  “It wasn’t actually my comm acting up, Nora. I accidentally triggered this device and . . .” I decide to leave out the part about winding up in the ocean and nearly drowning. “And I wound up in Florida. In 1906 Florida.”

  She arches an eyebrow, but I hold up my hand to stop her. “Bear with me, okay? Just . . . pick a date. Preferably a time when the clothes I’m wearing now won’t be considered obscene.”

  Her expression shifts to one I haven’t seen in years, but which I remember very well from my childhood. It indicates that I am on shaky ground, and she’s nearly had enough of my nonsense.

  “September 3, 2113.”

  “No. Not my birth date. Something I couldn’t have predicted. And, come to think of it, it would help if you make it a time when I could still find a newspaper at a corner store.”

  “Fine,” she says. “May 8, 1999.”

  It’s not a date that I recognize, so I nod. My first instinct is to pull up the stable point in Liverpool or the one I set outside my mother’s place. Both are accessible in 1999. But the only cash I have is US currency, circa 1930, which will be odd enough in the US at the turn of the twenty-first century, and doubly odd in the UK. That means I’ll need to make another transatlantic hop.

  So I pull up the interface and scroll to the stable point in New York that I used when I first demonstrated the key for Jack and Alex. I choose a time in the early morning when there shouldn’t be too many people around to notice me popping in.

  Nora watches as I set the key, although I guess all she’s actually seeing is me staring at the medallion in my palm.

  “I’m going to blink out in just a second, so don’t be startled, okay? I’ll be right back.”

  I create a local stable point so that I can return here to the sitting room. Just as I’m about to jump out, I realize that I’m still seated and quickly get to my feet. Having landed on my ass on one of my first jumps, I’m in no rush to repeat the experience in an alleyway.

  The New York that I open my eyes to in 1999 is a bit more run-down than the 1930s version I last visited. It smells roughly the same, however. The newsstand is no longer on the corner, but I spot a shop just down the street with a large yellow sign that reads Grocery-Candy-24-Hour Smoke Shop. As I approach, I see what looks like a bundle of rags in the doorway of the abandoned storefront next door. It moves slightly when I walk past, and I realize someone is sleeping there.

  There are many problems in 2136, but in the US and UK, no one has to sleep on the street. No one goes without food or health care, and everyone is guaranteed at least twenty hours of work a week, once you’re finished with school. The job may not be something you want to do, the accommodations may not be luxurious, and the food may be little more than nutritional bars, but basic needs are met. The rest is up to you.

  I step carefully to avoid waking the person and pull open the door to the convenience store. Any hope of not waking the homeless person ends there, as a loud buzzer sounds, announcing my entrance. The figure beneath the bundle of rags grunts once and burrows down deeper.

  Once inside, I grab a copy of the latest New York Times and a bag of something called Doritos, which appear to be cheese crisps. The clerk inside the small glass booth is half-asleep. He doesn’t give me a second look—just takes the five quarters I stick into the little cup. I tell him to keep the change, then step outside and prop the bag against the wall near the sleeping person. I don’t know how nutritional it is, but it’s food.

  Then I blink back to Nora’s place.

  “Son of a bitch,” Nora says. “Where did you go? And how did you do that?”

  “I went to May 8, 1999, as requested. New York.” I hand her the paper. I’d sort of expected a major headline, but the top stories are about a couple of politicians leaving office—one in the US and one in Russia. “What made you pick that date?”

  “It’s the day my grandmother was born,” she says, looking down at the paper. “But you didn’t answer my second question. How did you do that?”

  When I reach the end of my explanation, I can tell that she still doesn’t quite buy my story. Not exactly surprising, I guess. “Give me another date,” I begin. But then I stop. “Never mind. I have a better idea.”

  “Whatever you’re planning, don’t do it. That thing can’t be safe, Madi.”

  “It’s safe.”

  I pull up the local stable point I created before the Harlem jump and set the date for August 15, 2125. That’s not the exact date, but it’s in the ballpark. I pan around until I see the little table near the window. A blue-and-white ceramic teapot sits in the center, on a crocheted doily.

&nb
sp; The tiny teapot was a gift to Nora from my grandfather on their first anniversary. Their names and the date of the wedding were etched in gold on the bottom. About a month before my eleventh birthday, Nora’s two cats came tearing through the parlor, and one of them knocked the teapot off the table. My grandfather wanted to buy her another one, but they both knew it wouldn’t be the same. Now, a framed family photo sits in that same spot.

  I begin scrolling forward until I find the first day where the little teapot is missing. Then I roll the time back one day, blink in, and grab the teapot before the cats wreck it.

  When I return to 2136 and place the teapot, now whole, into Nora’s hands, her eyes grow misty. “Oh my God. Madi! Where did you find—” She stops. “What’s wrong?”

  I shake my head. “Just a mild headache. I probably shouldn’t have jumped so soon after scarfing down that curry.”

  But she’s not buying it, so I finally admit that bringing back the teapot is giving me some odd double memories. It’s not like we spent a lot of time over the past ten years talking about the shattered teapot. In fact, I don’t think we mentioned it directly more than a few times, although Nora would often yell at the cats to stop acting like demons before they broke something else.

  Now, however, I have a second memory of the event, where we puzzled over a missing teapot. It just vanished. The doors were locked, and there was no sign of a break-in. The entire family was home that day, and we only noticed that it was gone shortly before we headed up to bed. It was baffling, and my grandfather actually called in the police, even though the item wasn’t expensive, because he was certain that someone had managed to get inside the house. The police seemed to think that I might have broken it accidentally and didn’t want to admit it. They even looked through the rubbish bins, trying to confirm the theory that I’d tossed out the fragments hoping to avoid punishment. After they left, Nora ordered a new security system.

  The dueling memories make me a tiny bit queasy, but it’s not as bad as the feedback loop I got staring at my doppelgänger on the beach at Estero. It’s only a vague discomfort, a bit like remembering a story where there were minor differences between the book and the movie versions. Nora is so happy to have the teapot intact again that I don’t regret it one bit.

  The bigger issue is that I wasn’t really expecting this kind of ripple effect. I thought that I’d just jump back, rescue the teapot, and give it to her in the present. I didn’t realize that would create an entirely different narrative about what happened that day.

  “Where did you find this?” Nora repeats.

  “I went back and kept the cats from knocking it off the table that day. Not Mercury and Mars, but the two cats you had back then. Saturn and Neptune, I think. They came running into the room, and one of them bumped into the teapot. It bounced off the arm of the chair and shattered into a million pieces. We were still finding shards of ceramic in the rug months later.”

  “But . . . that’s not what happened,” Nora protests. “It was stolen. You were here, Madi. Remember the police officer who was such an ass to you?”

  I spend the next few minutes trying to explain the whole layered-memories thing. What baffles me, though, is the fact that she doesn’t remember both versions. When I changed things after my jump to Estero, all four of the other people currently in the house were hit with the competing memories. But Nora swears she doesn’t remember any reality where the cats broke her teapot. I’m now doubly convinced that the CHRONOS key in the pool needs to stay in place until we have a better idea of exactly how the system works. Maybe it’s the only thing keeping the entire house inside a protective field.

  On the plus side, however, Nora does seem to believe me about the time travel now. I place the key in her palm to see if she can activate it, but she can’t see anything.

  Nora shakes her head in frustration. “I don’t understand how this piece of crappy jewelry is connected to genetic enhancements. It isn’t orange. It’s just plain brown and just plain ugly to me. Whatever you inherited must have been from your mother’s side.”

  “Or, more likely, the gene skipped a generation or two. This was buried in the yard at Grandpa James’s house, Nora. And there’s another one in the basement. Maybe Dad would have been able to activate it, although I guess we’ll never know . . . for sure.”

  Except, I could know for sure.

  I’m amazed that this hasn’t occurred to me before. I could go back and put the CHRONOS key in my father’s hand when he was still alive and see what happens. I could actually tell him goodbye.

  Or better yet, I could get him to the hospital. Maybe they’d be able to save him.

  I just used the key to rescue Nora’s teapot. Why not use it to rescue my dad?

  FROM TEMPORAL DILEMMA USER’S GUIDE, 2ND ED. (2293)

  Q: How many people can play Temporal Dilemma (TD)?

  A: The SimMaster 2950 is designed for up to eight participants in individual mode. Multiplayer simulations are great fun at parties!

  Games with more than two or three players, however, generally result in less realistic outcomes due to the multitude of variables in any temporal simulation. For our more serious players who prefer one-on-one competition, the SimMaster 2950 offers enhanced speed and superior VR resolution.

  Q: How can I join a TD team?

  A: Team play is substantially different from individual mode. Each team is composed of up to eight players, with a leader who assigns roles. Intramural TD leagues generally hold tryouts at the beginning of the year and follow the same rules as professional TD. The best preparation for tryouts is to practice using the latest expansion modules. Contact your school and community organizer for more information on TD amateur leagues.

  Q: When will new expansion modules be released?

  A: Two new releases are planned in 2294. The first is a simple expansion, compatible with the World Dominion simulation series. This expansion adds over two million additional data points, ensuring realistic play across the four quadrants.

  The second is the long-awaited Excelsior VR series, specifically designed for individuals whose chosen gift allows them to bypass the controls and form a neural link with the SimMaster.

  Parents take note: The Excelsior series can be played by children as young as five. Yearly updates allow the system to grow with your child, ensuring that they will be ready for professional competition, in either individual or team mode, as early as age twelve. Make the most of your investment in the Excelsior Chosen Gift by giving your child the edge he or she needs to enter the Excelsior League and become a “Time Master”!

  ∞15∞

  TYSON

  CHRONOS HQ

  WASHINGTON, EC

  NOVEMBER 9, 2304

  The jump platform at CHRONOS headquarters is a large circular area at the very center of the room. Whoever designed it was clearly thinking of an old-fashioned analog clock when they positioned the stations for twelve historians, the maximum number in a jump group. Even that was probably decided by someone thinking of a clock, because there’s no real reason to have an even dozen agents—or, more frequently, two groups of a dozen—in the field at a time.

  Our jumps are to all points around the globe, and many different time periods, so it’s often hard to predict the costume any given agent will be in when we all arrive in the jump room. But the timing is always predictable. Our group left at ten a.m., and so we were all scheduled to come back at eleven a.m. on the dot. All of us. We jump out at the same instant. We return at the same instant. No matter how long you are in the field, whether it’s a few hours or a few weeks, the system is set for you to return exactly one hour after your departure.

  As you blink out of the jump room, you see the historian across from you. When you open your eyes upon your return, you see the same historian looking up from his or her key.

  Always the same. Predictable.

  Today, however, I am the only historian in position on the jump platform when I open my eyes. Angelo is on the f
ar side of the room with Aaron, the guy who usually operates the equipment. A quick glance at the display on my key shows that the time is 10:02, and the look on Angelo’s face tells me that something is very, very wrong.

  But I knew that the instant the shots rang out back in Ohio. Before that, even, when I saw the five flashes of purple light in the crowd.

  Angelo jerks his head toward the door that leads to the administrative offices and costuming. I follow him without speaking, thankful that I’m at least being granted a private dressing-down, rather than being screamed at in front of the entire jump team. I guess that’s why he pulled me back early.

  Or, a semiprivate dressing-down, at any rate. Rich and Katherine are already in Angelo’s office. Neither of them is on the jump schedule today. It’s clear from their expressions that they know something major has happened. I don’t think they could have even gotten down here from the dorm level in the space of two minutes, let alone had time for Angelo to brief them. That means they’ve jumped backward a bit.

  Usually there are only two chairs in front of Angelo’s desk, but someone has pulled up a third. I sink down into it. “I don’t know how anything I did could have caused an anomaly, Angelo. There were rumors about an assassination attempt that day—some kid was arrested a year or so later, and he said that it was planned by a local Klan leader and then canceled. But there were threats like that almost any time King spoke.”

  Angelo rests his elbows on his desk and rubs his face. “Richard says you had an overlap with someone you met in Memphis?”

  Rich gives me a look of apology. I’m not mad at him. I was going to tell Angelo that part of it anyway. Can’t see that I have any choice, since he’ll be the one figuring out how to fix this mess.

  “Yes. But the girl wasn’t involved in this. She just recognized my face. Apparently, there was a problem with the family car, and—”