Now, Then, and Everywhen (Chronos Origins)

by Rysa Walker

  She isn’t paying him any attention. Her smile widens. “Good thing they called you, I guess! That was . . . incredibly brave.”

  Then she stares at my eyes, and her jaw drops. She looks over at the two guards who are standing in the concourse. And then back at my eyes, as realization dawns.

  “Oh God, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get you in trouble.”

  “No, no. Don’t be sorry. It’s just . . . they’re not hiring black cops for this, and I needed the cash for school.”

  Toni nods. “I understand. That’s why I can’t start at Antioch until next year. Listen, I’ve got to get back to Jo, but . . . look me up next fall. Or next time you’re in town. We’re in the book under Lowell Robinson.”

  I nod. “Sure thing.”

  She leans in and tiptoes up so that her breath tickles my ear. “But lose the contacts. I like your eyes just the way they are.”

  ∞30∞

  MADI

  MEMPHIS, TENNESSEE

  AUGUST 19, 1966

  I hit the concrete steps hard, with most of my weight landing on my left hip and shoulder. For a brief second, I lie there, stunned. There was a noise. A gunshot, I think, although I suppose it could have been the cherry bomb that was reported in the newspaper. But I can’t move. It’s like a massive weight is holding me down, pressing me into the sharp edges of the steps.

  Was I shot?

  I open my eyes and see that I’m not the only one on the floor. The girl in the third row is draped over the chair in front of her, with her head in the lap of the occupant, also unconscious, whose arm hangs out into the aisle. Her hand, which hovers just inches from my face, has a heart drawn on the back, with the name Paul in the center.

  But it’s George singing lead right now, on “If I Needed Someone.” That’s the last song of the set in this timeline. The last song the band will ever play together. The last song Lennon will ever sing.

  Shiny white shoes click up the steps, pausing near me for a second, and then continuing upward. I try to turn my head to see where the shoes are going—Katherine’s shoes, I think—but my view is blocked by a large arm, covered with reddish-gold hair and tiny crimson specks. It takes a major effort, but I manage to shake the arm loose enough that I can wriggle the top half of my body free.

  My jeans are drenched in blood. I’m fairly certain it’s not mine. The man lying facedown on the bottom half of me has a small hole in the back of his head. Judging from the sheer quantity of blood I’m wearing, I’d guess that the exit wound is much larger.

  All around me, people are slumped onto the floor or in their seats, with their heads lolling in all directions. The music plays on, as if nothing has happened. In fact, the security forces seem to be running to the other side of the auditorium.

  I pull my legs out from under the man, and nearly tumble down the last two steps when I break free. When I look up, I’m face-to-face with Katherine.

  “Which cohort are you?” she yells into my ear.

  I search my brain, trying to remember what Tyson said about cohorts. Every two years, I think. It takes a moment, but I stammer out an even number, hoping I’ve guessed right. “2318. Where’s Tyson?”

  She frowns, although I’m not sure whether it’s because she doubts I’m from a future cohort or because I know his name. “He and Richard must still be trying to save Lennon. I don’t know how long we have. I can handle Alisa, but I’m going to need help with that . . . man.” She glares down at Other-Saul.

  “What are you going to do with them?”

  “Drag them into the tunnel for now. But go check on your guardian angel up there first. I think he’s in shock. And hurry!”

  I have no idea what she means, but I scramble up the stairs to the back row. When I look to the left, I find Jack on the floor, wedged between the seats, staring down at the CHRONOS key in his hand. A white leather purse, which I’m pretty sure is Katherine’s, is next to him.

  “Jack? How—”

  There’s a sharp intake of breath when he hears my voice, and then he reaches out with both hands and pulls me toward him. “You didn’t come back. I waited and then I started checking the key, because you were late. He killed you, Madi, he fucking killed you. I got the gun out of the desk, and then I watched again, and . . . you were just lying there, and I don’t know how I did it, but—”

  “Where’s the gun?”

  He points to the purse. “The other woman . . . Katherine?”

  I nod. “Listen to me, you need to go back, okay? Take the gun and go. I’m not sure how long we can hold off security.”

  “That’s what she said, too, but, Madi, I can’t even pull up the interface now. I can still see the light, but I’m getting nothing.”

  I glance over to see Katherine dragging Alisa down the short flight of stairs to the tunnel. She’s not being very gentle, although that could be due in part to the fact that Alisa is a good deal bigger than Katherine. Beyond that, on the main floor of the auditorium, I see an armed guard near the stage, pointing up at this section of seats, which is totally still. The same is true for most of the section to the right, and the others seated there are noticeably subdued, with several of them now ignoring the concert and trying to wake up the people around them. A couple of them appear to be screaming, but then a good third of the audience is screaming.

  The band plays on. “Day Tripper.” Which means something has changed. Something, but apparently not enough to budge the timeline.

  I turn to Jack. “Give me the gun. I’ll jump back and dispose of it. If they find you here with it and the body . . .” I stop, very tempted to smack my head. “Never mind. Stay here.”

  “No,” he says. “I’m fine. Go help Katherine. I’ll get rid of it.”

  Hurrying down the steps, I dodge two girls who are lying halfway in the aisle. One of them stirs slightly as I pass. The guard who was pointing at this section a moment ago is no longer in sight. It looks like he may have convinced a few others to peel off from protecting the stage, as well, because this side is looking a little bare.

  As I run past the dead man, I remember that I’m covered in his blood. I start to tell Jack we need to change assignments. He’s wearing fabrics that won’t be invented for another century, but that will raise fewer eyebrows than my blood-drenched jeans. But when I look back, I see Jack just behind me. His hand is wrapped around the thick black cord holding the man’s key. He yanks once and blood sprays onto the row of seats behind him. A second yank and the body is gone. The blood is gone. Even the blood on my jeans is simply gone, as though it never existed.

  He shoves the key into his pocket, hurries down to the bottom of the stairs, and hooks his hands under Saul’s armpits. As we round the corner, three security guards are heading toward us from the other end of the short tunnel.

  “I think there’s a . . . some sort of chemical . . . gas leak?” I say. “Dozens of people are passed out. We’re trying to get them clear.”

  Katherine gives me an incredulous look and then does something with her watch. All three security guards stop and then fall to the tunnel floor.

  “Why did you do that?” I scream.

  “Because there’s a body in the aisle, in case you didn’t notice!”

  Jack holds up the man’s CHRONOS key. Or, I guess in this case, CHRO-NOS key. “We need to get out of here. I doubt those are the only security guards who—”

  Two shots ring out, one after the other, and the music tapers off to a discordant squeal. I push past Jack, rushing to the balcony wall. John Lennon is flat on his back. A security guard is on top of him, with the neck of Lennon’s guitar sticking out between them. Maybe ten meters away, a third man is sprawled on the ground, faceup. Ringo is crouched behind his drums, while Paul and George stare, openmouthed.

  For a moment, there’s an odd hush, and then someone screams. Others join in, and a wailing chorus rises up from the auditorium. Some of the audience members look like they’re trying to get to the exits, but others are pressing towar
d the stage.

  The guard on top of Lennon moves aside. It’s Tyson. He glances back at the body on the floor, then gets to his feet and offers Lennon a hand up.

  McCartney walks across the stage and says something to Lennon, who nods. Ringo gets back onto the drum stool, and then McCartney yells into the mic. “Just a scare, people. Give us a sec and we’ll finish the show.”

  The pronouncement is met with applause and cheers.

  John Lennon steps up to the microphone and says, “The next song is ‘I Feel Fine,’ which I’m dedicating to this man and the other security officers who took action just now. Because I don’t think I’d be feelin’ fine at all if they hadn’t acted so quickly.” There’s more applause, and Tyson nods to the audience. Lennon says something else to him off-mike, and then Tyson moves off the stage.

  He takes the last step at a stumble, the time shift hitting him at the same instant the three of us at the edge of the tunnel feel it. I sink down against the rounded wall, holding my stomach. Head between knees. Deep breaths.

  I’ve never been happier to feel so absolutely miserable.

  “What’s going on?” a voice yells from the end of the tunnel.

  Jack is the only one able to muster a response. “Gas leak, maybe?” He nods to the two guards. “Almost everyone in our section fainted. We were trying to evacuate them.”

  The police officer unclips a massive communicator from the side of his belt and starts yelling into it. “Get these people out of here,” he says to two men who join him a moment later. “Take the unconscious ones first.”

  My reaction to the time shift is starting to fade. Jack is already standing. He helps me up and then Katherine, as the two guards begin dragging Saul and Alisa up the tunnel and into the corridor.

  “What are we going to do with them?” Katherine asks. “I don’t know if that’s Alisa Campbell or not, but I can promise you whoever that is, it’s not Saul.”

  The two guards come running back toward us. “Ladies, I need you to clear out if you can. You, too,” he says to Jack, “although, if you’re feeling okay, we could use some help.”

  “Grab the purse,” I tell him.

  He nods, and heads back into the auditorium.

  As we head toward the concourse, Katherine gives me a tiny smile. “I’m Katherine Shaw, by the way. 2300.”

  Telling her my real name would raise all sorts of questions, so I opt for a pseudonym. “Max Coleman. 2318.”

  When we reach the concourse, a boy and girl of maybe fourteen are staring at an empty spot on the floor. The girl clutches his arm as he points a shaky finger. “There were two people, lying right there. They just vanished.”

  Katherine sighs and reaches toward her watch. I slap her hand away.

  “Stop that!” I hiss, then step toward the couple. “First aid has received reports of people hallucinating. They think there may be a chemical in the water supply . . .”

  “Oh, wow!” the girl says, as a grin spreads across her face. “Like LSD? That’s so cool.”

  The boy gives his companion an odd look, and then they head off in the other direction.

  “Do you really think that story was an improvement?” Katherine asks. “This is how urban legends get started.”

  “We can’t zap everyone in the building. That’s just kicking the can down the road.”

  She huffs, then glances at the blank spot where Saul and Alisa were. “That wasn’t Saul. He doesn’t even like Alisa.”

  The first guard who went in comes back, talking into his radio. “No, sir. Not at all. I don’t smell a thing. Most of ’em are back on their feet shrieking again. Maybe it’s just that Beatlemania crap, bunch of them copycattin’ each other. If the girl next to you faints and you don’t, guess she must love them Beatles even more than you do, know what I mean? Although we got three guards apparently hit with the same thing, so I don’t know. Your call.”

  Jack emerges, carrying a little girl, whose mother follows behind, still looking a bit dazed. Katherine’s white purse hangs from Jack’s arm. One of the security guards sits a girl down against the wall. She’s conscious, but her nose is bleeding, so she has her head tipped back, trying to stanch the flow with a handkerchief.

  “Where’d the other two go?” the guard asks, staring at the spot where he and his buddy just deposited Saul and Alisa.

  I shrug. “They left.”

  And I’m not the least bit unhappy about that, to be honest.

  I hope they stay gone.

  But I really don’t think they will.

  MADI

  MEMPHIS, TENNESSEE

  AUGUST 20, 1966

  I drop the suitcase onto the bed. Like Jack’s clothes, it’s probably made of materials that won’t be invented for another century, but with any luck, he won’t be staying in 1966 for very long.

  “You’re going to need to keep this thing locked if you step outside the room for food,” I tell him. “Your toothbrush and reader would definitely raise some eyebrows with the cleaning staff. There’s a portable charging unit in there, too.”

  “What about your toothbrush?” he asks. “Are we going to share?”

  I give him a pained look. “Lorena says I can’t stay. She says if you’re too comfortable, too happy here, you’ll never manage to jump back.”

  “Oh, really?” Jack frowns, sinking down onto the bed. “And she knows this how?”

  “It’s more of a . . . theory, I think, but it’s really all we have to go on. She believes your system was flooded with a cocktail of fear chemicals—cortisol, adrenaline, glucose. Neurotransmitters. Maybe some anger chemicals, too. Testosterone, catechol-something. I need to record what she says next time.”

  “Well, she’s right on the fear part. I freaked the hell out. I’m holding the key, watching the stable point, and he just kills you. He bashes your head on the steps while I’m watching. I rolled it back and was almost to the point of shooting the interface when I blinked, and there I was, in the auditorium. I just pulled the trigger.”

  There are tears in Jack’s eyes. If he thought I was dead, it occurs to me that Lorena might need to test whatever chemicals are released by grief, as well.

  We rode back to the Peabody Hotel in the rental car with Katherine and Rich last night. Tyson was waiting when we arrived at the hotel. He’d been forced to take an emergency exit back to CHRONOS in order to avoid a confrontation and, most likely, some pesky questions about why the head of security had no record of him ever being hired.

  There were no other rooms available, probably due to a certain concert at Mid-South Coliseum. It didn’t matter, though. Richard had this room rented for the night, and they weren’t staying. Katherine still thinks I’m from a future cohort, but Tyson seems to have told Rich some version of the truth. He extended the room rental for a week, saying he could expense it and it was the least CHRONOS could do under the circumstances.

  I’m really hoping we won’t need the room for that long, but it’s not looking good.

  Jack spent a few hours trying the key last night, but we were both exhausted and he gave up around two in the morning. When we woke up, we ordered room service, praying that the fact that Jack hadn’t eaten for the better part of the day was the problem. Then he tried again.

  And again.

  After dinner, I went back home to pack him a bag. When I first pulled up the stable point, I saw Jack in the chair behind Grandpa James’s desk, holding the gun. He looked so anguished that I wanted to jump back to that second and tell him I was fine. But I knew I couldn’t.

  Jack had told me that Lorena, Alex, and RJ were in the library, watching as he tried to use the key. But when I pulled up the stable point and jumped back in, they were all across the room, staring at the computer. The Anomalies Machine, now anomaly-free. And Yun Hee was in the side carrier, sleeping with her head against her daddy’s sweater. Those two sights told me almost everything I needed to know.

  Even though I was fairly certain of the answer, I asked Jarvis f
or information on Liza Forson. She’s alive and well again, probably cooking up bioweapons to start a world war. Which means we have some big decisions to make about how we handle this technology.

  Before I came back here, to Jack in 1966, I called Nora. She’s at the cottage in Bray, and after a few questions that she may have found a bit odd, I was able to deduce that she has no memory of my visit last week. My mother didn’t answer, but her virtual assistant took the call at her London flat. If Nora doesn’t remember, I’m sure Mom won’t, either. I’ll need to get up with her soon, though. I’ve got a lot of questions about her mother and the Cyrists.

  I snuggle up next to Jack on the hotel bed, and he says, “So Lorena thinks I’m stuck here until I get angry or scared enough to blink back? Like that Hulk guy in the old comics?”

  “Something like that. She’s going to try to make something to help you. I need to take back a blood sample so that she has a base to start from. But she says we need to be careful. Too big of a dose of adrenaline can kill you. Some of the others are dangerous, too.”

  “Great,” he says. “I’m going to be Lorena’s lab rat.”

  I shrug and give him a smile. “We could try her other suggestion.”

  “Why do I get the feeling I’m not going to like this?”

  “Oh, I think you’d like it if it worked. She said I just need to get you really worked up here, and then jump back to my room at home. And . . . um . . . wait for you to join me.”

  “I like the first part,” he said. “But I don’t think it will work. I remember how I felt just before I managed to make the trip. It had nothing to do with sex.”

  “Still,” I say, “it might be fun to try.”

  “And what happens if I can’t join you?”

  “Then I guess I’ll be spending a lot of time in 1966.”

  ∞Epilogue∞

  TYSON

  CHRONOS HQ

  WASHINGTON, EC

  NOVEMBER 9, 2304

  At eleven a.m., twelve CHRONOS agents return from the field.