by Sarah Dreher
“Well,” Gwen said, nodding, “I reckon they have to be precise.”
“Reckon!” Elaine clapped her hands. “That’s wonderful. Where’d you learn to talk like that?”
“Back home,” Gwen said. “In Georgia.”
Elaine laughed. “Come on, stop teasing.”
“Really. I’m serious. I grew up in Georgia.”
“There hasn’t been any Georgia in 150 years. Not here in the former United States, not in the old Russian Territories.” She stopped and stared at them, startled. “Oh, my.”
“Excuse me?” Stoner asked.
“You’re from Nova Cite, aren’t you?”
“Nova Who?”
“You’ve been cryogenized.”
“I’ve been called a lot of things,” said Marylou huffily. “But never cryogenized.”
Yes, that would work. Stoner nodded enthusiastically and signaled for Marylou to be quiet. “That’s right. They froze us back in… the early 1990s.”
“Before the War, then,” Elaine said.
Stoner shook her head sadly. Damn, she’d hoped there wouldn’t be another war. “There was a war?”
“Sure was,” Elaine said. “That’s why we don’t have states any more. Or countries, either. Most of the world’s population was killed off, so there weren’t enough people for boundaries to make sense. Then, when they started rebuilding, they decided overpopulation and boundaries were what caused the trouble in the first place.” She looked at them sympathetically. “You really are lost.”
“Totally,” Gwen said.
“Tell me,” said Marylou, “what’s the food like now?”
“Marylou, for Heaven’s sake!” Stoner said.
Marylou turned to her impatiently. “Well, I don’t see you showing any natural curiosity. This is the opportunity of a life time.”
Elaine laughed. “The food’s okay. What did you have in mind?”
“Do they still cook Kosher?”
“I’m afraid not. Ethnic cooking sort of went out with the boundaries.”
“In some cases,” said Marylou, “it’s a small loss.”
They could be here for weeks, months. The things they could learn, to take back to their own time.
The trouble was, in their own time they could be discovered any minute. And if they were discovered there while they were here…
“Listen,” Stoner said, “this is fascinating, but we have to get back to, well, somewhere, and we’re kind of in a hurry…”
Elaine raised an eyebrow. “To Somewhere?”
“Actually,” Gwen put in, “to Orlando. That’s in Florida, or what used to be Florida.”
“Well, that’s no problem. You’re almost there.”
Of course. Just because they had traveled through Time didn’t necessarily mean they had gone through Space. On the other hand, getting home through Time was probably going to be more complicated. The last time she’d tried it, she recalled, she’d had absolutely no luck whatsoever.
Sometimes Stoner wished she didn’t lead such an interesting life.
“You can take one of the Shuttle vehicles,” Elaine said. “They’re quite efficient.” She smiled. “Especially by 20th Century standards, I imagine.” She turned and began walking away. “Just follow me. You can tell your other friend to come out now, too.”
“Your sensors are very thorough, aren’t they?” Gwen asked as Marylou went to fetch Aunt Hermione and Callie Rose.
“Yes. All our technology is efficient.” Elaine sighed. “Sometimes I wish we could just muddle along, the way your generation did.”
Gwen laughed. “Should we be insulted?”
“I hope not,” Elaine said.
There was a sound behind her. Elaine turned, glanced at Aunt Hermione, started to turn away, did a double-take, stared, and gasped. “A crone!” Falling to her knees in front of the older woman, she took her hands and kissed them. “Honored one.”
“Blessed be,” said Aunt Hermione. She bent down, took Elaine’s face in her hands, and kissed her gently on the lips.
“Blessed be,” Elaine said. She got up, shakily. There were tears in her eyes. “I don’t know what to say to you. I… we…You can’t know how we long for the Crones.”
Aunt Hermione smiled and nodded. “We do know, those of us who have traveled forward.”
Elaine moved closer to her. “You’ve learned how to go forward?” she asked in a low voice, as if she were asking for dangerous information.
“A few of us have. It seems to come with increasing age.”
“Oh,” Elaine said sadly. “Then we’ll never…”
Aunt Hermione smiled. “Never say ‘never’, child. Remember, in the Craft, anything is possible.”
Stoner looked at her aunt with admiration and amazement. She might be only five feet four inches tall, wearing navy blue sweat pants and a gray sweat shirt that used to say “B.U. Athletic Department” about fifty washings ago, but she looked as regal and wise as any High Priestess. In fact, it was as if all the High Priestesses from whom she was spiritually descended stood behind her adding their blessings and power to hers.
“Life is difficult for you here, isn’t it?” Aunt Hermione asked.
Elaine nodded. “There are so few of us, and all of our traditions and herstory have been destroyed. Many of the old names are lost, and most of the ancient chants. Sometimes we seem to be nothing more than a pale imitation of what used to be.”
“And we,” said Aunt Hermione with a gentle smile, “sometimes think we are only a pale reflection of what is to come.”
“Can you stay for a while?” Elaine asked shyly. “We have so much to learn from you.”
Aunt Hermione shook her head. “I’m afraid not. We’re not certain what our time frame is, but if we’re late getting back… well, it could have serious consequences.”
Elaine looked at the ground. “I understand.”
Aunt Hermione drew inward to look for inspiration. “I may have a partial solution,” she said. “Do you still celebrate Samhain?”
Elaine’s face was blank.
“Hallowe’en?”
“I don’t know what that is,” Elaine said.
“That doesn’t surprise me,” said Aunt Hermione. “Even in our time, there were those who wanted to make the holiday illegal. Places where school children weren’t allowed to make the decorations in the schools. Ignorant fanatics thought Hallowe’en was a celebration of the Devil.” She sighed. “It was our highest holy day. I believe some of those behind the movement realized that.” She thought deeper. “The Eleventh Lunation?”
“Yes!” Elaine said excitedly. “We know that one. The Festival of the Ancients. We’ll be celebrating in a few days.”
“Well, when you do, call on Hermione’s sisters. We’ll try to come through to you.” She chuckled. “There are enough Crones in my coven to satisfy the hungriest of you.”
“We will,” Elaine said. Her face was shining. “But I do wish the others could have met you. It would mean so much to them.”
“You’ll have to give them my love,” said Aunt Hermione. She reached inside her sweat shirt and drew out her silver necklace and pentacle. “And this is for you.” She handed it to Elaine.
The woman’s eyes filled with tears again. “I’ll share it with them all. We’ll cherish it.” Quickly she unzipped a pocket in her jump suit and tucked the necklace away. “If I’m caught with it...” she said apologetically.
Aunt Hermione nodded. “The more things change, the more they stay the same, don’t they?”
Something beeped. Elaine reached into a pocket and pulled out a device that looked like a miniature Walkman without headphones. “0174 here,” she said, turning slightly to face back the way she had come. In the distance, an observation tower stood out against the darkening sky.
A man’s voice came from the device. “Is there trouble out there?”
“Some visitors from Nova Cite. They seem to have gotten lost. Can you call them a shuttle?”
“Will do. How many?”
Elaine counted heads. “Four.”
“Five,” Stoner said. She looked around for Callie Rose, who was nowhere to be seen. “There was a young woman with us.”
“Funny,” Elaine said. “She didn’t show up on the sensors.”
“That’s Callie for you,” Aunt Hermione said quickly, and laughed. “Always playing tricks.”
“Didn’t show up on the...?” Marylou began.
“Marylou,” Aunt Hermione cut her off. “You were with her last. See if you can find her.”
“When we get inside,” Elaine said as Marylou trotted off down the row between the orange trees, “I’d be grateful if you didn’t mention about...”
“Don’t worry,” Stoner said. She looked around at the orange grove. “It’s a beautiful place. Too bad there isn’t more tolerance.”
Elaine nodded. “In some ways we haven’t come far since you went to sleep. I hope you weren’t counting on miracles.”
“Not really,” Stoner said.
“We’ve made some strides, of course. Mostly scientific and technological. For instance, we have no disease. We’re immunized from birth.”
Stoner felt a twinge of guilt. “I hope we’re not carrying germs you haven’t counted on.”
“Not unless you’ve done some interstellar travel.”
“I doubt it.”
“Well, we don’t have to worry about anything that ever was or is on earth.”
“Not even cancer?”
“Nope. No disease, and no pollution.”
Marylou and Callie Rose emerged into the open. Elaine waved them forward and started toward the tower.
“Then why don’t you have any older people?” Gwen asked.
“Our immunization process doesn’t last beyond the age of fifty or so. Oh, once in a while someone will live to almost sixty, but usually they die before then. I suspect there’s something in the process itself that kills us.” She gestured toward Aunt Hermione. “To meet a real Crone… It’s a breath-taking experience.”
“I don’t understand,” Gwen said. “If you know you won’t live beyond fifty, why do people go ahead with the immunizations?”
Stoner thought she could answer that one. Like late-Twentieth-Century America, this culture—whenever it was—was age-hating.
“It’s done to us at birth,” Elaine said. “And we’re told such terrible stories about old age and diseases in your time, no one really dares to object.”
“But you must have rebels,” Gwen said. “There must be small groups of people hidden away somewhere. It’s a very large world.”
Elaine shook her head. “Our sensors would find them.” She frowned thoughtfully. “Though they didn’t pick up your young friend.”
“Callie Rose has—an unusual electromagnetic structure,” Stoner said quickly.
“I wish we could learn from her. Secretly, of course.”
Of course. If the authorities, whoever they were, found there was someone who could elude their sensors, they’d want to get rid of her before others learned her trick. The future, it seemed, would be free of every kind of pollution but pollution of the mind.
But there was no getting around the beauty of the place. The scent of orange blossoms and ripening fruit was heavy on the air. Even in the gathering darkness of the storm, the orange fruit stood out like Christmas lights. Apparently, in the future it would left to ripen on the trees, a definite improvement over present practices. She wondered if they had solved the problem of tomatoes. The thought of real, red tomatoes with genuine taste year-round—instead of the pink plastic variety, too soft to use as tennis balls and too bland to eat—came as close to a miracle as she ever hoped to get. “What are your tomatoes like?” she asked.
Elaine laughed. “Not like the ones you were used to. We’ve heard stories about them. When an entertainer is a complete failure, we call him a ‘Twentieth Century tomato.’”
“And wisely so,” Gwen said.
But something was missing. Stoner could feel it. She made her mind loose and hoped it would come to her. It did. “I don’t see any bees,” she said.
“No,” Elaine said. “All our pollination is done by machine.”
“My folks kept bees,” Callie Rose put in. “Had a big old hive out in the dead pine. Pa used to say that was how come we had us the best garden for as far as you could row in half a day.” She giggled. “ ’Course, we had the only garden for as far as you could row, half a day or whole day. What he liked best was how the corn came out. Made the best squeezin’s in the swamp.”
“Squeezin’s?” Elaine asked.
“Moonshine,” Gwen explained. “Liquor.”
The observation tower was fully in sight now. A small crayon-blue vehicle, looking like an overgrown bullet, hovered above the ground near a door. A man in a white jump suit stood beside it.
“Hold it right here,” Marylou said sharply, grabbing the back of Stoner’s shirt and snapping her to a halt. “You expect me to ride in that?”
This time Stoner was ready for her objections. “Either that or stay here,” she said. “But before you decide, remember: there’s no ethnic cooking in this place.”
Marylou jutted out her lower jaw and glowered. “Dirty pool.”
Elaine had approached the man and was engaging him in conversation, glancing back toward them now and then. She seemed to be having an argument. Finally her back stiffened and his sagged, and he stomped away.
“Men,” she said, and rolled her eyes. “He insisted on taking you himself. Said you wouldn’t know how to work the hover craft. These things were designed so even a child could fly it. You just follow the instructions on the screen. But try telling that to Mr. Self-Important.”
“How’d you talk him out of it?” Gwen asked.
“The old fashioned way. Pulled rank.”
“We appreciate it,” said Aunt Hermione. “He might have asked too many questions. And we might have given him too many answers.”
“I figured.” She held open the door.
Marylou slid into the back seat. Callie Rose rushed to sit beside her. Stoner had the feeling a friendship was developing between the two of them. It didn’t surprise her. Their temperaments were similar.
“I’ll drive,” Gwen said eagerly, and jumped into the seat behind the computer console. She glanced at Stoner. “Unless you have your heart set on it.”
“Go ahead. You like computers better than I do.”
“Love them,” Gwen said. She stretched her fingers excitedly.
“I’m computer illiterate,” Stoner explained to Elaine.
“And phobic,” Marylou added.
“What’s a...” Callie Rose began. Marylou cut her off with a jab to the ribs.
Gwen tapped the computer screen and an electric motor began to hum. “All aboard.”
“Thanks for your help,” Stoner said as she slipped into the back next to Callie Rose. “Maybe we’ll run into you again sometime.”
“I hope so.” Elaine leaned toward Gwen. “The F1-key brings up the map. Just key in the coordinates and sit back.”
Gwen gave her the thumbs-up.
“World War II, right?” Elaine asked with a delighted laugh.
“Right,” Gwen said. “Kilroy was here.”
“Bundles for Britain!”
“Keep your powder dry!”
The computer beeped and displayed, “Do you wish more time? Touch ‘Enter’ for ‘yes,’ ‘N’ for ‘No.’ ”
“Just like those darn ATM’s back home,” Gwen muttered, and punched ‘Enter.’
Elaine offered Aunt Hermione her arm and helped her into the front seat.
“Thank you, dear,” she said kindly, “but I’m not quite senile yet.”
“Do you mind if I ask,” Elaine began, blushing wildly, “the other women will want to know, how old are you?”
“Seventy-three years,” said Aunt Hermione with just a touch of pride. “And looking forward to another ten.” She
pulled the door shut. “Merry meet and merry part.”
“And merry meet again,” Elaine said. She touched the pocket in which she had hidden the necklace. “Blessed be!”
She waved, and kept on waving until she was only a speck in the distance.
“Okay,” Gwen said, and keyed up the map. “Next stop, EPCOT Center. We hope.”
* * *
Gwen half turned in her seat. “What in the world is going on back there?”
Marylou and Callie Rose had their heads together, whispering and occasionally breaking out in giggle-fits.
“Nothing,” said Marylou.
“Nothin’,” Callie Rose said.
Stoner leaned forward. “They’re teaching each other dirty words.”
“Honest to God,” Gwen said with a slow shake of her head. “This is worse than my Junior High class back home.”
There was more whispering and giggling.
“Betcha don’t cuss like that in front of your class,” said Callie Rose.
“And I’ll bet you don’t carry on like that in your school, either,” Gwen retorted.
“Shoot, no,” Callie Rose said. “I’d be in hot water for sure.”
“What I want to know, Marylou,” Gwen said over her shoulder, “is why you’re not screaming and trying to jump out of this thing.”
“Simple,” Marylou replied. “We can’t possibly be hurt, because none of this is real.”
“Whatever gets you through,” Gwen muttered.
Stoner wished she could be as certain as Marylou. It felt all too real to her. Real, and confusing, and impossible.
Callie Rose and Marylou had gone back to punching each other and giggling.
“You know, Marylou,” Gwen said, “you’ve missed your calling. You should work with children.”
Marylou shrieked.
Callie Rose laughed out loud.
Stoner glanced forward at Gwen, who was watching their progress on her computer map. She was pale, paler than she’d been before. Dark smudges above and below her eyes gave her a hollow look. “Gwen, are you feeling okay?”
“A little tired.”
This isn’t working, Stoner thought anxiously. We’ve slowed it down, but she’s still dying. “Aunt Hermione...” she said.
Her aunt reached back and took her hand. “We’re doing the best we can, Stoner.”
