“I’ll tell her you love her,” Jessica said. “I’ll tell her you saved us all, Delta.” Jessica squeezed Delta’s hand, then turned to Havelson.
“I don’t think we can make it back to our car, Doc,” she said. “It’s parked three blocks away.”
Havelson smiled. “The Mustang wasn’t the only car I had to give away, you know. My Trans Am is parked just outside the back door.”
Jessica stared at the thing when Havelson opened the door. Car? This thing wasn’t a car—it was a spaceship.
“We can’t all fit in that,” she said, pointing to it. First of all, it was blinding white. Against the flaming landscape, you could probably see it from space. And the size of the thing—it couldn’t possibly maneuver through the terrain they had to cross.
“Patient sits in the front with me. You and this man,” Havelson pointed to Kildere, “will need to get in the back.”
This was getting more ridiculous by the second. Havelson pushed the back of the driver’s seat forward and ushered Jessica into the car. She almost twisted her ankle getting in and had to hunch down to fit. If that wasn’t bad enough, Kildere crunched in next to her. They might as well have been sitting on top of one another.
“Cozy,” Kildere remarked.
“Shut up,” Jessica said as Gabe and Havelson slid into their seats. Apparently, it was a lot roomier in the front. “Are you kidding with this? How are we going to get away?” She noticed a grin on Gabe’s face as he ran his hands over the red leather interior. “And why are you smiling?” she asked him.
“Jess, if this thing does what I’ve read it can do—”
“Where are we going?” Havelson asked.
Jessica leaned back in her seat. We’re all going to die, she thought.
“We need to get to the coast,” she said. “San Luis Obispo. Over the mountains. The more remote the route, the better.” She tried to keep an open mind as she looked around the car’s plush red interior. “Seriously, what does this car have that will give us half a chance against the lizards?”
“Speed,” Havelson said.
A moment later, Jessica’s head slammed into the seat’s leather headrest. She heard something squeal—she thought it was an animal until she realized nothing was out on this block but them. It must have been the tires.
She craned her neck to look out the back window as Havelson sped away. Under the orange glow of the sky, the building they had been in was covered in those slugs—scrubbers. There looked to be about a half dozen of them. How many did the lizards bring with them on their trip to exterminate us? Jessica wondered.
A moment later, a loud boom and a bright orange ball of fire, more brilliant than the sky, came from where the building was.
“Jess, are you all right?”
She didn’t answer. She just stared out the back window as Havelson sped toward the mountains.
EARTH 2
K aylan SMITH ARRIVED IN cIVILIZATION, of a sort. There were buildings, but they were made of brick and wood, not marble. She was in a large city, but the air was still better than her home in 2075, a lot worse than the home she had made for herself these past ten years.
The instrument was supposed to land her within five hundred yards of her desired target. She stood in front of 4 Whitehall Place, staring up at the large red building with white accents around its many windows. It looked to be a building that housed the authorities. This place was clearly in the past. Kaylan could only imagine what someone in authority—what law enforcement—would do when they saw a woman dressed as Yolanda was. Was she going to have to break Yolanda out of prison?
Taking a deep breath, Kaylan opened the front door and walked inside.
The lobby was crowded. Kaylan was almost run over by a uniformed officer pushing a felon across the hallway. The floor was dirty and grimy; the walls were covered with flyers and pictures of criminals wanted around the city of London.
Kaylan noticed some wanted posters on the far wall. One in particular caught her attention. There was a sketch of the multiple murderer Gentleman Jack, wanted in connection to the Whitechapel murders. Any information leading to his arrest and conviction could result in a reward.
“Gentleman Jack?” Kaylan muttered, staring at the poster.
“Can I help you, luv?” the officer behind the wooden counter said, not looking up from a stack of papers in front of him.
Kaylan walked up to the counter. “I’m looking for someone, most likely a prisoner. Her name is Yolanda Reyes.”
The officer laughed long and loud. “Well, I thought you might be in ‘ere lookin’ for Inspector Reyes, from the way you were thumbin’ at that poster.”
“Inspector Reyes?”
“Aye,” the officer said, his voice sounding as if his vocal cords were made of sandpaper. He turned away from her and screamed, “Murphy! Get your ginger arse up here now!” He turned back to Kaylan. “If you’ve anything to say about ol’ Gentlemen Jack, she’ll be wantin’ to hear it.”
Another officer—this one just a boy, by Kaylan’s judgment—came stumbling up to the counter. He tripped twice, once over his own feet, almost cracking his head on a large oak table.
“Yes, Sergeant,” Officer Murphy said, a hint of eagerness in his voice.
The officer pointed at Kaylan. “Take her back to see Inspector Reyes and be quick about it,” he snapped.
“This way, missus,” Murphy said.
Kaylan followed him through the building, which smelled musty, like the forest just outside her settlement after an intense thunderstorm. Kaylan absently put her hand to her heart. She missed Jon, and it had only been ten minutes since last she saw him.
Eventually Murphy led her to a tiny office in the back corner of the building, where a familiar woman wrote on a chalkboard in the far corner.
“Inspector Reyes, you have a visitor,” Murphy said, then took his leave as Yolanda turned around.
“Oh, my God,” she said after looking at Kaylan for a second. “Kaylan Smith, look at you.” Yolanda clapped her hands to get the chalk dust off, ran up to Kaylan, and hugged her. “You’re dressed for an Arctic expedition.” As they pulled away from each other, Yolanda ran her fingers through Kaylan’s parka. “What kind of fur is that?”
“Bear fur,” Kaylan said, smiling. “Look at you. An inspector? How the hell did that happen?”
“Not overnight,” Yolanda answered. “What happened to us, Kaylan? One second I’m in a holding cell with Bart in sunny Florida, the next I’m freezing my butt off in London almost ninety years earlier.”
“The Guardians of Time.” Kaylan looked around and sat in a hard wooden chair. “Elder Jess and I figured they must have arrived on our Earth, in our time, and spread us out across the timeline. I’ve been living on an island near Norway for the past ten years.”
“Ten years!” Yolanda’s brown eyes grew wide. “Kaylan, I’ve been here for only six months.”
Kaylan nodded and held out the device Elder Jess had made for her. “Elder Jess worked on this for most of those ten years.”
“It looks like an instrument they used in the late twentieth century to open garage doors,” Yolanda said. “What does it do?”
“Well, for one thing, it locates you and Bart. It brings me to where you are. In your case, right outside this building.” Kaylan paused. “It does other things too, but—”
“Bart? So you went to get him? Where is he?” Yolanda craned her neck to get a look behind Kaylan, as if her former boss had him hidden in her pocket.
“I haven’t traveled to his time yet. You’re the first one I’ve talked to.”
“What about your mom?” Yolanda leaned in as if she were about to whisper. “What about Kyle?”
What about them? Kaylan had spent many sleepless nights the past ten years wondering what exactly happened. Elder Jess was sure Kaylan’s mother took care of Kyle in the end. Kaylan would never know for sure. Even if her mad plan would work, and she would get back to her present and the Mulvari, and th
ey defeat the Guardians of Time. It took Kyle sacrificing a Mulvari to travel to the beginning of time. Kaylan could never do that.
“They both died,” she said. “Kyle was never able to set off his explosion, complete his insane plan.”
Yolanda drew close to Kaylan. “You know,” she said. “I could tell, first thing when I saw you, in the face. You look a bit older.”
“Thanks.”
“But ten years?”
Kaylan laughed. “And I thought I accomplished a lot. How the hell did you get these chauvinists to make you a detective?”
“Inspector,” Yolanda corrected her. “I’m not sure if you saw the poster out in front—”
“Gentleman Jack.”
Yolanda nodded. “When I was dropped here, it was night. I recognized the area as London, near the Whitechapel District. I asked a prostitute who happened to be working the street what year it was. She looked at me like I escaped the sanitarium down the street, but answered me. 1888. I put two and two together.”
“Jack the Ripper,” Kaylan muttered.
Yolanda nodded. “I came to Scotland Yard, telling them everything I knew about the case. I felt like I had to help, and honestly, something in my gut told me I wasn’t leaving anytime soon. I told them about Emma Smith in April and Martha Tabram in August. I gave them details they kept in-house. At first, they treated me like a suspect. I couldn’t blame them. They were desperate. No one wanted to be out after sundown. Especially prostitutes. I only had to be in custody for as long as it took them to find another body. Mary Ann Nichols, August 31. Killed while I was sitting in their holding cell.”
“Wow.”
“Soon after, the commissioner came to release me and asked if I’d help. Of course I said yes.”
“But, inspector,” Kaylan mused. “Doesn’t it take years of training to receive that title?” Kaylan had to admit she was a little envious. Her mind flashed back to the criminal administration classes she took in her advanced education track. She loved a mystery as much as the next person.
“Like I said, they were desperate.” Yolanda smiled. “It’s an honorary title, but I’ll take it. They let me have this space here to run my theories.”
Kaylan walked over to the chalkboard. Names, places, most circled, connected by dotted lines and arrows, cluttered the board.
“Have they found Annie Chapman yet?” Kaylan asked, mesmerized by the board.
“Just last week. I haven’t put her up on the board just yet.”
Kaylan turned to her. “Why not?”
“I have to wait until the coroner confirms it’s a Jack the Ripper killing. Shouldn’t take long; throat severed, abdomen cut open—it’s him.”
Kaylan’s lips tightened. “Well, that’s frustrating.”
Yolanda nodded. “But there’s a thin line between knowing the future and spouting insane ramblings.”
“Any working theories yet?” Kaylan asked, returning to the board.
“Just the ones I heard as a teenager. He has to have exceptional surgical skills. He is most likely rich—how else can he keep finding victims? The only thing that can overcome fear is money.”
“One of the only things,” Kaylan muttered. “Have you considered the Ripper might be someone in government?”
Kaylan turned to see Murphy in the doorway. Whatever courtesy he showed her while guiding her back to Yolanda was gone now. Replaced by a skeptical, judgmental look.
“What is it, Constable?” Yolanda snapped his attention back to her.
“Beggin’ your pardon, Inspector,” Murphy said and gave Kaylan one more glance before turning his full attention to Yolanda. “Sergeant sent me down here to remind you of the daily briefing.”
“Tell Sergeant Benton I’ll be along shortly,” Yolanda said. Kaylan caught a hint of authority in her voice. Probably as much as the time and place would allow, but Yolanda seemed to walk that line very well. “Tell him I’ll make sure he’ll look informed in front of the press.”
Murphy nodded and left.
“Remember what year this is, Kaylan, what era. Women don’t even get to vote here for another thirty years. I can’t just go accusing—even suggesting—that someone from Parliament might be behind these killings.” Yolanda drew close to Kaylan. “I do that, and I’ll end up back in that jail cell,” she whispered, glancing back toward the doorway. “Most likely I’d be dead within a day.”
“So you’re just going to ignore that investigative track?” Kaylan said.
Yolanda shook her head. “But I’d need rock-solid proof before I could bring that theory to Benton.”
“Well, you don’t have to worry about that anyway.” Kaylan withdrew the device from her pocket. “We can pick up Bart and be on our way.” Kaylan looked up from the device and noticed Yolanda’s face. She wore a look as if she had just been caught doing something she shouldn’t. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m not a theoretical physicist,” Yolanda said softly. “I wasn’t brought on to the team for that.”
“I know,” Kaylan said.
“If you’re doing what I think you’re going to do...it’s going to take a while, isn’t it?” Yolanda asked.
Kaylan knew, deep down, where this was going.
“Yolanda,” she swallowed the lump in her throat, “London, 1888, isn’t any less dangerous than our present. We have friends we need to—”
“No, Kaylan. You have friends back in 2075. I have acquaintances I knew from work. I hope you get back there in time to help save them, but I have a chance to solve one of history’s most notorious mysteries. I have the chance to figure out who Jack the Ripper is. I have a chance to help catch a monster and get him off the streets.”
Kaylan rubbed her temples and closed her eyes. It was Dallas, 1963, all over again. Maybe it came with the subject matter expertise.
“Yolanda, even if you do catch him, no one on our Earth is saved because of that action. No one. You understand that, right?”
“Of course,” Yolanda said. “But the people on this Earth will know a little bit more peace, and that’s enough for me.”
Kaylan sighed. “Parents? Your family?”
“My family was killed in the early days of the Corporate Wars,” Yolanda said. “My parents owned a shoe store on the corner of one of the smaller cities in NW01, District 07. The attack came in the middle of the day. I was finishing my primary educational track. My little brother was with my parents in the store. The bomb killed them all.”
“I’m sorry,” Kaylan said. “I didn’t know.”
“One of my teachers petitioned TPC for guardianship. So my life turned out better than if they would have shipped me off to the labor program,” Yolanda said. “I had a good life in 2075, Kaylan. But I have a chance to make the history books here in 1888.”
Kaylan nodded and pressed the top button on her device. The room started to shimmer. She couldn’t make out Yolanda’s notes on her chalkboard anymore.
“Have a nice life, Yolanda,” Kaylan said sincerely.
“Have a nice life,” Yolanda replied. “Godspeed.”
EARTH 3
K aylan once again found the air to be very pleasant in comparison to her old 2075 atmosphere, but she still couldn’t place where she was or what time period she was in. At the moment, she stood in a grassy field bisected with a brook.
“Well, a sign as to which direction I should go would be great,” Kaylan said to herself in frustration. She pivoted around, but the closest sign of human life she spotted was a small town about a half-mile to the East. Elder Jess had been sure the device would place Kaylan within one hundred yards of the target.
She looked around again. One hundred yards in any direction would still put Kaylan in a field. A flash of panic hit her, and she felt a quick pass of lightheadedness.
Oh God, please don’t let this thing malfunction already, she thought.
She waited another minute in the middle of the immense field, then set off for the town. If nothing else, maybe someone in
town would know where Bart was, given the way he was dressed.
As she approached the town, Kaylan faced another bitter reminder of how things had not gone according to plan. She could have used Yolanda’s historical knowledge here, and most likely, everywhere she planned to go. The dozen buildings were scattered on patches of ground in an area of about three acres. Most were made from wood and pitch.
So what? That places me sometime between 887 and 1888 AD, Kaylan thought. Just a thousand-year window. And where?
She couldn’t explain her conviction—it was just a feeling—but for some reason she thought she was still in or around London. Probably not London proper. Even before 1888, London must have been more significant than this. You almost couldn’t call this a town, let alone a city.
Two men wearing dented metal uniforms stood on either side of the entrance gate to this collection of buildings. They each looked at her as she walked past.
Kaylan walked toward a large building from which laughter spilled. Better to question people having a good time. Also, if the crowd was large enough, it would help Kaylan reduce the attention of the law—or whatever role those two metal-clad men filled. The building had a decorative sign with a sheep on it and the words, The Sheep’s Head Inn.
“Ah, another lass for our celebration!” one of the men in the establishment exclaimed. His accent was British; she was somewhere in England. “Come!” He slapped his leg. “I have a lap for you to sit upon.”
“You can keep your lap far away from me, sir,” Kaylan replied, smiling.
The balding man stood. He had a thin-cut goatee. “I meant no disrespect, miss.” He still smiled. “Forgive my forwardness.” He bowed slightly.
“You need to forgive more than that with old Will,” said another man, this one dressed in a paisley silk shirt and puffy silk pants. “He and his men just completed a successful mission for the queen.”
“You are just upset the queen has requested the Lord Chamberlain’s Men for her entertainment, Marlowe,” Will replied.
Something in Kaylan’s memory flickered. Something from her primary education track—from another lifetime ago: the name.
Minutemen- Parallel Lives Page 6
