Flyday

by Laura E. Bradford

  “Who?”

  “Some sort of police officer. I think they call them Celestials.” Ariel explained the encounter.

  Bailey listened intently. “If someone from the twenty-sixth century is following you, we need to go there. They’ve stumbled upon a timepiece I haven’t accounted for, and we need to find out how.”

  “By ‘we’ ... you mean me, right?”

  “You won’t be alone. I found a new partner for you.” She picked up a folder off the desk and handed it to Ariel. “You need a guide, someone who knows this time, someone who will be sympathetic to your cause. He’s perfect.”

  Ariel opened the folder. “Thomas Huxley, journalist. Ah, born in the same city as me. Wait!” She snapped her fingers. “The Celestial mentioned him. Said I’ve gone to him before.”

  “It’s possible you bumped into him before, without realizing it. And he’s not as well-known as your last partner, but you still need to be careful.”

  “Got it. Will they track me again?”

  “The other signal is dead; no activity. The watch is probably malfunctioning, but that doesn’t mean it can’t start up again. I don’t think they’re done. If it happens again, don’t try to reason with them. Run.”

  “Uh-huh. I’ll try to remember that.”

  “Good. Find Huxley right away. All the information you need is in that file.” Bailey walked over to a safe in one corner and unlocked it. “Oh, and Ariel?” She pulled out a pistol, checked the magazine for bullets, then handed it to her.

  “A gun? Bailey, I’m not twenty-one or anything, and I wouldn’t know how to use it—”

  “They’re illegal in the Federation, for a civilian anyway, so your age doesn’t matter. That flimsy sword isn’t going to do you much good. If you need this, take the safety off and shoot. I take it that’s easy enough for you to understand?”

  Ariel took the pistol, hesitant. “Bailey, that Celestial knew what I looked like, knew my name and everything. I’ve apparently done something in their past to draw their attention. What if every police officer on the globe is on the lookout for me?”

  “Ariel? Trust me. They’ll have something bigger to worry about.”

  3.

  June 15, 2507, 8:30 p.m.

  Lt. Kira Watson stood over Agent Six, who was leaning against the glossy wall of a laboratory.

  “All right there, Six?” Kira asked.

  The agent blinked, amazed. “I saw her, Captain! The girl … she was right in front of me.”

  Kira grabbed him by the shoulders and slammed him against the wall. “And you didn’t think to bring her back?”

  The agent shoved her off him. “She sent me back. If it wasn’t for her, I’d still be stuck there. You sent me in without knowing how this works.” He handed her the watch, then stormed toward the exit.

  Two technicians sat in one corner of the room, monitoring the readings on computers. They kept their eyes firmly on their computers to avoid the lieutenant’s stormy glare. Kira looked down at the pocket watch.

  “Where was she?” she asked, quietly.

  The agent turned. “Pompeii. She said there was a volcanic eruption coming.”

  “Pompeii?” Kira raised an eyebrow. “Last volcanic eruption there was in A.D. 79.”

  “I swear, it was something out of a history book. Ancient Romans and everything. Remember a few years ago, when she broke out a prisoner? She said it hasn’t happened to her yet. She really is a time traveler. Maybe we’re starting a causal loop, a predestination paradox—”

  “She’s lying.”

  The agent blinked. “I’m just saying.”

  Kira walked out the door, shaking her head.

  A man in his forties stood in the hallway. He was tall, with frizzy, sand-colored hair. “Lieutenant?”

  “Not now,” said Kira, waving her hand and passing him by.

  “Did you see him, Melo?” the visitor asked the agent.

  “That’s classified,” said Agent Six.

  “Oh, please.” The visitor followed Kira, lagging a few steps behind her. “I see you’re having trouble with your latest project, Captain.”

  She turned. “Who sent you?”

  “Commander Delacroix. I’m your new personal assistant.” He held up a silver card. “I volunteered to be transferred back to your squad. I left a few years ago when I moved to the covert ops in New York. Agent Five, John Caxton, at your service.”

  Kira sighed. “I remember you.” She kept walking. “I really don’t need any more agents, though. And this project is none of your concern.”

  “Since the Commander sent me here, I think it is. You only have fifteen agents, by the way, when you should have more than twice that. And since one of those agents has been out of service for several years, that makes fourteen. You could use the help.”

  “Fine. Why are you interested in this project?”

  “Curiosity,” he said. “Not every city is investigating time travel.”

  Kira slid a card through a slot by the door, and it opened. “We’re not, either. I’m closing the file. This is getting a bit bizarre.”

  “What? There’s been a new development. The servants saw your red-haired girl in the palace just this afternoon. They said she was wandering the hall leading to the king’s chambers. They haven’t seen her since the epidemic a few years ago, and she always comes before someone dies.”

  “Really? Hm. I’m glad I have someone to report servants’ ghost stories for me.”

  “She’s a time traveler, Captain. I believe it, your agents believe it, Delacroix believes it. Why can’t you?”

  She pressed a button for the elevator, then turned to Caxton. “I’m not really a fan of chasing legends. Report back to Commander Delacroix: the device finally worked, but the target was not apprehended.”

  “So you’ll be trying again?”

  “I don’t know. We’ll have to wait for the clock to light up. That’s how we sent Six through—it lit up this morning. In the meantime, I want every agent in the city to be watching out for Thomas Huxley. If she reappears, she might go to him.”

  “Why?”

  The elevator doors opened, and she stepped inside. “This girl represents a threat to the Celestial Federation’s security. The Commander appointed me to investigate it, and I’m following every lead.”

  “You never did find that escaped prisoner, did you?”

  “No,” she said.

  “Do you even care if you find this girl?”

  Kira didn’t reply. She heard a crackle in her earpiece, and paused to listen to the message. Her eyes widened.

  “What is it?”

  She looked up at him. “Palace ghost, you said? Only shows up right before people die?”

  “Yeah?”

  She put a hand to her ear. “It’s the king.”

  4.

  Thomas Huxley could think of better things to do at 11 p.m. than write a statement for the police. Sleep, that would be nice. But here he was, watching the clock tick away the minutes, writing everything he knew about Damien.

  Thomas had already made a call to the news studio in London, excusing himself from the story. He couldn’t really give unbiased reporting about an attempted assassination if his future brother-in-law was the shooter. His editor recommended he write a commentary piece instead, but he couldn’t even think until he saw Zoë.

  He walked over to the window, watching the rain drizzle outside. The king was lying in a hospital bed, his condition critical. He was alive, but no one knew how long that could last.

  How could this have happened? The greatest leader in decades, gunned down by a musician? It didn’t seem possible. He heard the police discussing the story over and over again: Damien was found running down the hall, away from the only elevator that led up to the balcony. No one else had been seen entering or leaving.

  They were talking about the death penalty.

  “I wondered when you’d come back,” came a voice behind him.

  Thomas turne
d. A brunette in full officer’s dress stood before him. He smiled. “Hello, Kira.”

  Lt. Kira Watson strolled up to him, amused. “Four years in London, huh? Have you been avoiding me?”

  “No, just … avoiding the city.”

  “I can understand that.” A pause. “I heard you were engaged. Congratulations. Your parents mentioned how happy they were.”

  “Thank you,” he said, his voice flat.

  “I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “Things must be hard for your fiancée right now. I could hardly believe it when they told me.”

  He really didn’t want to hear her speaking about Zoë. Kira had ties to Commander Edward Delacroix, who would most likely assume control of the Federation until the king recovered, and to the World Council, which would decide Damien’s fate.

  “Is the king going to be all right?” he asked.

  “It could go either way,” Kira murmured.

  He stared out the window. Raindrops clung to the cold glass, sparkling in the night. In the starless sky, he could only see the dark outlines of buildings.

  “I’ve lived in this city for two decades, and I feel like I’ve never been here before,” he said finally.

  “How much do you remember?”

  “Nothing. Very little.” He listened to the rain patter outside. “Some days more than others.”

  “It’s good to see you, just the same. I like your new accent.”

  He smiled a bit, inwardly.

  “I’m actually looking for someone, and I was wondering if you could help me. It’s a girl with red hair, and she might wear green sunglasses. Missing person. Calls herself Ariel. If you see her, can you let me know?”

  “What?”

  “Just promise me. We were friends once, even if we’ve changed since then.”

  He wavered for a moment. “Kira, I’ve been meaning to ask you. The day I was shot—”

  A door behind them opened. Thomas and Kira both turned and saw Zoë shuffling in, wiping her eyes. “Hey,” she said, when she saw Thomas. Her eyes moved to Kira for a moment, and then back to her fiancé.

  “Oh,” said Thomas. “Zoë, this is...”

  “Lt. Kira Watson,” said the woman, walking over and shaking Zoë’s hand. “Thomas and I grew up together. I’m terribly sorry for what happened. I can’t even imagine what you’re going through.”

  “Thank you,” said Zoë. “I … appreciate it.”

  “Thomas, were you about to ask me something?” Kira asked.

  Zoë looked at him expectantly, and Thomas stared at the lieutenant for a moment.

  “No,” he said. “No, it was nothing.”

  The couple walked to their hotel a few minutes later. When they arrived, Zoë tossed her purse onto a desk. “I guess I’ll have to get my stuff in the morning,” she said, yawning.

  A flash of lightning streaked the sky outside their window, followed by a peal of thunder. Thomas’s suitcase was already in the hotel room; he’d dropped it off that morning, but Zoë’s belongings were still in her ship.

  She didn’t fall asleep until almost midnight, since there were so many people calling, and so many calls to make. All of her friends had questions about Damien’s place in the tragedy. It wasn’t necessary to call any members of her family, however. Besides her brother, she had none.

  Finally the exhausted young woman fell asleep sitting in the recliner, her phone still in her hand. She left it on in case someone called during the night, seeking illumination. For now, it didn’t ring.

  Thomas put a blanket over Zoë, took his contact lenses out of his eyes, then sat awake for a long time.

  When he finally drifted off, it was only after replaying the scene of the king’s attack in his mind over and over again. The room was damp from the day’s rain, too damp for summer, and he tossed and turned, restless. He kept waking up and reaching for an alarm clock that was thousands of miles away, back in his flat in London.

  When morning neared, the sound of a gunshot jerked him from his sleep. He sat up in bed, startled, looking for the source of the noise. But Zoë still slumbered in the chair, the world around her undisturbed: he had only heard it in a dream.

  Chapter Three

  June 16, 2507

  The day dawned bright and hazy, and a pale mist clung to the ground, throwing the colors into sharp relief. Everything seemed soft and dreamlike, and at last Thomas knew he was in Tenokte.

  He scanned the skyline from his hotel window, lost in his thoughts. At eight o’clock the flat TV screen flickered on, showing footage of the assassination attempt, as well as snippets of interviews detailing people’s shock. And then came the news he wanted to hear even less: Damien Martínez had confessed to the attempted murder.

  Thomas walked into the bathroom and called his seventeen-year-old sister, Audrey.

  “Hey, kiddo,” he said, when she answered.

  “Thomas! Did you see what happened last night?”

  “Yes.”

  “They’re saying the king could die. But he won’t, right?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What will happen if he dies? Who’s going to rule?”

  “Kiddo, I don’t know.”

  A pause. “Right. Um, Tuesday’s my last day of school. Mom and Dad said I can stay with you this summer, if it’s okay with you.”

  His heart nearly did a somersault in his chest, and he wanted to scream out, “Yes!” Instead, he glanced out from the crack in the door to make sure Zoë was still asleep. “That’s great, kiddo. But you’ll have to go back home during the honeymoon.”

  “But I can stay with you until then?”

  “Yes.”

  “Awesome. Love you, Thomas. Come over!” A click.

  His cell phone showed over a dozen texts and missed calls from work and friends. The messages varied: his editor dogged him to investigate the story; friends wanted to know what he wanted out of the coming trial. He decided to call them all later, since he felt completely overwhelmed. Just yesterday he had been a reporter who investigated tragedies, not a man trapped on the wrong side of them.

  He sent a text to Zoë’s phone and slipped out of the room. His fiancée stirred when he opened the door; he hesitated a moment, but she didn’t awaken. He walked out, closing the door gently behind him.

  Tenokte hadn’t changed, but he had, so he decided to explore it again. He wandered through the city’s parks, admiring the stone fountains and lush rose gardens where he and his family spent many happy afternoons in his youth. His memories were starting to come back. He walked through the downtown shops, all linked by aboveground tunnels, and saw vintage clothing stores, diners, cafés, and bookstores. He passed an electronics shop before realizing he’d walked down this street the day before, with Zoë.

  The road ended by the canals, and he stopped for a moment and leaned over the edge of the bridge’s railing. He gazed out at the water. The canals seemed calm: flawed, yes, and not as lovely as a natural body of water, but interesting all the same. They powered most of the electricity for the retail district of the city, and had been built centuries before.

  After a moment he became conscious of someone watching him, and turned. A young woman stood across the street, her head turned to read a sign. After a moment she looked at him and then crossed the road, glancing both ways—for what, he had no idea, since almost all traffic was air-based.

  “Hi,” she said, smiling. “Are you Thomas Huxley?”

  “Yes.” It wasn’t unusual for people to recognize him from his TV segments, but he still hadn’t adjusted to it.

  “Perfect. Can you tell me what year it is?”

  “What?”

  “The year,” she repeated, patiently.

  He stared at her.

  “Hm,” she said, glancing up at the sky, then the street. “Flying cars of this style puts me after the twenty-third century. From your clothes I can see I’m closer to the twenty-fifth or twenty-sixth. It wouldn’t be completely out of place for me to guess that this c
ould be 2507.”

  “You’re not from around here, are you?”

  “Believe it or not, I was born in this city.”

  “Uh-huh. Well, it’s 2507. June sixteenth, to be exact.”

  “Perfect,” she said.

  He stared at the girl; she seemed vaguely familiar. Her reddish hair fell past her shoulders, and she wore sunglasses tinted a lime-green. Though it was at least seventy-five degrees and humid, she wore a black jacket, zipped up and closed at the throat. A pocket watch with a cover lay clasped to her belt, its copper chain dangling like an afterthought.

  “Someone’s looking for you,” he said suddenly.

  “Who?”

  “But I’ve seen you before,” he said, circling around her. “Years ago. You looked exactly the same.”

  “Really? What did I do?”

  He stopped. “I ... don’t really remember. It’s a long story.”

  “Oh. Right. I don’t remember it either, which means it hasn’t happened to me yet. In any case, my name’s Ariel Midori. I’m a time traveler.”

  He smiled. “You know, no one’s ever said that to me, but now that I think about it, you really look it. Lost in time or something?”

  “Do you want me to show you?” she asked, completely serious.

  “Listen, you saw me on the news; that’s nice. I’m not really in the mood for this.”

  “You spent a year working for the secret police when you were in college,” she replied.

  He blinked. “What?”

  “Do you want me to show you how this works?” She held up the pocket watch.

  The girl knew he’d say yes before he could even open his mouth. He felt only a sensation of movement, as if the world had shifted around him: as if he stood in an elevator that moved in every direction. When he turned around, he stood on the same bridge, but a blazing red sunset filled the horizon.

  He turned to her, shocked. “How did you—?”

  “Time travel. And distance travel, but that’s not so revolutionary, is it? Watch this.”

  An instant later they stood under an inky, moonlit sky. Snow covered the bridge, and the canals were frozen. He shivered. When he spoke, his breath came out in a mist.