He was daydreaming, not really paying attention. “You don’t know how many times someone’s said that to me.”
She stared at him. Something popped into her head, from the file she read or otherwise, about Thomas Huxley.
He leaned back and closed his eyes. “Give me a minute. I’m sitting in the driver’s seat of Dimitri Reynolds’s car. With his sister. This is too cool.” He sighed. “Okay.”
They each opened their door, walked out, and moved to the opposite side of the car.
“You know, I don’t really mind old-fashioned automobiles,” he said, slamming his door. “Flying cars kind of get on my nerves, though.”
“Why’s that? Fear of heights?”
“Fear of falling.”
“Ah. Fair enough.” She sat back, then adjusted her mirror, thinking about his file again. “So you … swing both ways?”
Thomas looked out the window. “If that’s what you want to call it.”
“I think that’s neat.”
He turned. “No one knows. Not even Zoë—especially Zoe. I mean, it doesn’t really matter anymore, but still.”
“Hm. We should visit ancient Greece,” she said. “You’d blend in perfectly. I read somewhere that bisexuality was really common there.”
“I don’t speak ancient Greek.”
“I do. Well, a little. Jamie picked it up quickly. He once had a conversation with Socrates about the nature of music. I wanted to ask questions too, but he wouldn’t speak to me. Something about women being inferior.”
Historical figure or not, Thomas would punch out anyone who insulted Ariel Midori Reynolds.
“You can’t win,” he said, finally.
“No, I guess not. Well, I promised to explain how time travel works, didn’t I? And you wanted to go home.” She put the keys in the ignition, and the car roared to life.
Chapter Seven
June 17, 2507
“Time,” said Ariel, “is not a straight line.”
They were standing by the Tenokte canals at around eight in the morning. Flying cars darted among a few wispy clouds in an otherwise clear sky, and Thomas had his contacts back in his eyes.
“The long-standing opinion is that time is a circle or a wheel. That is completely inaccurate. The closest simile I’ve found is that time is like a DVD.”
“A what?”
“Uh, imagine a little silvery disk that holds a movie. You pop it into a player, and a menu appears on the screen. You can either watch the movie from start to finish, or you can play with the controls. Fast forward, jump ahead, fall back and watch the same scene twice. Comprende? Time is like a DVD, and my little pocket watch is the remote.”
He considered this for a moment. “But this isn’t just watching an outside event. You’re fundamentally changing that movie by being present, aren’t you?”
“People will argue with you on that point, and there are two schools of thought: One is that everything that happens has already been decided. That our being here today is part of one long smooth sequence, and nothing can change it. So we were always meant to be in the movie.”
“And the second…”
“Is that I’m an intruder, breaking apart events and changing them. Editing the movie. Bailey, and the rest of the Saturnine Order, believe in the first theory. But there have been dissenters. For example, Jamie believed in the second one.”
“You believe you can’t change anything? That whatever happens, happens?”
She paused. “I think some little things can be overwritten, but I’ve never been able to prove it. Most things cannot be undone. Think about it: you can’t go back in time and murder your grandparents before they had children, because the fact that you exist means they weren’t killed. You’d arrive there and you won’t be able to find them, or you’d have a change of heart.”
“That doesn’t mean I can’t go back and disrupt events that would have never affected me. Or change the future.”
“No. It doesn’t prove that, exactly. But I don’t think it’s possible.”
“Okay, so where did you get your time machine?”
She clasped her pocket watch in one hand, its copper chain wrapped around her fingers. “In the long run, I don’t know, exactly. It was invented some time after the year three thousand.”
“How can you not know?”
“The Saturnine Order didn’t start with Bailey. There have been dozens of travelers to come before us, and they didn’t leave records about their founding. We do know that the inventors of time travel will ban its use and try to destroy all traces of it.”
“What? Why would they want to destroy it?”
“They feared what time travelers can do. Think about it, Thomas. I can use this to travel anywhere, at any time. That’s a dangerous device for your enemy to have.”
“Maybe the Celestials think so, too.”
“Exactly. In any case, a few pocket watches were stolen, and a few people founded the Saturnine Order in secret, since they wanted to travel. We do know that at one time there were almost a dozen members. Now there are only three. Four, if you join.”
“So what do you do?”
“Travel, explore. Research historical events.”
“That’s it?”
“Yep.”
“And you’ve never been tracked before?”
“No, which is what worried me. If people keep tracking me, I’ll have to go home and destroy my device. And I don’t want to do that.”
“Yet you’re talking to me and not investigating that.”
“I spoke to Delacroix, Thomas. He said he’s seen me in the past. I haven’t really gone into your time at all, except to pick up Jamie, and I made sure not to attract attention then. So I’m thinking that whatever I did to cause attention, I’m going to do sometime in my future. And it’s somehow connected to you.”
He pressed his lips together, thinking.
“In any case,” said Ariel, “I—”
She was cut off by a sudden voice shouting, “Thomas!” Both of them turned and saw Zoë standing about twenty paces away. She jogged over, smiling. “I can’t believe I found you,” she said. She looked at Ariel. “Hi. I don’t believe we’ve met.”
“Ah. This is Ariel Midori,” said Thomas, sweeping his hand toward the girl. “She’s investigating the case against Damien. Ariel, this is my fiancée, Zoë.”
Ariel smiled at his description of herself: not quite a lie, but an obstruction of the truth. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Zoë.”
“And you. How is the case going?”
“It’s difficult, but I feel a breakthrough coming.”
“I see.” Zoë turned to Thomas. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Where were you?”
As Ariel dug out her pocket watch and read the dials, Thomas said, “Just out here, looking at the water. We also had a quick breakfast.”
“Hm,” said his fiancée.
“I’d better get going,” said Ariel. “I have to meet with a forensic scientist in about an hour. Maybe I can catch up with you both later.”
“Sure. You know where the ship is, right?”
She nodded. “Thomas told me. I’ll drop in later, and we can talk more.”
“I’d like that,” said Zoë. “It was nice to meet you, Ariel.”
Thomas said a quick goodbye, and the time traveler watched as they left, cutting a path through the city gardens. Fountains spurted water at every corner, and roses twisted like hearts among leaves and thorns.
For a moment the image of the couple seemed perfect: their smiles, their easy stroll. Then, just as quickly, they disappeared around a corner.
Ariel remembered what would become of them, and sighed. It didn’t matter. The world still turned, no matter what she or they or anyone else wanted. Hopes were just colorful balloons that often floated away, getting lost somewhere in that wide expanse of blue sky.
2.
Dr. Charles Taber heard a sharp rapping at the door, and looked up. A young wom
an with copper-red hair stood inside the doorway. She wore a white lab coat over her aqua shirt and black slacks, and held a clipboard with both hands.
“Can I help you?” he asked.
“Lt. Watson sent me,” she said, walking over and handing him her authorization card. “She wants to know how the evidence turned out in the Martínez case.”
He scrutinized the ID, then looked up at her. “You look a little young to be a cop.”
“I work in the lab. And if you really want to know, I’m just an intern.”
“Ah,” he said. “Don’t they usually send you out for coffee?”
She put down the clipboard, revealing a latte, and took a sip. “Sometimes. So, Doctor, what are we looking at?” She peered over at the microscope.
Dr. Taber sighed. He had forty years’ experience in his line of work, as well as a Ph.D. in criminology, and was tired of having to explain details to students. He worked in high-profile crimes, and had been called in especially for this one.
“There isn’t much to see, Miss Midori. The Council has already examined the witness statements. The only evidence is the rifle used to commit the crime and the bullets extracted from the young king, as well as the autopsy report.”
“Did you do the autopsy yourself?”
“No. I’m not a medical doctor. But all my questions have been answered. The bullets this rifle fires match the one that killed the king.” The scientist wore nitrile gloves, and walked over and picked up the black M-16. “This model is ancient. Last manufactured 397 years ago, and could very well be much older.”
“And it still shoots?”
“Yes. It’s been well-maintained, to say the least. While possession of a rifle or ammunition for a non-military purpose is a serious crime—”
“As I work in the lab, I’m a little hazy on laws, but when did this happen?”
He raised his eyebrows. “Anyway, it’s unknown how Mr. Martínez obtained this weapon. A few still exist on the black market. His prints were not found on it, however. There’s one fragment of a print, but I haven’t been able to get a match. It could be an old print from a previous owner.”
“Was Damien wearing gloves?” the girl pondered aloud.
“That’s our working assumption, but he didn’t have gloves on when he was arrested.”
“Wait—you don’t have prints, and they only saw him running through the building, but they’re issuing the death penalty?”
“I don’t choose what happens to him, Miss Midori; I just submit my information. But there’s also the matter of his confession.” He turned away. “Tell your lieutenant that I don’t have conclusive evidence, from a physical point of view, to link the suspect to the crime. I’ll write up my report and send it to her in the morning.”
“One question,” said Ariel. “If you find a match on that print, can you let me know?”
“I’ll send word to Lt. Watson, and let her know you asked. Whether she summons you or not is her decision.”
“No. Let me know.” Ariel reached into her pocket, pulled out a slip of paper, and handed it to him.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“A phone number. Call me. I’m easy to reach, and my cell phone works no matter where I am.” She took a sip of her latte.
“Very funny, miss. But I’ll send the message through the proper channels.”
Ariel nodded, and walked toward the door. “Do that. Just don’t mention me.”
“Why not?”
“They’re not really supposed to send interns; I’m covering for someone who can’t make it. Submit your report. But if you find a match, can you tell me?”
Dr. Taber looked at her for a moment. “I’ll consider it.”
“A thousand thanks.” She took another sip and walked out.
What a strange young woman, the scientist thought, and continued on with his work.
3.
“If you won’t write an article,” said Thomas’s editor in London, through a voice mail on the reporter’s phone, “just post a video blog. I don’t care what it’s about, but your fiancée’s brother killed the king! Just put up anything.”
Thomas opened his laptop and set up the camera while Zoë was out. He didn’t even do much political reporting—his specialty was music—but one of his co-workers was on maternity leave, and he’d promised to fill in for awhile. If his editor wanted his opinion, he’d get it.
He turned on the camera and sat back.
“Hello, my name is Thomas Huxley. You might have seen some of the stories I’ve filmed for the morning news broadcast. In any case, I am a reporter, and this isn’t a normal story. It’s just an update as to how I’m doing.
“You probably know that my fiancée’s brother, Damien Martínez, has been accused of murdering the king. Zoë and I have been holding up well, considering the circumstances. My heart goes out to Princess Emily during this time. June 15, 2507, will always be known as a terrible day.
“The tragedy seems to have lengthened my stay in Tenokte, and I will be returning to work after the Flyday. In the meantime, I ask—not as a journalist, but as a citizen of the Federation—that the Council re-examine the evidence against Damien. I feel his confession may have been forced.
“The sudden death of anyone is horrific, and the death of King Richard has caused the entire world to grieve. But I hope that the execution will be at least postponed until the Council can look at the facts, and not be caught up in the emotions of the times. A handful of days is not long enough to look at a case and decide someone must die, no matter what the crime.
“Thank you for listening. I know the Council will do whatever they feel is right, and Zoë and I will move on as best we can. I hope everyone else can do the same.”
He turned off the camera and sat back. It all sounded inadequate to him now, and it would probably stir up controversy, but they had asked for something. Photographers and reporters would probably follow him and his fiancée around more than they already did, but that didn’t bother him—though it was starting to upset Zoë.
Still, he hadn’t insulted the Federation, which made it safe to put up. He clicked Enter, typed his security code, and posted it to the web site for every citizen of the Federation to see.
4.
The wake for King Richard Montag lasted all night, and the line to see the coffin stretched beyond the funeral home and for several blocks outside it.
The princess wanted to stand by the body and accept the visitors, but soon realized she could not handle it without tears. A member of the World Council, Marietta Jones, instead took that position, and filled it with dignity and respect. Emily watched from off to the side, trying not to look at the coffin, and at six o’clock asked a guard to take her home.
It still didn’t seem real. When he came off the ambulance, Richard was clearly in pain, but still lucid. In his bed in the ER, he tried to laugh and joke, even as the gaping wound in his chest bled faster than the doctors could give him transfusions. Then shock started to set in.
When the young king started calling for his long-dead mother, the doctors ushered Emily to the waiting room. At 2 a.m., he went silent. A doctor came out to deliver the news.
They wanted to keep the princess away from the body, but she asked to go in, so a physician accompanied her. She walked in, trembling, and looked at her brother’s corpse. Without thinking, she reached out and touched his hand. It felt as cold as stone, no warmth to it at all, but the texture was all soft skin and veins. She pulled back her fingers, startled, and looked up at the doctor.
“I’m so sorry, your Majesty,” he said.
Her mother’s words echoed in her head: “I hope nothing ever happens to Richard, Emmy, but always know that’d you’d make a magnificent queen.” The princess had nothing to say.
She had left the hospital before they whisked her brother’s body away, before two time travelers came out of curiosity, and before the world learned of their leader’s death. She waited at home, confused and gripped by
grief. She had not been born to be queen; she was supposed to be the advocate of the people, appear at charity events, and champion environmental causes.
And her brother was supposed to be king, but she would never see him again. And now, after she couldn’t bear the wake, she sat alone and turned on her music box, which played Pachelbel’s Canon in D major. A little ballerina spun above a mirror of glass, moving by magnetism, dancing to the tinkling tune.
She heard a noise behind her, and turned. Lt. Kira Watson stood in the doorway of her boudoir.
Emily stood up. “Come to ship me off to my guardian, lieutenant?”
“No. I’m still thinking about my choice.”
“And…?”
“In the meantime, you can stay at the palace. I’ll need to be informed if you wish to leave.”
“So I’m a prisoner? My brother hasn’t even been buried yet. Can’t you give me some peace?”
Kira looked straight at her. “I’m sorry for your loss. I’ve lost loved ones, but to lose a brother, and so soon after your parents ... I can’t even imagine what you’re going through.”
“Thank you,” Emily said stiffly. “I’m glad the captain of Tenokte’s secret police has some compassion.”
The lieutenant smiled. “You know a lot more than you let on to. I’ll find you a family to stay with, somewhere far from here. For two years you can have a normal life, then you can be queen.”
“I’m not a child, lieutenant.”
“Your Highness, this isn’t because of your age. Even if you were 18, we still wouldn’t rush a coronation. We’d send you away under protection until we could be sure of your safety. Your brother was just gunned down. Think of the implications.”
Emily looked down. “Lieutenant, have you ever seen anyone die?”
“Oh, yes. Do you mean anyone I felt sorry to lose?”
The princess nodded.
“Many. I lost a lot of friends and family members in the epidemic, too many to count. Saw a lot of people nearly die, and that was almost as bad.”
Flyday Page 9