Shake

by Chris Mandeville

  If I’m going to run, I have to take the gun.

  Dietrich looks me in the eye, her expression erasing any impression that she can’t handle a gun in her left hand. So much for disarming her.

  Still pointing the gun at me, she puts her right hand up to the blank wall. At her touch, a door appears and slides open. More hologram tech.

  We step through the door into a BART station. It’s old and abandoned, with trash and recycling bins tipped over, debris covering the floor and benches, walls plastered with graffiti. I immediately feel at home.

  Across the cavernous space I see the trough in the floor for the trains, though there aren’t any train cars in sight. By the looks of this place, I doubt one would be operational anyway.

  Dietrich directs me left, along a graffitied wall.

  This graffiti’s like no street art I’ve ever seen. The colors are vibrant even in the dim light, and some of the images look like they’re sticking out of the wall—I’d guess another type of hologram.

  I follow the wall, my boots clacking on the concrete, Dietrich clipping along behind me. Making sure to keep my face pointed straight ahead, I scout for an escape route, but only out of habit. I have no desire to get shot. Besides, even if I found an exit and ditched Dietrich, I’d be trapped in this time.

  My best bet for getting back to 1906 lies with Bel. And now that Dietrich believes Bel’s her daughter, my odds are looking better.

  At the end of the station, Dietrich holds the gun on me while I climb down steel rungs into the train trench, which is a bit awkward with my hands bound. She foregoes the rungs and drops gracefully to the bottom. Duh, why didn’t I do that?

  To our left is the opening to the train tunnel, so dark I can’t see two feet inside. I turn to Dietrich for direction, and her steely eyes glare at me from behind the barrel. Did I read her wrong? Did she bring me down here to shoot me?

  “Go ahead,” Dietrich says. “In the tunnel.”

  I don’t move. Instead I take a breath and steady my diaphragm so my voice doesn’t shake. “Where are we going?” I’m stalling, trying to figure out options. I’m not much of a fighter, but I’ll challenge her for the gun before I let her shoot me in the back.

  “Med. Get going.”

  I try to read her—she’s calm, voice smooth, face placid. She might be telling the truth.

  “Med is through there?” I glance into the tunnel. “It’s really dark.”

  She rolls her eyes in a good likeness of Bel, steps around me, and waves her empty hand. Yellow lights illuminate the tunnel. Every inch is covered in graffiti, even the floor where it peeks between piles of trash.

  “Go on, move it,” Dietrich snaps, annoyed. Annoyed is good. Way better than murderous.

  I start walking, a little more sure she’s not going to shoot me. If we really are going to Med, that’s good—Bel should be there. Hopefully she’s gotten into the computer system and gained access to the wormhole machine.

  Dietrich steps up to walk beside me. “What can you tell me about my daughter?”

  This is a good sign. “Um, what would you like to know?” I hedge, wondering what she’s after. The gun’s down at her side now. Definitely a good sign.

  “How old she is, to start.”

  “Eighteen, I think.”

  “You don’t know?”

  “I only met her recently. I didn’t even know I had a sister until our father found me in 2018.”

  “Your father.” Her voice sounds pinched, like she’s trying hard to control her emotions. “He’s called Raskin, correct? Tell me about him.”

  “Okay, uh, he said he was from 2152, same as Bel. He’s tall with brown hair, and he wears dark glasses because his eyes are messed up. I only saw them once and they were…bloody looking.” I shiver at the memory.

  “Did he say what was wrong with them?”

  “He didn’t talk about it, not to me. Maybe Bel knows.”

  “I’ll be sure to ask her.” She’s silent for a few paces. “I’m curious why he and Bel were time-traveling.”

  “I only know what he told me.” I weigh my options and figure there’s no harm in the truth. What little I know, anyway. “He said there were only a few time travelers in his time—this time—and that some people wanted to get rid of them. He set out to prove time travelers were useful by pulling a heist in 1906 and bringing the valuables here. The catch was, we had to do it without anyone being able to tell history had changed.”

  “So where are these items?”

  “Uh, things went a bit sideways right before the big quake.”

  “Sideways?”

  “There was a problem and we had to abort the mission.”

  “What problem?”

  Now I have to veer into a lie because Bel doesn’t know—can’t know—the truth, and Dietrich will definitely ask her to corroborate my story. “I’m not sure why Beck told us to abort. Something about governors.” I remember Haze telling me Beck was a governor. “Rogue governors,” I amend.

  “Governors….” She seems to be saying this to herself.

  Silence fills the space between us. I don’t dare pursue the conversation, since I know next to nothing about governors. I’m literally crossing my fingers that I haven’t said something wrong already.

  At the end of the tunnel, we emerge into another BART station as trashed and abandoned as the last. I’m dying to know which station it is, but I don’t see any signs or maps or identifying characteristics.

  “We’re almost there,” Dietrich says. “Are you doing okay?”

  This is the first time she’s shown any concern for my welfare. I need to build on that. “A little tired. I’m not used to time-traveling.”

  “They’ll be able to help you at Med,” she says. “I’m sure they’re taking excellent care of Bel as we speak.”

  “Can I ask you something?” I venture, hoping to build more of a bond. Plus I’m curious. “At first you were sure Bel wasn’t your daughter. What changed your mind?”

  “Why do you want to know?” There’s a fresh edge to her voice, but I think I can push a little bit more.

  “I was hoping you could tell if there is someone in this time related to me. I mean in addition to Bel. Because now she has you…and I have no one.” I’m hoping her motherly instincts will kick in and she’ll group me with Bel as someone related to her.

  “They’ll test you in Med.” Not quite the open arms I was hoping for.

  Bel asked for a DNA test to prove Dietrich was her mother. Did they run one? Is that what triggered Dietrich’s about-face? No, Dietrich came looking for Bel in Detention, not Med, so it had to be something else. Maybe it has to do with those records Bel was sure her mother kept. I’ll have to ask Bel. I’ve pressed my luck with Dietrich far enough.

  She stops at the end of the station and holds her hand up to a graffiti-covered wall. A door appears and whooshes to the side, revealing a wide hallway. We cross the threshold, returning to flat, boring gray. The walls, the floor, even the lights are dull and oppressive. At least the graffiti had some life to it.

  We walk silently down gray hall after gray hall, passing through multiple doors with invisible access panels. Each hall, each door, the same. No sounds, no people, no relief to the gray.

  I wonder how long before I start to feel suffocated from having no sunlight, fresh air, or color.

  Dietrich stops at yet another gray door. “This is Med.”

  The door slides open. I guess I expected Med to be white and sterile with maybe the addition of some red crosses or something. But we’re standing in a waiting room that is totally and completely green. Like all the shades of green I’ve ever seen gathered in one place. There are two rows of plastic contoured chairs in a Saint Patrick’s green, the floor is some spongy material in an emerald green, and the walls are a neon lime spotted with random-sized teal polka dots. If I was allergic to green, I’d need an epi-pen.

  I follow Dietrich across the room to a window in the wall—a window with
green-tinted glass. There’s a girl on the other side of the glass who looks green, too.

  The green glass slides away revealing a girl who thankfully isn’t green, at least not completely. She has pale peach skin and amber eyes. But her hair is green. Icy mint green. On closer look, she’s got freckles across her nose and cheeks similar to Daum’s, but hers are green. Of course they are. Green eyeliner, too.

  “Hi, Mom,” the girl says.

  I look at Dietrich. Mom?

  “Hello, Sharrow.”

  Chapter Seven

  The mint-girl—Sharrow—is Dietrich’s daughter.

  That makes her Bel’s sister. Is she my sister, too?

  No, that wouldn’t make sense. Dietrich doesn’t know Beck in this time, so Beck can’t be Sharrow’s dad.

  Dietrich says, “This is Allie. Do a complete work-up.”

  “Affirm,” Sharrow says.

  “You have another new patient here, correct?” There’s no discernible change to Dietrich’s tone, but I can tell this question is important to her, so I bet Sharrow can, too.

  “Affirm. Another girl I’ve never seen before. Bel something.” Sharrow shoves a clipboard through the window and I groan. Apparently even in the future, doctor’s visits require endless paperwork.

  Dietrich holds her palm over the clipboard. It “dings” like a text, then she passes it back through the window. Cool! Paperwork in the future is better.

  The window slides shut, then a door opens.

  Sharrow appears in the doorway wearing a skin-tight bodysuit like the guards’ in the same mint green as her hair. It looks like something a ski racer would wear. Kinda hideous. But I covet her teal-green combat boots.

  “Please come in,” Sharrow says like she’s inviting neighbors in for tea.

  Inside, it looks a bit more like a medical facility, at least in terms of everything being white. There’s a large counter in the middle of the room, like a kitchen island. Cabinets and countertops line the walls, and there’s a variety of machines hanging on tracks from the ceiling. Six white-sheeted beds are distributed throughout the room. One of them is occupied.

  “Mom?” Bel sits up in the bed and the sheet falls to her waist. She doesn’t have a shirt on. Or a bra.

  Instinctively I fold my arms across my chest, but Bel doesn’t.

  “Mom?” Sharrow pivots to Dietrich, her eyes wide.

  “This is your sister,” Dietrich tells her.

  “But…but,” Sharrow stammers. “I don’t have a sister.”

  “You don’t remember because history changed,” Dietrich says. “The rapid DNA should have confirmed it.”

  “I…it…I haven’t seen it yet—it wasn’t complete,” Sharrow says.

  “Shouldn’t it be ready now? Go on and check,” Dietrich says.

  Sharrow looks from Dietrich to Bel, then to me. “Sit there.” She points at the next bed over from Bel’s. “I’ll be right back.”

  I cross to the bed and sit on the edge, knowing too well what Sharrow must be feeling. I wonder if Bel knew she had yet another sister, but I can’t read a thing on her face.

  “You believe me now, that I’m your daughter,” Bel says to her.

  “I apologize about before.” Dietrich says. “You were right—I didn’t know it at the time, but there are records kept in a vault that’s impervious to time-change.”

  “Thank gods.” Bel swings her legs out from under the sheet. She’s totally naked but she doesn’t seem to care. “Can we get out of here now?”

  Sharrow returns, looking like she’s in shock. “It’s true. I don’t understand.”

  “I’ll explain later,” Dietrich tells her. “Get her something to wear.”

  Sharrow nods. It looks like she’s in pain as she leaves the room.

  “Mom,” Bel says, her voice urgent. “I had to leave Dad in 1906. I had no choice.” Bel shoots me a glance that makes it clear she blames me.

  “Not now,” Dietrich says.

  “No, you have to listen. I need to go back for him,” Bel says.

  “As soon as it’s possible.”

  I breathe a sigh of relief. It doesn’t matter if Bel broke into the computer system or not. Dietrich is going to let Bel go back to 1906. Maybe this is going to turn out okay after all. As long as Bel doesn’t try to leave me behind.

  “You’ll need to be patient,” Dietrich continues. “The president’s coming with a delegation. Anything out of the ordinary’s on hold until after that.”

  Sharrow comes back and hands Bel something made of dark gray fabric. I wonder if the color is commentary, or if it’s the only option available.

  Bel unfurls the fabric—it’s a bodysuit like Sharrow’s. She slips it on and zips it to her throat. The zipper vanishes and I wonder if it’s behind a flap of fabric or if it’s another hologram.

  “Sharrow, lock Allie so Bel and I can leave.”

  Lock? “Excuse me?”

  Sharrow reaches up to a machine hanging above my bed and pulls down a tube with something on the end. It looks like a dentist drill. She comes closer, grasping my shoulder. I shrink away, but she pushes me onto my back.

  “Wait, what—ouch!” My neck stings where she pressed the drill-thing. “What did you do?”

  “It’s an ordinary paralytic,” she says.

  “A what?” Terror wells in my throat.

  “I’ll contact you later,” Dietrich tells Sharrow, then she and Bel head for the door.

  “Wait.” I try to sit up but I can’t. “Bel? Bel!”

  Bel doesn’t even glance over her shoulder.

  “Bel!” I shout again. But she’s gone. I’m dizzy and my legs feel like lead. “I feel weird.”

  “It’s harmless. Much more humane than physical restraints.” Sharrow snaps on blue gloves, grabs a pair of scissors, and snips the zip tie on my wrists. Then she starts on my dress.

  My arms fall to my sides of their own accord. The ceiling swims and nausea pools in my stomach. “Are you going to kill me?”

  “No! Why would you think that? I’m removing your clothing so the doctor can examine you.”

  “I don’t believe you.” I try to lift my arm to ward her off, but I can’t move it. My instincts are telling me this is all wrong, that I need to get the hell out of here, but my body won’t connect to my thoughts. “I can’t move my arm. I can’t move anything.”

  “You can still talk, and blink, and breathe. You’ll be fine. Just try to relax.”

  “I can’t move.”

  “I need to you calm down,” Sharrow says, cutting up the front of my blouse.

  “I don’t want to calm down! I want you to make this stop. I need to get out of here.” I feel tears running down into my ears. “Help! Someone help me!”

  She pulls open my blouse and starts cutting the corset. “Try to calm yourself. This isn’t good for you.”

  I’m gasping. I can’t get enough air.

  “What’s going on?” someone says.

  A figure approaches and leans over the bed.

  I scream—half of his face is exposed tendons and bone. I can see his teeth through a gap in his cheek. He looms over me, and I try with everything I’ve got to get away, but I can’t move at all, which panics me more. I’m hyperventilating, my vision going black around the edges.

  He pulls down a tube from the machine and presses it to my neck.

  The fear dissipates and I melt into the bed, like my body is turning from solid to liquid. I feel all warm and gooey. I notice my eyes are wet and I blink.

  The man above me meets my gaze. “I’m Calix, your doc.”

  Now I see that what I thought was exposed tendons and bone is actually a realistic tattoo. Half of his face looks like a picture from a medical book of a head without any skin. His light brown hair is loose and wavy, and swoops back away from his forehead. His lips are smooth and pink, then he smiles, showing perfectly straight, perfectly white teeth. I look up at his brown eyes—they are smiling too.

  “Better now?” he as
ks, his voice sliding over me like warm caramel.

  I try to nod. I don’t know if my head is moving. I think I might love him.

  Chapter Eight

  Flyx

  Inside the TIC, I have to be fast, but I still have to log.

  Flyx Hansson

  Jobrep 2153.08.08.1612

  Review previous compare and rep

  1613 pull 2153.08.08 and 08.07 logs

  1614 re-run compare series

  While that’s churning, I pull up my Lifereps. Search for “Sharrow” yields zero results. I scan through random dates and everything matches what I recall—no surprises. So my memory’s fine, as far as I can be sure.

  I ration whatever change created Sharrow and erased Bel must have happened after I left the TIC yesterday, and somehow I missed it during this morning’s shift. I wonder what else I missed.

  The task is still running. Taking longer than usual. Or maybe I’m more impatient than usual—I’m already feeling woozy from being in here again so soon.

  Finally, the compare series completes, and, rake me, the list is long.

  1650 rev sig-points per protocol

  1701 note 13 major anomalies, 157 minor anomalies

  In addition to my Allison Bennett, there are eleven people in the -A record who aren’t in -B. Twelve people disappeared from history.

  Kaitlin O’Connell born 1990.02.13

  Gracie Cuinn Webb born 2052.12.15

  Haze Mei-yin Fong born 2067.09.30

  Vee Kelly born 2070.12.21

  Charles Belfast born 2071.03.04

  Lora Elizabeth James born 2086.06.18

  Noah Ibsen born 2096.01.18

  Mouse Delacruz born 2101.04.01

  Fontaine Solange Minot born 2109.10.09

  Bel Raskin born 2134.11.17

  Beck Raskin arrived 2150.05.24, birthdate unknown

  The only major anomaly from -B log is the appearance of Sharrow Marie Gabler, born 2134.11.28 to Piers Dietrich and Wohl Gabler.