“Was it worth it?” Winston peered intently into his father’s sad gaze. “If you’ve planned all this, do you know how it’s going to end?”
Winston did his best not to contain his dismay when Claude said, “No. I don’t. There are too many variables. All I could do was try to give us — you — a fighting chance. And this…is my last action.”
Claude reached into his jumpsuit pocket and drew out a small, black torus, the counterpart to the black ring already in Winston’s bag.
“Keep in mind that there’s a direct relationship between translated distance and the duration required to appear at the destination. A line-of-sight translation will be almost instantaneous. Distant translations may take a few seconds.”
“Big jumps, more landing time,” said Winston.
Claude nodded.
“I am done,” he said as he placed the torus in Winston’s hand. “You have all four pieces, along with the energy interface.”
Winston couldn’t help but look away. He had a pretty good guess as to what the energy interface might be. “Well, um, not exactly.”
Alarm registered on his father’s face. “What do you mean?”
“It was an accident! I’d gotten the piece from Theo and had to drop off the Astoria bridge to get back on this freighter and the cops were coming and…and it fell into the river.”
“You lost the interface in the Columbia River,” Claude repeated as the meaning of the words hit him. “Please tell me Devlin doesn’t have it.”
“Does it help if he doesn’t have the energy marbles?”
Claude’s head sank into his hands. “This is what I mean! I never saw this. Every iteration I examined showed you with the energy interface.”
“I actually call it Little e. For energy.”
Claude ignored the comment and shook his head in confusion, his frustration plain. “Time is a slippery surface on which we place events, Winston. We think they stay in place because that’s how we naturally perceive them, but believing that is dangerous when the entire system is in motion.”
Winston was beginning to understand. “That’s why you think we should avoid the future. Because we’d use it to get information to bring back to the present, only it’d foul things up.”
“Yes. The past is treacherous enough.”
Winston nodded. He understood things getting fouled up. He fought back a wave of anxiety as he remembered this same man spread out on a hospital bed with his head stapled back together. And the note.
Your pops for the pieces at dawn. Say yes or he dies.
Winston still had no idea how to solve the problem immediately before him, and he desperately needed advice, even if it meant bending the rules.
“He has you, Dad,” said Winston. “Bledsoe. It’s—”
Claude held up his hand at arm’s length to block whatever Winston might say. “No. Winston, you must not tell me anything.”
“You’re in this hangar, right over there.” He pointed to the main area beyond the lobby. “And Bledsoe has—”
“No!” Claude stood up so quickly that his chair skidded backward and fell over, clattering loudly.
“Did you know he also has Mom now?” Winston pleaded.
Claude swallowed thickly and bowed his head. “Yes. But I did not know that he had me.” He looked up sharply. “Despite all my planning, all it takes is one little random element to send events spinning off into another direction.”
“Butterfly wings,” Winston muttered.
Claude cocked his head, not understanding.
“It’s chaos theory,” explained Winston. “The idea that a butterfly flapping its wings in one place could eventually lead to a hurricane thousands of miles away.”
Claude nodded slowly and set his chair upright at the table. His movements as he sat down again were tentative and cautious, like those of a much older man. He suddenly seemed as exhausted as Winston felt.
“Then…you should go soon,” said Claude. “Your mother needs you.”
Winston knew his father meant well, but he felt like the man might be pushing him away, and that stung. It brought up all those old feelings of having been abandoned as a baby. Perhaps that was why Winston found it easy to push back against his father’s earlier words.
“Are you telling me everything?” he asked.
Claude stiffened and eyed him warily. “What do you mean?”
“You said this was the fourth piece, the last piece.” Winston hefted the silver device in his hand. “But Mom said there were five, and the last one is crescent-shaped. What’s up with that?”
Claude stared fixedly at the table between them, his mouth pursed with tension. At last, he said, “I can’t discuss that.”
“You wanna know my theory?” Winston asked. “I know I can’t see into the future with the pieces I have. It’s locked or something. But you managed to jump from 1948 decades into the future…and you had five pieces.” He paused until Claude glanced up and met his eyes with a mix of what appeared to be irritation and fear. “I think the fifth piece is a future unlocker. How am I doing?”
“You should not be asking about this,” Claude said quietly.
“Why not?”
“Because I can’t give it to you.”
“Are you serious right now?” Winston pushed away from the table, anger bubbling up within him. “I’m in the middle of trying to save your life! It would be kinda handy to see what helps and what doesn’t!”
Claude shook his head vehemently. “It doesn’t work that way! I—!” He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and exhaled slowly. When Claude’s calm returned, he said, “Winston, I have already committed to giving my life for you, for your mom, for the purpose that all of this serves. You have to trust me. I cannot give it to you.”
“Even if it means Bledsoe wins?”
His answer emerged in a whisper. “Yes.”
Silence fell between them again. Winston supposed he had what he needed, but despite his frustration he couldn’t bring himself to think about disappearing so soon.
“Does it matter when I leave?” Winston asked. The geojumper felt almost feather-light in his hand but weighed heavily on his mind.
Sensing the change in their discussion, Claude’s mood lifted somewhat. “On a practical level, no. You can choose whatever time you want for your return, although the Alpha Machine may merge your true present if you try to land close enough to it. Remember, though: An hour passing here is an hour passing in your true home timeline, your relative present. Also, I will caution you that the longer you stay, the more you will lose your sense of urgency.”
Shade had said he needed some time to do his work in the forest, whatever that was going to be.
“How soon?” Winston asked.
Claude checked his watch. “It’s quarter past four. Do you have any plans for dinner? I have a couple of T-bones in the fridge for just such an occasion.”
Despite himself, Winston grinned from ear to ear.
26
A Piece and a Pop
Winston didn’t realize that he’d fallen asleep until he awoke to the smell of French fries. He lay nestled deep in couch cushions, their fabric redolent with the scents of home cooking and long use. After driving to his father’s small house on the northern edge of Tillamook, they’d seasoned the steaks and sliced up a batch of home-cut fries together. Seeing that Winston couldn’t stop yawning, Claude had put Winston in charge of keeping the fireplace fed while he continued to dry out and warm up on the couch. Winston remembered feeling a pang of guilt, knowing that Shade must still be out in that dripping, dark forest, right before closing his eyes for a second.
That second had apparently lasted fifteen or twenty minutes, because the smell of fries immediately gave way to his father standing over him, steaming dinner plate and utensils in hand.
“I have a little table in the kitchen,” he said, “but I figured we could eat here where it’s warm and comfortable. If you’re hungry, I made enough for four or
five people.”
Winston pushed off the red flannel blanket his father had laid over him and tore into his dinner like a velociraptor. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d tasted food this good.
“Best…dinner…ever,” he said around a mouthful of ketchup-laden fries.
Claude smiled as he sat in a simple rocking chair across from Winston. They chatted about Winston’s mom, his life in school, his love of science and robotics, his not-so-secret-anymore affection for Alyssa, and everything else that didn’t give away big-picture details about the future. Claude drank it all in, constantly plying Winston with more questions, trying to capture thirteen missing years in one evening.
When they took a break to refill their plates with seconds, Winston turned the conversation to his own questions, starting with why Claude had hidden the Alpha Machine pieces in the first place. Claude answered that he felt bound to keep the Alpha Machine out of the hands of irresponsible government forces, not the least of which might be Bledsoe himself.
“Right,” said Winston. “But if you have the ability to bounce around and hide these pieces in places where you know they won’t be found by anyone except me, why not use the same ability to just keep them all yourself and stay a few steps ahead of anyone chasing you?”
Claude thought the question over as he chewed quietly. His forehead wrinkled down its middle, and Claude’s breaths were long and pensive. Winston heard rain begin to spatter on the curtained windows, an odd counterpoint to the fire’s crackling.
“Several reasons,” Claude said at last. “First, obviously, I’m not as young and fast as you. Second, having the Alpha Machine is a great burden and temptation. I honestly didn’t know if I was up to the challenge of keeping it in my hands.”
“With great power comes great responsibility,” said Winston.
Claude straightened, clearly impressed. “You’re wise beyond your years.”
Winston shrugged. “A guy I know named Ben Parker said that.”
“He may have gotten it from your namesake, Winston Churchill, who made the same statement while Under-Secretary of the Colonial Office near the turn of the century.”
“Yeah…” Winston pointed a crispy French fry at his father. “Why did you name me after that guy?”
Claude chuckled. “Churchill was not without his flaws. He was a racist and an imperialist. But Churchill loved his nation with an unshakable enthusiasm. His desire to improve the world, as he saw it, fueled everything he did. He was a man of learning, eloquence, thought, and conviction. When everyone around him wanted to compromise and bend the knee to Hitler, he almost single-handedly kept the nation motivated and willing to fight on for what was right. I honestly believe that, if not for Churchill and his dogged, unwavering purpose, the world would have fallen to the Axis powers.”
“Ah,” said Winston. “I guess that’s OK.”
“You may find yourself in such a position someday,” added Claude. “Or perhaps you do already. We are constantly tempted by the safe path, the easy path, and we’ll fool ourselves into thinking it’s the best path.”
“But it’s not.”
“No. The fire scars, but it also burns away our flaws.”
Winston mulled that over. Was he in the fire now? What flaws did he have to burn away? Shade occasionally got on his case about being too much of a loner and not working as a team player, but that hardly seemed fire-worthy.
“What else?” he asked. “Honestly, those seem like kind of flimsy reasons to ditch the Alpha Machine.”
Claude nodded. “I was only there for the first year of your life, but…you never stop being a parent. You always want to help your children grow and succeed.” He chose his words with slow deliberation. “Ideally, I would have wanted you to face this challenge when you were a little older. Unfortunately, we don’t always get to choose when our struggles arrive. And, in the end, this struggle is yours, because of who you are.”
Winston set his fork on his plate and frowned. “What’s that mean? Who I am? You mean being part-alien?”
That phrase struck Claude, and the man leaned back, almost as if he’d taken offense. A reply sprang to his lips, but he forced himself to take a breath before continuing.
“You are you, Winston. You are my and your mother’s son. You’re different, yes, but don’t feel you’re an alien. We gave you a gift, and you’re only now learning how to use it.”
Winston felt an overwhelming urge to make some sarcastic retort about having enough gifts already. This wasn’t the time, though. His father didn’t deserve sarcasm.
“You know,” Claude said, “when I was a boy, I had a cousin who went blind when he was seven. Some sort of neurodegenerative disease. The family pitched in to buy him a cocker spaniel puppy we named Patchy. We trained Patchy to be his guide dog back in the days before there were assistance programs for such things. I spent so many days and nights working with that dog. It took almost a year of training. Eventually, Patchy could do her job, and my cousin got to go into the world again. He was able to go to school, shop for groceries… Really, that dog saved his life.”
“Patchy was a gift,” said Winston, feeling that he got the point.
Claude set his plate on the floor and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Yes, but maybe so was going blind. My cousin went on to become a music producer during the 1930s and ‘40s. He could hear the most amazing, subtle things, and his abilities changed the world of jazz. Of course, getting there wasn’t easy. I remember kids throwing rocks at him and Patchy when they would cross through fields. People would short-change him when he paid for things and assume he wouldn’t know the difference. He had his own fire to go through, for years and years.” Claude took a long breath. “The fire can be a gift, Winston. It’s a way to the end. You need to remember that.”
Claude took their plates into the kitchen, giving Winston a minute to ponder his father’s words.
“Dad?” he called.
“Yes?”
Winston didn’t know how to phrase what he needed to ask. “I need something to go on. A hint, a little hope, whatever. It feels…pretty dark right now.”
Claude stopped rinsing the dishes, and it was a long moment before he returned to the doorway and stood there, leaning against the doorjamb, studying Winston.
“I don’t know,” he finally said. “I’ve seen some things, but, like I said, time is slippery. Some events are going to be out of your control. You could walk out of here right now, step on a nail, get tetanus, and change everything.” He snapped his fingers. “Like that.”
“You’re dodging the question.”
“Because I have to,” said Claude.
Winston tried to keep the pleading out of his voice. “Dad, you don’t know the situation I just left. It’s bad. Really, you should know—”
“Nothing!”
Claude almost jumped from the doorway, and Winston sensed that there was some fear in his father always boiling just below the surface. What could he know and not be letting on?
Claude began pacing but calmed himself by standing near the fire. The worry on his face faded into a sad smile.
“Winston, you’re going to find that the more rigidly we plan for things, the more we assume that we have the one true answer, the more events wriggle away from us. You don’t get to actually control anything in life. And sometimes, if you’re not careful…life fights back.”
“Then what’s the point of having a time machine?” Winston cried. “Why bother if we can’t put it to good use?”
Claude slowly walked to Winston and took a seat on the couch beside him.
“To learn,” said Claude. “The past is only events placed on a mirror. We can never really see the events without seeing ourselves in or around them. The object is to see the relationship between those two things more clearly.”
Winston tried to puzzle through what his father meant. He thought he might understand, but it wasn’t what he wanted to hear.
“I need to know h
ow to help my friends,” he said. “And Mom. And you,” he added, trying to convey a sense of urgency in his eyes. “You have QVs. You could come with me. I don’t know what I’m doing.”
Winston guessed that taking his father was impossible even before the words were out. A gust of wind shook the small home.
Claude confirmed Winston’s fears. “I can’t. The Alpha Machine tracks its users. You can always go back to your current relative present, but, as I’m sure you’ve discovered by now, you can’t be in the same time twice. I can’t go to a time that contains an older me, just like you’ll never be able to return to this day.” He gave Winston a sly glance. “Although there are situations in which you can arrange to influence an event without actually being there.”
“Wait,” said Winston. “What do you—?”
Claude raised a hand and turned away. “No, even that is saying too much.”
His tone conveyed finality. They had enjoyed their moment. Winston had received his last Alpha Machine piece. It would be about 11:00 PM back home, uncomfortably close to Bledsoe’s deadline.
Winston felt the urge to wipe away the tears that crested over his eyelids, but he let them fall and left them alone.
“I don’t know what to do, Dad. Bledsoe wants the Alpha Machine, or he’s going to—” Claude gave him a stern look and a shake of his head. “He’s going to do something terrible. Something that can’t be allowed to happen.”
Claude gently brushed at Winston’s tears with the backs of his fingers. “The only thing that can’t be allowed to happen is losing the Alpha Machine. If Bledsoe or anyone else gets it, then everything is lost. Do you understand?”
Winston swallowed and nodded.
“If accomplishing that means ten million people die in a nuclear blast,” Claude continued, “it’s still worth it, because even that is nothing compared to the pain and loss that will follow from Bledsoe gaining control.”
“I know.” Winston’s words emerged in a whisper. He tried again, pushing for any strength he could find. “I get it. But I still don’t see where this is supposed to end. I wish you would help me get the last piece.”
Winston Chase- The Complete Trilogy Page 51