“So why did you get him now? Why not wait until he’s older?”
“Time was right, that’s all. He was alone and with nowhere to go. It was the best time to recruit him, and we need him soon. There’s a project being put together, and we need someone strong and fast. Someone who can handle himself in a fight.”
“And he has other abilities we need,” said the woman.
“I wouldn’t be putting up with him if he didn’t.”
They went on to talk about other topics, and Neil was getting ready to leave when he heard Elliot say that he was going to visit the bookstore before he went back to the riverboat. Neil slipped out the back and headed back to the river.
He had the abilities the Time Corps needed. That was why Elliot had found him and offered him work. He couldn’t say it was a shock. Why else would they need him? Certainly not for his sparkling personality and witty banter. He was useful to them, that was all. Like a hammer is useful for driving in nails. You don’t love the hammer, you don’t worry about it unless it breaks. It’s a tool, a useful thing.
And that was what he was, a tool in Mr. March’s hand, and now a tool in the hands of the Time Corps. Both wanted obedience. Both wanted him to use his skills to bring death to those they chose, or at least to fight for them, according to Elliot and the woman in the candy shop.
A small, grassy park ran along one side of the street, and he was tempted to stop and have a seat on the bench in the shade, to wait for Elliot and pretend he had heard nothing.
The woman had mentioned that this was how Neil was, when he was young. That meant that she knew him when he was older. Did that mean he was predestined to work for them forever? Or was that changeable? How much of his life was his own to determine? And how much was set before he ever had a chance to make a choice?
He kept walking, heading for the riverboat and the cabin he shared with Elliot, where their belongings were currently stored. Neil barely owned anything, just a few changes of clothing he had purchased at their last stop. Elliot had come with two wheeled trunks, one full of clothing and miscellaneous items. The other sat propped up in the corner on its end, and sometimes Elliot tossed his coat over it or set a book on top. He never opened it.
Neil boarded the riverboat and went to their cabin. The room was tiny, with two bunk beds, a small round table and two folding wooden chairs that were currently propped against the wall. Neil gingerly lowered the mysterious trunk onto the floor and opened it. Inside was a machine. The base of it was a thick wooden pedestal, like a box with a little door on one side. The side had a small panel with dials and knobs and at the top of the pedestal sat a paneled brass sphere.
This must be the time machine. Mr. March had never required such a thing, but Elliot was not the same type of being as Mr. March. Elliot was a regular, ordinary man. He was not especially strong or exceptionally talented, as far as Neil could tell, though he was intelligent. He liked to read. That they had in common.
Neil opened the little door on the side, and discovered a cloth bundle. He unwrapped it to find the Viking ship in a bottle. Rotating it, he studied the dragon-headed ship with its graceful curves and the red and white striped sail. What had Elliot said when he bought it in the thrift shop in Las Vegas? Monkeys. Perhaps he had been making an attempt at a joke.
He wrapped the ship and put it back inside its compartment, closed up the trunk and was about to tip it back into place when he stopped. This was an important moment. This was one of the moments, like the moment when he decided not to kill Trevor Grant in the robotics laboratory or like the moment when he decided not to work for Mr. March any more. This was a moment of choice.
He could stay, be obedient to Elliot and his Time Corps in the hope that they were one of the good guys. But really, who needed someone like him, an assassin, a murderer if he got right down to it, for good purposes? His skills were solely useful in spying or killing people. He was not a being made for peace, unless he took it upon himself to become one.
He was no pacifist, and he wouldn’t hesitate to take down anyone who tried to harm him. But he wouldn’t allow himself to become a tool for anyone again. He would not be used for the purposes of others. Mr. March had used him as a cat’s paw, a thing to hurt others while March sat back, innocent of the wicked deeds, his own hands clean of their blood.
Well, those days were done. And so were his days of hoping that Elliot and the Time Corps would be any different. They had a job for him, did they? One that used his skills?
No. He would not help them. If the work was so noble and honorable, then why keep it a secret? All clues pointed in one direction. They wanted him to beat or kill people, and they would want him to do it without explanation.
So what if the woman in the shop knew him in the future? The future could be changed, and he would not be swayed by something that was only a possibility. He could make his own fate. He would steal the time machine.
He grabbed his heavy canvas bag and threw in the few items of clothing he owned. He still had the money from Mr. March, and he thumbed through it, seeing how much there was. Enough for a few weeks, if he was careful.
Then he had an idea. The little ship in a bottle was bound for Memphis, where Elliot was presumably going to sell it or deliver it to someone for one of his missions. If Neil took it, then Elliot might think that Neil intended to take it to Memphis to get the money himself. It would be a stupid plan, as Elliot had never told Neil exactly who wanted the thing or where they lived. But maybe Elliot underestimated him and would think him rash enough to do such a thing. If he did, it would send Elliot off of the trail, searching in Memphis. It was worth a shot.
Slinging his bag over his shoulder, he made sure the latches on the time machine’s trunk were secure. He grabbed the leather strap and rolled the trunk out of the room, onto the ship’s deck and down the gangplank. The machine was his freedom. It would let him travel to any world, once he learned how to use it. And once he could do that, Mr. March couldn’t find him. No one would find him. He could be on his own, under no one’s control and no one’s authority. A free man.
He hired a trap to take him to the railroad station and then bought a ticket for the next train heading south. It was going to Nashville, but that would work well enough. Anywhere away from the river would be best, even if it took him through war-torn areas. Now he was glad that he had never told Elliot about wanting to go to New Orleans to leave word with September Wilde. Elliot would have no idea where to find him.
The train arrived and Neil boarded, settling into his seat. The scenery didn’t please him, and neither did the train car, however historical it might be. Perhaps things felt wrong because he had lost a bit of hope, the hope of working for a good organization, of having a place to belong, a group of people he could trust.
Elliot was not a bad man. He had been good company. He was one of the generally pleasant people in the world who smiled easily and laughed often. Neil would never be such a person. Maybe that was why he felt strange, because this companion had not been such a good friend after all.
The train rolled forward. It didn’t matter if he felt strange inside. He was free now, free of false friends and free of the chains with which they wanted to bind him.
Chapter 19
January 7, 1864
New Orleans, Louisiana
“You look like you’re fit to burst,” said Seamus.
Miss Sanchez walked down the street beside him with bright eyes and a bouncing step.
“Just looking forward to getting home,” she said. “If we time it right, I can put my sister in touch with the doctor. And once that is done, and my nephew is all better, I will take you for burgers and frozen yogurt.”
“It won’t be long now, and you can you can make me the burgers and some of this frozen yogurt. Also, I would like to make a phone call.”
“Really?
Who would you call?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I just want to try making a phone call.”
Miss Sanchez laughed, and his spirits lifted with the sound. The poor woman had been through so much and now she would finally have a chance to get home. No wonder she was happy.
He was happy as well, more for her sake than his own. He had worked for so long to find a way to retrieve her from 1961 and get her home. Within the last few weeks, he had figured out a way to do both. Sure, he was saddled with McCullen, but his old partner’s presence had proven almost pleasant. It had been like old times, more or less. There was the thrill of discovery, the shared struggle, and the companionship of an equal. McCullen would be going with them when they went to the hub world between this world and Miss Sanchez’s. McCullen’s home world was not this one, nor was it Miss Sanchez’s world, but another one entirely. He wondered how many worlds there were and what surprises they held.
He sighed. “I feel guilty leaving Hazel behind. She’ll not be pleased with me.”
“I know,” said Miss Sanchez. “She’ll be upset with us both. But she’ll be fine. Both of us met her in 1961, and she’s healthy and happy.”
“She dresses like a madwoman and drives like a demon from hell.”
“Does she? I didn’t think so.”
“Her birthday is tomorrow, and I hate to miss it.”
“We can leave the day after, if you want,” said Miss Sanchez, but Seamus could tell it was hard for her to make the offer.
“No need for that. I know you want to be getting home. And her birthday is the day that Neil Grey is supposedly going to come visit her. If we took her with us, she wouldn’t be here to meet him. It might be an event we can’t mess about with for fear of creating an instability.”
“You don’t know that for certain. She could meet him on her birthday precisely because we take her with us.”
Seamus sighed. He hated the idea of trying to match his actions to create the circumstances for some potential future to occur. He would simply do what he thought was best, and trust that it would all work out in the end. Any other way would drive him to madness.
“The fact that she’s alive and well in a century means she chooses to be a time traveler,” said Seamus. “That we know for sure.”
“True,” said Miss Sanchez. “We just don’t know when she decides to do it. She could marry, live here and then travel later in life, or travel immediately. The important thing is that if we leave her here, she’s financially independent and isn’t forced into marriage. She has to make her own decision on it.”
“Our Hazel is a headstrong thing and a right devil when she gets her mind set on something. So I’ll not be the one telling her what to do. She’s a grown woman now. Ah, here’s the office.”
He held the door open for her, and then followed Miss Sanchez into the solicitor’s office.
“Mr. Connor,” said the solicitor. “Back again so soon?”
“I need to modify my will again and make a few changes to the deed on my house.”
Miss Sanchez sat by his side as he made his arrangements. The house, all his patents, equipment and fortune would be given to Miss Hazel Dubois upon her eighteenth birthday. He also stipulated that the patents and her house had to remain as her own, even if she married. He could do nothing about her money, as that would become her husband’s, but his patents and the house could legally be kept separate. Any income from the patents would be her husband’s too, and any husband was welcome to live in the house with her, but upon his death, the assets would revert to being hers. Whatever happened, he had to ensure that Hazel remained the owner into the 1960s.
The two of them stopped by the bank next and withdrew an enormous amount of money, and then exchanged all of it for gold.
When they returned home, McCullen was in the laboratory. He had packed up the few things he wanted into a leather case and the table he used near one window was as tidy as could be. His things might molder there for years, unless someone disturbed them, and Mrs. Washington wouldn’t set foot in the laboratory, even if one area of it was clean.
If Seamus returned, it would be without McCullen. Seamus wondered. He had a life here, such as it was. He enjoyed working at Tulane University, but his true joy was in his own experiments. His family was in Ireland, but by necessity, they could never see him again. And when Hazel became a time traveler, he was sure to see her again as well. Perhaps he would never come back at all. Well, that was a decision for another day.
Mrs. Washington called them to supper but Seamus was too excited to eat, so he told McCullen and Miss Sanchez to go downstairs without him. He found a sheet of stationery, a pot of ink and a pen. He wrote out his resignation letter to Tulane and set it aside for Mrs. Washington to post later. Then he wrote a letter to Hazel, asking her to please send money to his family in Ireland. This time, he would not be back in a few days. If she thought it best, she could even tell them where he had gone, and that he was alive.
He touched the back end of the pen to his lower lip. Perhaps, at some point, he could even go visit them. So long as the authorities didn’t know ahead of time, he would be safe. Well, for now, having Hazel send money to his mother was the best he could do. He asked her to watch over the time rips and to take good care of herself.
Most of the things he wrote, he had written before when he had gone to 1961. He wanted to write more, to tell Hazel something of value, something fatherly, but only practical things came to his mind. Renew the patents on time, pay the property tax, remember to keep the attic door closed or it would warp in the humidity. He could not put his heart on the paper, and had to trust that she knew that he loved her, that he wished her only good things, not the dangerous life he was about to undertake.
He sighed and read it over. It would have to do. He wished he could simply tell Hazel in person, but she would insist on coming. If she were a more malleable young woman, more obedient and docile, he would be able to manage her. But she wasn’t, so he was forced to say good-bye in a letter. He folded the paper, sealed it and looked down at it. All their years together and it all came down to a slip of paper and some ink.
He left the note on the table beside her favorite reading chair in the library. She wouldn’t find it until the next day as she usually spent time in the kitchen with Mrs. Washington after supper and then played violin in her room.
Seamus packed his things and confirmed and reconfirmed the coordinates, checked on the supply of gold which would serve as currency in any world, and then rushed to toss a few of his own belongings into a bag.
After supper, the three of them crept out of the house, bags in hand and rolling one trunk for Miss Sanchez’s dresses, which took up more space than men’s clothing, and another trunk with the time machine. The sound of Hazel’s violin drifted down the stairs, hopefully muffling the rattling of the trunk wheels. Once on the street below, Seamus looked up. The gaslight gave Hazel’s window a soft yellow glow. Mrs. Washington was probably in the kitchen or her own room.
They headed down the street until they found a trap they could hire, and rode to the riverfront. Seamus didn’t think he would want to stay permanently in Miss Sanchez’s world, in 2015. But if she could see her family any time she liked, she might like to come back with him, or go to Egypt or France or wherever they liked
Once they reached the banks of the Mississippi, they found a man with a rowboat and offered him an extravagant amount for it, payable immediately in gold. He took the payment gladly, eying the trio as if they might be criminals on the run.
“Let’s load it up,” said Seamus, and they filled the rowboat with their bags and trunks.
When Miss Sanchez had come to this world, she had been riding a bus in her world and there had been a horse-pulled omnibus in Seamus’s world moving in the same location while Seamus was accidentally creating the conditions
for a time rip with the equipment in his laboratory. There was no way to recreate events in reverse and get her home. McCullen had arrived from his world via a naturally occurring time rip, which never reoccurred, at least not in any predictable fashion.
The plan to get the two of them home was as simple as they could make it. Once they tore a hole from Seamus’s world into the hub world, they would find themselves in 1864 once more.
From that world, they needed to get to McCullen’s and Miss Sanchez’s worlds. Unfortunately, a simple riverboat synchronicity would not work. Getting to the hub world was easy. Leaving might prove more difficult.
The synchronicities leading to both McCullen’s world and Miss Sanchez’s were earthquakes that would devastate Los Angeles. Miss Sanchez remembered both from history books, while McCullen only knew of the first one. One earthquake would be in 1864 and the other in 1958. They would use the earthquake synchronicities to move from 1864 to 1958, still in the hub world. Then they would hop to 1958 in McCullen’s world. That was where they would part ways. And that was also the point where it would get tricky.
McCullen took the oars and rowed them out into the river, while Seamus set up the machine.
After they left McCullen, they would have to use the same synchronicity, the 1958 earthquake, to get from there to Miss Sanchez’s world in 1958. Then, as Miss Sanchez had put it, they would “ride the noodle” along to 2015.
He knew things could go very wrong, which made him glad that Hazel would not be coming along. But nothing ventured, nothing gained. And if Miss Sanchez was willing to take the risk, then so was he.
They were at the center of the river now, and McCullen pulled rhythmically at the oars. It was quiet out here, the water was dark and the city lights sparkled on the shore.
The Time Corps Chronicles (Complete Series) Page 41